Chapter 1: A Basket Without Apricots
Notes:
Hello! This is my first ever published long fic. I am doing several rounds of editing before posting to maintain quality, but there will probably be newbie writer issues early on. There will be spoilers for all of the Farseer Trilogy, parts of the Liveship Traders Trilogy, and all of the Tawny Man Trilogy, so be sure to read those first!
I have drafted the first 17 chapters, and I have a general outline for the future chapters, but I don't want to provide a firm count until I've drafted them all. I'll update weekly to allow time for editing, and I will double post if one of the chapters is very reflective or super short. Average/median chapter length is 7k words, ranges from 3.3k-11k
Hope you like it!
Chapter Text
Chivalry’s sword rested where I had left it, above the hearth. I took it down. It fitted my hand as if made for it. I flourished it aloft, and then asked the empty chamber, “And what would you think of your bastard now, King Chivalry? But, I forget. You never wore the crown, either. No one ever called you King Chivalry.” I lowered the point of the sword to the floor, conceding to fate. “Nor will anyone ever bow a knee to me. All the same, I think I will leave some sign of my passage.”
A strange trembling passed through me, leaving calm in its wake.
Chapter 34, Fool’s Fate. Robin Hobb (2003).
I placed my father’s sword back above the hearth and self-consciously wiped the sweat from my hands onto my Guardsman’s uniform. “King Fitz, the Bastard Monarch,” I said aloud to the workroom. My voice sounded weak and querulous, my face a grimace. I took a deep breath and tried again, “King Fitz, the Witted Bastard turned Shadow King.” My voice was stronger, but the words did not quite roll off the tongue as well. I sighed. There was no use for it. Returning to my task, I added a bottle of brandy to my basket, covered the whole thing with a napkin, and looked down at it. My eyes could hardly stay open to check that I had everything I needed.
I was exhausted from the late night with Chade and Kettricken and could scarcely imagine the walk to the Witness Stones, let alone the nauseating voyage through the Skill-pillar, and the icy destination. The Fool will be there, I reminded myself. He’s waiting for apricots.
I looked down at my basket, which did not contain apricots.
I thought back to Prilkop’s warning, how the Skill-pillars take from yourself and if there is not enough of you, you stay. I remembered how I had nearly been lost to the Skill stream just yesterday morning, when I facilitated a conversation between Dutiful and Kettricken. I had not slept since before that. I checked my awareness of myself and found it in tatters.
If I went into the pillars today, I might never come out.
I may never see the Fool again or get to know my daughter as myself. Kettricken would be left to wrest power from Chade for her son by herself. Nettle might be forced to return immediately to communicate between the Queen and her son. She would not be able to properly mourn Burrich.
Still, I felt queasy. I did not like to leave the Fool alone. But he is not alone. He’s with Prilkop, I reminded myself jealously. And he would not be well enough to travel until his changing sickness were completed. I could not expect myself to reasonably take on my new duties, and travel twice a day through the pillars to both see to him and attend my new role. I would certainly be lost in the Skill stream if I tried…
He asked to for some time alone, away from me. I tried not to blame him. During my own recovery seventeen years ago, there were times I needed to be alone, away from Burrich or even Nighteyes. Perhaps I would be able to find apricots for him, I considered with more enthusiasm. I would return with the one thing he asked for.
I nodded once to myself and nodded again to make the decision hold. I would give him seven days, a full week. He would need two or four days to change, then a few more days to recover and have time alone. By then, Nettle would be back.
I would serve my Queen in my new role, see Patience and Lacey, and check on my adopted son Hap. I would find apricots.
I briefly reached for the Fool with the Skill. After we had been joined so recently during our return through a Skill-pillar, I could sense his emotions. He felt exhausted, nauseous, relaxed, and only a little uneasy. I sent feelings of comfort to him, and his unease lessened. I felt him settle back into sleep.
Satisfied, I collapsed in Chade’s bed for my own unconsciousness.
I awoke to the loud growl of my stomach around noon. After a cursory once-over, I made my way through the walls to eat lunch with the rest of the guards. While I planned to be quick, my body seemed to demand I eat far more than I usually did. I suspected this was due to exhaustion, though I could not recall needing three plates in the past. While eating, I contemplated what I needed from Kettricken in order to be effective in my new role. I shied away from the label.
My first task accomplished, I slipped back into the spy ways and made my way towards Kettricken’s chambers. I listened and heard no voices, just the clink of silverware on a plate, so I emerged into Kettricken’s privy and knocked hesitantly on the door. I heard silverware being set down and soft footfalls approaching. Kettricken’s smile was wide as she opened the door to her privy.
“Welcome FitzChivalry. I had hoped you would come.” She squeezed my hands briefly, then led me back to her table, where a meal for two had been laid out. She poured tea into my cup, and, despite having already eaten, served myself a small amount. Strangely, I was still hungry.
We ate quietly for a few minutes in comfortable silence before Kettricken leaned back and wiped her mouth with a napkin, “Do you still agree to being Sacrifice to the Six Duchies? To be uncrowned King? I know that you have never wanted to rule, but I have always valued your advice, and Dutiful would benefit greatly from your guidance.” She was direct in her questioning, and while I felt scrutinized, I appreciated that she did not pretend that my new role was anything other than that.
I gave her question the consideration it deserved and then nodded, “Yes. I am certain. However…” I hesitated to gather the list of my requirements. I lined them up and considered them. Were they too much to ask for? I took a deep breath and continued, my eyes fixed on the curtain behind her, “However, I do not think I should return to court as FitzChivalry Farseer. Further, I think my role needs to be kept as secret as possible. Both are necessary for Dutiful to become King-in-Waiting and then King as smoothly as possible. You may recall that in the days before Regal’s coronation,” I could scarcely hold back a grimace at the painfulness of the memories so recently restored to me, “The Coastal Duchies had all decided to support me as King-in-Waiting, and they agreed that it was only a temporary measure until we could crown your child. I do not wish to test whether they still agree to this stipulation.” Once said, I met her eyes then and she nodded slowly.
“It would likely affect our work regarding the Old Blood and the Piebalds, and the opinion of non-Witted folk on our negotiations,” She said slowly. I think she acknowledged the reasoning behind such a decision, but she did not approve of the secrecy. “Yesterday, you said your identity was revealed on Aslevjal? So the Wit Coterie knows?”
“Yes, they know. Web has known from the start. I stayed with an Old Blood community for a year following the Red Ship War, and I believe the entire community knew or at least suspected. One of the ones who taught me the Old Blood ways told him.”
“And they kept it secret all this time?”
“They did.”
She paused thoughtfully and took a sip of tea. “That is well. Those who would most celebrate your presence in politics would recognize your presence.” She stopped suddenly, then took a deep breath. She looked at me sideways. “Your visible attendance to meetings with either group may aid our progress dramatically.”
I was once more perched on a precipice. The Fitz from a few years ago would have shied away from such a request. I would have loathed any potential connection between myself and the Witted Bastard. I would have felt fearful of such a public display of myself to a room full of those who knew me. A secret known and shared by an entire room full of people seemed scarcely a secret at all. I steeled myself against the terror rising in me.
I was so tired of allowing fear to dictate my actions. While my emotions of sixteen years ago were fresh and near overwhelming, I had sixteen years of experience with which to temper them. I had even more years of Nighteyes telling me to live in the now, to not fear that which may not occur. I needed to temper his guidance with strategy, to choose actions that would build a better world for those I loved and for myself.
I took several slow and steady breaths to calm myself while Kettricken’s attention was directed towards her lunch. I appreciated that she did not stare at me as I was increasingly aware of my tendency to freeze in fear while being watched.
“I agree. I will attend these meetings in a suitably visible location.”
Her face lit up with her smile, and she took my hand, “Thank you Fitz. I’ll make sure you are in such a place. I’ll have a scribe write up the dates and times of the meetings you must attend.”
I nodded in what I hoped was an amiable fashion, then returned to my mental list, “I have a few more requirements for my role,” I reminded her. She released my hand and sat back, waiting expectantly.
“I will need some time to see Patience and Lacey and tell them what happened to me. Last night Patience was loathe to let me leave, I think because she was terrified that I would disappear again.” Kettricken nodded along, as though this request was scarcely a demand at all. I continued, “I would also like to invite my boy Hap to meet Patience one of these nights.”
“Would it be easier for you if I re-assigned you to the Queen’s guard and assigned you to Patience? That way you would have a reason to be with her in a public place or if you spent much time in her rooms, and I could direct messages to Patience’s rooms that are meant for you?” Kettricken offered. It was so like her to find a graceful solution to a problem I had concerns about implementing.
“Patience would be delighted to have me assigned as her guard. That would be most appreciated, Kettricken. Thank you.” I chewed on that, then set it aside.
I had finally reached the largest request. I took a deep breath and braced myself, “I will also need to go back to Aslevjal in a week or so to gather the Skill scrolls and bring the Fool back to Buckkeep for him to recover. I will be gone only a day or two, but Nettle should be back on that day, and Thick can fulfill my role for the Skill as well.” I held my breath.
She raised her eyebrows in surprise at the request, “Fitz, of course that is fine. The Fool is well where he is?”
I nodded slowly, “I believe so. The Black Man, Prilkop, is like him. A White Prophet past his time. He seemed concerned that I would travel by the Skill-pillars so frequently and recommended caution while using them. The Fool is currently undergoing his changing illness, and he will not be well enough to travel for several days. He also said he would like some time alone, so I want to respect his wishes. I can Skill somewhat to him, not with words but with emotions. Today he is as well as he can be.”
“That is good to hear. I’m glad your Skill link has been re-established. The two of you were always so close, and I’m glad that you can support him during his recovery,” She said agreeably, as though my desire to help my Fool did not directly get in the way of my new role. It seemed she viewed my role as flexible and was willing to alter it to accommodate my needs.
“I will also need time in Buckkeep town to search for apricots,” I muttered to myself, recalling the basket upstairs. My Fool has asked for one thing during my trip to Buckkeep, and I was determined to bring it back to him.
“Apricots? I believe the kitchen has some in storage for Harvestfest. Shall I have some set aside for you?” Kettricken asked as though this was both an important request and a reasonable one, rather than an idle fancy. A strange feeling of inadequacy infused me. My entire list of requirements, Kettricken granted me as though it were my due. Some time to see my family, a few days off to bring my Fool home, and anonymity. Had I sold my freedom so cheaply?
I felt some kinship with Thick in that moment. I remembered trying to woo him to our side, and how he asked for a whistle, a feather, and an unburnt pink cake. Such simple things he wanted, yet they revealed much about how he had been treated and what he needed. What did my requests reveal of how I had been treated?
Each of my requests each seemed like the most valuable of jewels, and I had expected I would need to settle for perhaps one or two given freely, then I would need to bargain for the others, giving up a valuable chunk of freedom in exchange for apricots or time with my mother. I wondered if Kettricken felt as I had when Thick made his requests. If she felt pity or sadness at how paltry my requests were. If she did, it was not clear to me. Instead, she granted each of my boons as though they were my due. I felt, for a moment, that I was not selling myself or bargaining for my freedom, but rather as though Kettricken simply wanted to give me whatever it is I asked for, simply because she could. I wondered if she would have given me these things before last night, and queasily I suspected that to be the case. Perhaps this was less like her giving me what I wanted, but rather I had finally claimed what she offered freely.
I realized my silence stretched long, but Kettricken waited patiently. I nodded jerkily. “Yes, if you would,” I bit my lips and offered, “When I asked if he wanted me to bring anything back, he requested only apricots.” I said it almost apologetically.
Kettricken accepted that statement with a serious nod. Silence settled between us once more. I searched my mind desperately for anything else I wanted in the moment, and I could not find anything.
Kettricken freed us then, “Do you have any other requirements for your new role?” She looked at me expectantly.
“Not at the moment, no.”
“Let me know if that changes, FitzChivalry. I know how much you value your sense of freedom and control over your own life, and I recognize that you are sacrificing such things by accepting this role. I would not have these sacrifices be so steep that you regret your decision,” She said firmly, leaving no uncertain doubts in my head.
Strangely, her recognition of my sacrifices imparted upon me a new strange feeling of freedom, one that I had never felt before. My commitments felt less like weighted chains tugging me in all directions as they had felt in my youth. Instead, these commitments were more like leather bonds: I could control how tightly they wrapped around me and the direction they pulled.
While I was certain the bonds would tighten once Dutiful and Chade returned, but with Kettricken these bonds scarcely seemed to weigh me down at all.
“I will.”
Then Kettricken and I cleared the table of food, setting it to the side to be replaced with the documents for the day. Together, we planned how we could best rule a kingdom together.
After Kettricken and I finished dividing her tasks between us, I Skilled to Chade and Dutiful. They had left Wuislington and had little of import to convey, but I could feel Chade’s wariness in our conversation. Dutiful, meanwhile, sounded pleased to speak with me, though he was morose when he informed us that Elliana had decided to return to Buckkeep just before Springfest. I could feel him holding back some of what he wanted to say due to Chade’s presence. They should be back in Buckkeep in two or three weeks, depending on weather and length of each stop they planned to make along the way. When I informed them that I would be aiding Kettricken in her working finding solutions with the Old Blood and the Piebalds, their shock reverberated through the connection between us. Kettricken laughed quietly at the look on my face. I felt the two of them briefly withdraw to have a private conversation, so I did the same.
“They’re speechless,” I informed her. I tried not to sound insulted.
Her laugh grew louder, “Of course they are, FitzChivalry. You were gone fifteen years, refusing to get involved in any of this. This past year, you conducted your duties with reticence. Dutiful never knew the Fitz who was willing to do whatever it takes for his King and kingdom, and Chade has long since forgotten. But I remember well who you were before Verity went into the dragon. I see my friend, my confidant, and my advisor. It is good to have you back, but they will need some time to adjust.”
“They have weeks at sea to adjust,” I said dryly.
“And by the time they return, I know we will have learned how best we two can work together. It will shock and delight Dutiful, and Chade will glower and mumble, but he will be pleased in the end.”
At which point, Dutiful and Chade politely asked to rejoin the conversation through a light Skill touch. My Queen and I informed them briefly of our other tasks, and Chade asked some pointed questions about Duchy-to-Duchy trade to which I had no answer, but Kettricken could give details. Chade snatched these details enthusiastically, and I could sense his distraction.
With all other points of discussion finished, I finally told them of my plan to return to Aslevjal in a week. Dutiful accepted my planned trip without question, but Chade’s attention refocused on me like a slap.
You cannot simply leave for two days while we are gone! Wait until we have returned and then go fetch your fool, he demanded of me.
“I was not asking your permission, Chade, but informing you of my plans,” I kept my words mild, but my annoyance must have shown on my face based on Kettricken’s look of amusement. I could feel Chade fumbling with his indignation, so I decided to take advantage of him being off balance. “Thick will be here, and Nettle should return shortly after if the trip takes longer than expected. You’ll still be at sea, so I find it unlikely you will have any political emergencies.”
I darted my eyes to my queen to confirm, but Kettricken only nodded. I decided to acknowledge the obvious. “If the Queen and I determine that it would be best for me to delay my trip until Nettle has returned, we will inform you.”
Why must you be gone for two days, then? Go through the pillar, fetch the Fool and the scrolls, then return. Surely this does not require an overnight journey, Chade grumbled.
“Because I do not know how the Fool’s condition will be, and I may want to choose skill scrolls purposefully as opposed to at random. It is better for me to plan a two-day journey that could be a one-day journey than to plan a one-day journey that might require two or even three days,” I said reasonably.
Chade could not deny my logic, though he continued grumbling. After a few minutes of this, I reminded him that we would speak tomorrow and that the Queen and I needed to go about our day. I cut our communication firmly.
“That went well,” Kettricken said plainly.
“A bit long, but I suppose that is to be expected with such a change,” I stood and stretched after being seated so long. I wondered how long we had been alone in Kettricken’s rooms, scheming and Skilling. I hoped it was not so long that rumors would begin to circulate about the Queen’s health or… other topics.
Kettricken stood as well, “I agree. Chade will come to terms with this sooner or later. I will have a scribe write up the list of meetings that you will need to attend, and I will mark which ones will need to be there in public or private. I believe there is one with the Old Bloods this evening. Would you like to join or begin with tomorrow?” Kettricken asked the question simply, without expectation. I wondered idly if she asked this because she had no expectation or if she did not want to influence my decision one way or the other. Perhaps both.
“Tomorrow, I think. I want to meet with Patience again and check on my horse. If I have time, I may visit my boy to see how he is doing. I have not seen him since before I set off for Aslevjal, and I worry for him.”
“Of course Fitz. Join me for breakfast tomorrow?” She made it a request rather than a demand.
“I will. I should warn you; I ate lunch before I joined you today.” We surveyed the empty plates that she had ordered to feed both of us, and I saw her realize the quantity I ate when I had already eaten. I felt gluttonous. “I think it is from all the Skill use yesterday, the late night, and two weeks of light meals,” I said apologetically.
“That seems reasonable. I thought Skill use tended to leave one nauseous at the thought of food, and therefore excess skill use encouraged one to eat less than is healthy. So I remember it with Verity and also with you when we were on the Skill road in the mountains.”
I realized the truth in her words and considered my hunger with a bit of shock. “I think it has been like this since the Skill healing I received in the spring. Perhaps I am still recovering,” I suggested.
“Well, I suppose I will order twice as much tomorrow for breakfast. Or more? Enough that is it clearly more than for two people,” Kettricken grasped the concern I had been hiding from myself. I did not want rumors to circulate that Kettricken had gained a secret lover.
“Perhaps we could have a discrete servant deliver breakfast to the room in the tower, and I can bring it with me. If there is a cover on it, it should be safe from spiderwebs,” I offered. I have eaten worse before, but I did not want Kettricken to watch.
“There is wisdom in your words, FitzChivalry. I will arrange this, though I wish you did not have to carry your breakfast to our meetings,” She lamented.
“In this, I am Sacrifice,” I joked, remembering how her family served mine in the mountains when we two had first met.
Kettricken laughed softly at my poor joke, and I took myself down to the stables to check in on Myblack.
Chapter 2: Seventeen Years
Summary:
Fitz realizes that he needs to come to terms with his newly returned memories quickly, ideally before he returns to the Fool on Aslevjal. He decides that Patience and Lacey if they would be willing to listen to a more emotional telling of his absence of seventeen years to allow him to come to terms with all that has happened. In this chapter, he records the ways in which Patience and Lacey responded that will help him moving forward.
Notes:
Spoilers for all of AQ, FE, GF, and FF.
I tried to keep summary to a minimum and focus on the conversations Fitz, Patience, and Lacey would have. Some summary is necessary, however, to contextualize their conversations. I originally wrote much more and cut it down quite a bit, but I think this chapter covers the conversations that Fitz would recall and record later.
I hope reading this was as cathartic as it was to write!
Chapter Text
I spent the late afternoon with Myblack, trying to build a bond of friendship with this horse that mostly wanted to stomp on my feet and bite my hands. I saddled her and ran her on the trails through the nearby forest to tire her, then groomed her and promised her apples. She tried to bite my hand as if it were an apple.
While in the stables, I strained my ears for any gossip about myself and heard none. When I had seen Patience last Harvestfest, both the Fool and I were concerned that revealing myself to my mother would lead her to proclaim her joy at my survival from the rooftops and threatening to horsewhip anyone who did not celebrate with her. I was pleased our concerns were unnecessary, and shamed that I had thought so little of Patience’s sense of discretion.
I came to a decision about how I would tell my mother about my time away. I needed to come to terms with seventeen years rapidly. My heart, mind, and body were in firm disagreement about almost everything, and I felt pulled in all directions. I needed to negotiate some sort of peace within me so that I did not lose everything I wanted in a desperate bid to win everything I thought I wanted.
After a trip to the steams, I went to visit Patience and Lacey, presumably to introduce myself to them as their new guard. The look of astonished relief on their faces when I entered their sitting room assured me that my decision to delay my return to Aslevjal for a few days was the correct one. I am certain that they expected me to disappear once more, and that they would have to find me and drag me back to their rooms. I was humbled.
Immediately Patience demanded I help hang herbs from the ceiling of one of the finest suites in Buckkeep all while filling the room with chatter. Her energy was palpable, and I was becoming jittery in turn, nervous about what I had decided to do.
“Mother, can I talk to you about something?” I asked when she finally paused for a breath.
Patience’s shock was obvious on her face, though she tried to hide it. “Of course, Tom. You know you don’t need to ask. Now what’s making you so nervous? You’re shaking like a leaf!”
“I believe he was picking up on your energy, dear heart,” Lacey remarked mildly.
I endeavored to stop my shaking. This was Patience, I reminded myself. She came to Buckkeep for me and me alone after my father had passed. She dressed my wounds on my dead body. As the Lady of Buckkeep, she formed the Ivy Guard and fought back the Red Ship Raiders as best she knew how. She was my mother, and she loved me for myself unconditionally. She never once viewed me as a political tool for her to wield or as a pawn on a game board.
I was reassured, and I knew I could trust her. I needed to tell my story to someone who would not weigh my history as either a Catalyst, an assassin, or a father to a potential heir. While I had few memories of my birth mother, I knew Patience would listen to my story as a mother would a son.
“Last night, I told a bit of my journey west to Verity seventeen years ago. I… I had purposefully left out some of the… more difficult parts. Partially because it was a bedtime story, but partially because I… was afraid you would think less of me if you knew all my missteps and mistakes,” I looked up at Patience and saw, rather than anger, only curiosity. I took a breath and continued, resolved, “Would allow me to tell you the story honestly, with the difficult parts included? I will need to leave out some secrets that are not mine to tell, but I would tell you the rest. You and Lacey both,” I looked earnestly at her as I made the request. Her expression was frozen except for her eyes, which had been getting larger and larger as I explained myself.
Without replying, she slowly sat down next to Lacey, who had prepared tea at their little table. The table now had three chairs, so I joined them, and I waited. I knew she was aware of the size of my request. She did not take it lightly, and I believe she was ensuring within herself that she could receive such a tale. I knew she was capable of it, but I do not know if she wanted such a burden.
She looked at Lacey and the two of them communicated silently between themselves with that gaze. I focused on my tea while I waited. Eventually, she turned back to me. “We accept your story, warts and all, FitzChivalry Farseer,” She said formally.
“Wolves and all too,” Lacey chimed in. We three smiled, and I was glad of it, for I feared there would not be many smiles during the telling.
I began. I told them then of being a wolf. I saw tears in her eyes when I told her that wolves have no kings, and I explained the simple pleasure of living in the present rather than worrying about the future or the past. The tears spilled over when I told her of my feelings of anger and even betrayal towards Burrich and Chade, who had demanded much of me in life, and refused to grant me the peace of my death, such as it was. She nodded understandingly when I spoke of my feelings of frustration of being trapped in a broken, abused body, when my wolf’s healthy body was so nearby.
I told them of how Verity had used Skill suggestions to get me drunk enough to inform Burrich and Chade of his survival, and Patience scoffed when I told her that the two of them did not understand my words at all, “Of course you tell them the news they so desperately wanted, and they ignored you.” She was silent, jaw clenched, when I told her of my cruel words to Burrich, and she was insulted when Chade refused to tell me what to do, “Only that spider would drag you back to life and leave you rudderless. And just after he accused you of making decisions thoughtlessly!” Her fingers tightened on her teacup when I told her how I returned to a more wolfish lifestyle all while telling myself I was preparing for a trip to see Verity. She laughed aloud when I recalled that I was only brought out of it when I realized how badly I smelled, because I needed to bathe like a human, rather than lick myself clean like a wolf.
Usually when I reported in the past to Burrich, Chade, Verity, or Kettricken, they adopted blank faces and asked only clarifying questions. They only rarely provided a response with any form of emotion or approval to it. Lacey was similar, and I wondered if she learned such from Hod. Patience, meanwhile, was an active audience: she expressed frustration at others when I was frustrated with them, and when I revealed something of my past behavior that I felt was shameful, she would pat my hand and say, “Oh Tom,” and I heard in her voice that she missed the boy and all his missteps, and that this story did not diminish her love of me. Strangely, it seemed as though these mistakes raised me in her estimations. By her reactions, I felt understood.
I told not a report but a story, and I focused my words not on what I did and the potential ramifications of such actions but rather the reasons behind my actions and my feelings during the time. I did not gloss over clear moments of idiocy or poor judgment, nor did I hide from her my frequently dark thoughts. I felt no need to review long days spent gathering information, so I told some parts of the story out-of-order, revealing answers ahead of time to contextualize the experiences. I did not reveal any secrets that were not mine, though I did speak of truths that were known by many people who were not Farseers. If they could keep such truths secret, so could the former Queen-in-Waiting.
I wanted most for her to know the memories that shamed me. The ones that, in my darkest days, I stacked in piles as proof of my own inadequacy. So too, I told her of the times I felt most betrayed and the most alone. I had put many of these memories into the dragon, unable to handle them, but I felt if she could handle these, then perhaps I could too. These were the memories that I most needed help with.
To balance the awful memories, I also made sure to include of my best days and when I felt most loved. I wanted her to know Nighteyes, and I wanted her to know of my relationship with the Fool. A telling of my life would be inadequate without those that made me whole.
I wanted to finish my retelling before I returned to the Fool, and I estimated I needed to accomplish the task in five days, leaving time on the sixth day for a conversation I needed to have. I spent two and a half days describing the year after my death. I was concerned about the pacing of my story, but that year precipitated the following sixteen. By virtue of forging my worst memories into Girl-on-a-Dragon and my general idleness for the subsequent fifteen years, I reasoned I could fit sixteen years into two and a half days.
I have written these words in other scrolls, currently stored in the workroom, so I will not reiterate my story here, but rather I would like to record certain conversations we had over the course of those five days. I consider Patience to be a biased judge, but she is one who loves me. On my darkest days, I would rather remember how she would respond to these events, rather than my own dark thoughts.
When I described how Nighteyes and I travelled through the snow, attempting to draw pursuers from Starling and Kettle, only to wind up back at the road with a Witted hunter directly behind us, Patience merely frowned. But, when I told her how I was shot and how only Nighteyes told me he did not want to be me if I died, and his force of will kept me walking towards Jhaampe until I collapsed at the feet of King Shrewd’s Fool, she cried long and hard. Then she insisted on seeing the scar as though to prove to herself that I survived the wound, then she cried even more.
“Keep going,” She begged me soggily as Lacey offered her yet another handkerchief.
I told her of the Fool’s defense of my time in his cabin, unending amounts of willowbark tea, and the Fool’s wearied count of my apologies and outcries, and she laughed at me. In my darkest times, I often feel like a burden on those around me, yet she came around and hugged me, still laughing, and kissed my forehead, “Only you could apologize to someone 34 times and disbelieve when they forgive you.”
“Perhaps if I were not so wretched to people in the first place, I would not need to apologize so much,” I said irritably. I would not allow her to let me free of my responsibilities so easily.
“Oh Tom. What were you doing that was so wretched that you needed to apologize to the Fool 34 times?”
I glowered at her, trying to recall the 34th time, “I believe that last one was an apology for driving him crazy with my apologizing. He said I was just ranting monotonously.”
Patience looked triumphant, “So you were apologizing for apologizing too much?”
I rolled my eyes at her, but could not fault her logic.
Later, when I told her how Chade and Kettricken planned between them to claim Nettle as Kettricken’s own, cursing her stillborn son to ignominy, Patience almost left to find the Queen and yell at her for her audacity. I had to physically hold her back, telling her to keep listening. She declared her plan to horsewhip Chade for trying to steal her grandchild, then ranted for quite some time about their lack of gratitude for all I had done.
For this reaction alone, I was pleased with my decision to tell her my story.
I did not tell her of the way Kettricken seemed almost to hear Nighteyes reporting to her, nor did I tell her of Starling’s suspicions regarding the Fool’s gender. I did not tell her about plumbing though I suspect it would have delighted her.
However, I did tell her how Nighteyes called the Fool brother and Starling’s suspicions that he loved me. I told her of our shared vision at the market plaza and his joy at his sudden certainty of our place in fate. I told her of how the three of us played in the river. With trepidation, I told her how he told me he loved men and how, when I told him I loved him back as a man loves another man, he shouted it aloud and ran off joyfully.
During all of this, Patience’s face was remarkably impassive, though she glanced several times at Lacey. At the time, I didn’t understand why she reacted in this way when she was so expressive for the rest of my story.
I spent an inordinate amount of time describing each dragon and the stone garden, until Patience rapped me with her fan, “Enough about dragons! On with the story!”
“It’s a story about dragons, dear heart,” Lacey reminded her.
“Still, we don’t need to hear about every dragon. We saw them ourselves at Buckkeep!”
Thus chastised, I moved on to the next part of the story, which I had been avoiding
Her lips thinned when I told her of Burl’s attack and how Verity defended us, though we needed to douse the Fool in elfbark. She frowned when, after the elfbark ran out, I told the Fool where Burrich and Molly were, not knowing he was possessed by the coterie. When I spoke of wit-bees, Patience’s rage and laughter fought each other, while I could only feel sadness and blame.
“It wasn’t your fault,” She told me. “Nor was it his. Neither of you could have known.”
“I should have known. He was behaving so oddly. He’s my best friend, and I couldn’t tell that he wasn’t himself,” I cried. “They had to abandon their home because of my spying.” I had never truly considered the extent to which I blamed myself for this, and when I thought of it, it was normally to remind the Fool it was not his fault, “The Fool blames himself still. He had a prophecy once, that the one who loves him best will betray him most foully. He assumed it was Chade holding Nettle over my head. I tell him he had no way of defending himself, as he is without the Skill, but still.”
Again, Patience and Lacey exchanged a look. “Tom, he was a jester who delighted in behaving strangely. You could tell he was not himself and thought that was him being himself. But you trusted him and told him. It is not your fault, nor is it his. The coterie attacked Molly, Burrich, and Nettle. Not you and not him.”
I considered the wisdom in her words and tried to stop blaming myself. I did not succeed entirely, but I did feel lighter.
I told her of the quarry, of Verity’s strange absent-mindedness, Kettricken’s distress, and Kettle’s idle questions about carving a dragon. Patience was solemn as she understood the gravity of the situation. Verity’s behavior had not made its way into the songs. She did not even gasp when I described the Fool’s accidental brush with Verity’s silvered arms leading to permanent Silver on his fingers. I told her of the Fool touching my wrist with his Skill-tipped fingers, his joy meeting Nighteyes mind-to-mind, and how we three worked together to release the Kettle’s Skill from its bonds. Then, I told her how all of us became obsessed with the carving of dragons in our own ways: the Fool’s obsession with Girl-on-a-Dragon, how I begged Verity for permission to carve alongside him and Kettle.
“It seems almost like an addiction. Like cindin or alcohol,” She noted idly, stirring honey into her tea.
“It is exactly that. The Skill addiction made tactile. Patience, I have almost died many times since the quarry, but the only death I can imagine is one in which I carve a dragon,” I said honestly. Nighteyes and I had spoken of this before, but otherwise I had never said such a desire aloud.
Patience and Lacey held hands under the table, which I dutifully ignored, and I saw my mother’s arm muscles clench at my statement. “But not for a long while? Not soon?” She asked carefully.
“Not for a long while, mother,” I assured her. But I had promised us honestly, “But if I find myself unable to survive something or other, I would try to find a Skill pillar and make my way back before I die.”
They both sniffled but did not rebuke me.
I spoke as well of two ‘truths’ Kettle told me that, in her words, I was unwilling to hear: I remembered my birth mother and I loved not Molly, but the time in our life when we were together.
“And what do you think of those truths?” Patience asked calmly. I had feared she would not react well to my discussing my mountain mother, but she took it in stride.
“I do remember my mother, now. She had yellow hair, and we herded sheep. I… I still cannot tell if the same is true for Molly. I would like to speak of it with you both, when we get caught up to today,” I admitted. I needed to come to terms with my recovery of emotions held in stasis for sixteen years. They raged within me, determined to be let out. Of my confidantes, I think only the Fool would have suffered another telling of the story, but I wanted understanding from someone other than him. I wanted my mother.
“Of course, Tom. We can speak of it later,” She agreed amiably.
I told her of Verity’s dismay when he realized they had nothing left to give the dragon, and it would not take flight, told her how I begged to be allowed to carve the dragon if only Nettle would be free from the throne. How Verity denied me, for who else could be heir? I told her we made a bargain in which, in exchange for my life, he allowed me to look once more on Molly and Burrich. I told her what I witnessed, and I told her how I put much of my feelings and memories about so much of my life into the dragon. I told her how, by the next morning, Verity had ensured for himself that he had an heir. I do not know how she reacted, because I stared at my hands, and she made no noise. I did not want to see if she figured out what occurred.
I tried to be circumspect. Only Kettricken, the Fool, and I knew that Verity use my body to produce Dutiful, and I did not want any more people to know that secret. But my desire to protect my daughter, my bargaining and begging for a different heir, the way I Forged away the memories and emotions, putting them into a dragon... All this, I wanted my Patience and Lacey to know. I wanted them to understand the depths of my despair and the way I stunted my heart. If they worked out for themselves what occurred that night, I knew that they would keep the secret safe.
I could not tell them how Verity refused to apologize or thank me for the use of my body, for he considered such statements to be inadequate. I could not tell them how desperately I wished he had been clearer with what he asked of me, so that when I agreed, I knew precisely what I was agreeing to. I could not tell them that I would have said yes if he asked, that I would have explicitly bargained with him for a night in my body in exchange for freedom for my daughter. I would have bargained every night we were at the quarry, if only Nettle were kept safe to be raised by Molly.
I could not tell them how much I wanted Verity to apologize for what he had done to me to secure the future of his kingdom.
Instead, I told them instead of the lifecycle of a horsetail fern, how Nighteyes promised me time to heal. I spoke of the itch of lost feelings and memories that never healed. The wound scabbed, and as long as I did not scratch it too hard, I could not feel the pull of the scab or the rip as it opened up the great sense of emptiness where my pain used to be. I told them how I struggled with picking the scab, and how numb I have felt ever since.
They both cried, Lacey silently and Patience noisily. I had to leave to get more handkerchiefs. I held them as they cried, and I cried with them.
“It gets better, doesn’t it?” Patience begged me.
“It does, mother. But it takes sixteen years. Would you like me to keep going?”
She nodded, so I continued.
I told her how Nighteyes and I awoke the first stone dragon with blood and the Wit. Nighteyes welcomed the dragon into our pack.
“Your wolf wanted to have dragons in his pack?” She sounded both impressed and amused.
“Even better, the dragon accepted immediately. Then Nighteyes and I began a mad game, where we raced one another to raise as many dragons as possible, and we invited each one to join us.” She laughed in delight at the image.
“The the Fool came off Girl-on-a-Dragon and I told her to lead the stone dragons into battle. Nighteyes would not fly, and I could not leave him,” I tried to remember what had convinced the Fool, “Prophets become warriors and dragons hunt as wolves. It is as it must be. I don’t know where the words came from, but they were exactly right. It convinced the Fool, and he kissed me before he left,” I stopped, shocked at the admission. I had not planned to tell them that.
Patience squealed and clapped her hands, and Lacey smiled a small smile.
“What? Don’t look at me like that,” I grumbled. I regretted saying anything at all. My face burned crimson in embarrassment.
“Look at you like what, Fitz?” Patience asked, delighted. I shook my head, which only encouraged her to cackle at me. “Like what?”
“Like I’m fifteen again, and I said something foolish,” I glowered at them both. Lacey began to laugh quietly. It was hopeless, but it was early enough on the third day that I could scarcely leave. I did not want to delay because they could not stop teasing me. I felt for a time like the only adult in the room, sitting upright and patient as I waited for two children to settle down.
They eventually apologized and asked me to continue.
I described how I rushed to Burrich and Molly’s house when I saw he and Nettle were sick. I told them how I turned away in fear of the uncertainty of knowing how I would be received. My concern about driving a wedge between my daughter’s parents. My certainty that if I recognized her in person, I invited in Chade and Kettricken to recognize her as well. Surely, they would tear her from her family to be raised in Buckkeep in a way they thought befitting one who was second in line for the throne. In sum, I feared that entering that home would somehow catalyze Nettle’s life in a way I did not want, and Nettle, Burrich, and Molly would not appreciate. Staring at my hands, I told my mother and Lacey how I turned away and moved into a cabin near Forge.
“I understand, Fitz. Truly, I do,” Patience said softly.
“Then you would be the first, mother. Since I decided to stay away, it seems as though everyone has been telling me repeatedly how unkind, stupid, and disappointing it was. How disappointing I am,” I tried not to sound angry.
“Fitz, you do realize that it’s exactly what Chivalry and I did to you? You did better than us, because you left her in a home with two parents who loved her, who you trusted to raise her. You even kept in contact with her via the Skill to make sure she was fine. You chose a cabin close enough that you could come in an emergency,” Patience squeezed her eyes shut, tears budding in the corners of them. She opened them, tears falling, and she faced me, her eyes burrowing into mine.
“Chivalry and I abandoned you. We hoped you would be safe with Burrich raising you as a stablehand, and Shrewd would be cautious with you, but we had no real way of knowing. We could only trust Burrich and Shrewd. Chiv convinced me that if we acknowledged you, your life would come to a brutal end,” She gulped back her tears, and I saw her steel herself, “I’m sorry, Fitz. I know how much pain you feel that you never met him. I see it in your eyes whenever his name is mentioned. Don’t you dare lie to me about it!” She waggled her finger at me just as I opened my mouth to lie to her. The tears began to fall in earnest then, and she sobbed into her hands.
I opened and closed my mouth repeatedly, uncertain what to say. I didn’t know how to be honest in the face of her shame, from the old hurt that my story dug up. At last, I found some truthful words, though they were not my own, “The Fool told me once that that was true. He often speaks of how unlikely it is that I exist in the first place, let alone that I survived for so long. I think he would consider your decision to leave me with Burrich necessary so that I could sit in front of you today.”
“He said that? Your White Prophet said that?” Patience’s voice was muffled around her clogged nose and handkerchief.
“He did.” How strange it was that my loneliness and abandonment then was necessary for my being alive now. I hoped that I did not need them still to ensure my survival.
“Well, that’s good then,” She acknowledged, patting her face. Then her face turned dark, “I still wish Verity had gotten an oath of silence from that guardsman and found a loving family to raise you instead.”
“Me too. But I probably would not have survived.” I stood then and helped her stand as well so that I could wrap my tiny mother in my arms. “I forgive you, mother. I know you did your best, and I’m so appreciative that you came to Buckkeep as soon as you could.”
That set off another round of crying, but it sounded like healing.
She was somewhat peeved by how little I spoke of the middle fifteen years.
“That was fifteen years? That took scarcely an hour,” Patience noted. “You’re sure you’re not leaving anything out?”
“I’m positive, Patience. In part, I think it was because I had Forged so much of myself away. But… I think I was so afraid that in my role as Catalyst, I would accidentally destroy the peace I had brought my family. So, I stopped changing things: If I did not form connections, if I did nothing of consequence, I reasoned, Nettle would have a childhood. I was certain if I went to Buckkeep to visit Kettricken or meet Dutiful, I would be forced back into my old role. If I went to Nettle, I invited royal intervention. If I went to you… well, I was afraid you would insist on meeting Nettle and would browbeat anyone in your way. And that would be a change that could topple Nettle from her life,” I said softly. I felt a need to explain why I disappeared for so long, even if my reason presumed much of her reaction.
Patience’s face twisted, and she opened her mouth to argue, but Lacey patted her hand gently, “You may well have. You are quite stubborn when you have a mind on a task.” My heart swelled in gratitude at Lacey’s support.
Patience could only sigh, “I understand. I suppose we cannot go back in time to see how I would react if my dead son announced he was alive and that he had a daughter I was not allowed to meet. Still, I expect much opportunity to meet her now, since she knows you’re alive.”
I shook my head slowly, “She knows me as Tom Badgerlock, who until recently she thought of as Shadow Wolf from her dreams. She knows I knew Molly and Burrich before she was born and that I was in Aslevjal with Swift. I met her only once in person, just before I ran into you two in the garden earlier this week. After a… somewhat awkward introduction, she cried about Burrich’s death. It was not the appropriate time or place to tell her who I am.” I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes and groaned aloud, not bothering to silence my distress, “I cannot imagine that conversation will go well. I need to discuss the matter with Molly at some point. In person, if I can arrange it.”
“No, I can’t imagine that conversation would go well, but I will help you as best I can.” I appreciated the offer desperately. Patience at least would support me, and that was worth its weight in gold.
I spoke of Hap and Starling going to Springfest, and visits from Chade and Jinna. Of the Fool’s visit, I did not know quite how to begin.
“When the Fool came to visit, the sun was beginning to set. It felt like… like my heart turned over or was made anew. Like the clouds moved from blocking the sun. My entire body came alive after years of being asleep. Like suddenly the withered parts of my heart could finally pump blood once again,” I carefully inspected my fingers and the furnishings. I looked anywhere but in the eyes of my mothers, “He was golden rather than white, and I had no words to greet him with, I was so shocked. I just opened my arms, and he fell into them. Nighteyes pranced around us like a puppy. Finally, we were whole once more. When we separated, he told me that the entire time he had been gone, he could feel the connection between us through the Silver on his fingers and my wrist. I had felt nothing. I saw him lying on the deck of a ship with a man above him intending to cause him pain. I had pushed the man away with the Wit and forced him to fetch help for my Fool.”
I thumbed the marks on my wrist thoughtfully, and Patience grabbed my hand to look at them. She reached down curiously to touch them, and I yanked my hand back. “Silver would be on your fingertips forever, mother,” I admonished her. Her mouth snapped closed, interrupting her response. I pulled my shirt down over my wrist and continued, staring at the tapestry behind them, “He let me ride his horse, Malta. When we reached the end of the lane, I felt how small and confined my world had been, and I wanted suddenly to leave it behind. I rode Malta back and brought in his saddlebags to find him making himself at home in my cabin. His presence alone brought order and peace to any room he claimed, and he claimed my cabin then. So I told him that, how the sun hadn’t set and already he showed me the how wide the world is from the back of a horse and the soul of the world within the walls of my cabin.” I paused then and heard a quiet sob. To my shock, Patience and Lacey were clutching each other desperately and crying as quietly as possible. “It wasn’t meant to be sad,” I told them, confused by their reaction.
I fetched them more water, certain that they were thirsty given how many tears they had wept this evening. “We’re going to need more handkerchiefs, the way this is going,” I informed them. Patience only waved at me silently, urging me to go on while she could not speak. Baffled, I continued. I described the days of the Fool’s visit, how seamlessly he merged his schedule to fit mine, how any wooden surface in my cabin was not safe from his blade, how he read my scrolls and listened to my telling of the prior fifteen years. I spoke of apricot brandy, Nighteyes’ gallows humor about his aging, and how the Fool could just barely notice our Wit-communication, like whispers through a door. During this time, Patience and Lacey both stilled their faced, as though they feared I would cease talking about my Fool if she interrupted me.
I did not tell them the name the Fool was born with. Nor did I speak of dancing in front of a fireplace.
I spoke instead of how Nighteyes and I both felt the time of changing upon us, and how I wanted so desperately to become who I should have been, had I not died. I told them of Nighteyes near-death experience, and my panicked healing, the Fool lugging me back into my body through the marks on my wrist, and Nighteyes’ frustration that I refused to let him die. Patience took no sides in the matter, though I do not know if that is because she had no opinion. I explained how, after all our catching up was done, we settled into a pleasant routine as I did my chores, he incised my house, and Nighteyes healed. Nighteyes wanted to go with him when he left, but my concern about Hap returning to an empty, much-changed cabin required that we stay. So, the Fool left us behind, and we waited for Hap to return, and suddenly my cabin felt too small for the life I suddenly wanted to live.
During this time, Patience and Lacey said nearly nothing at all. I did not know why: she had reacted so enthusiastically to everything else, but suddenly my mother was reticent to let me know how she felt about those days.
I spoke of my frustration with my role as the Servant Tom Badgerlock, my feeling of distance from my Fool, and the jealousy I felt in his interactions with Laurel. I spoke as well of him dressing me and shaving my face and how he helped my Skill headache and the seizure that followed. While I spoke of Dutiful or our errand, Patience was reactive, but again she carefully stilled her reactions when I spoke of the Fool.
I was surprised but not shocked when Patience needed a moment when I described to her the way I tried to get information out of Deerkin. It was the first time she requested we pause explicitly, and she went to arrange some flowers in a vase to give herself a moment to come to terms with what I was telling her. I tried to explain my thinking.
“I don’t know why I was so certain it needed to be done, but once I decided we could only get the information we needed in this way, I refused to consider any other option. I could have used Jinna’s charm to convince him, or even explained the ways in which the Piebalds’ behavior went so against many Old Blood teachings. Or we could have simply tried locating a trail in the morning. But I was convinced that I needed to do this, and I told myself all the ways this boy deserved it. That he was a traitor, that his refusal to tell me what I needed to know, that it was vengeance for what happened to me in Regal’s dungeon. I talked myself in circles to convince me it needed doing, and it was only Nighteyes’ arrival that knocked me out of it.” I told her how the wolf and the Fool did nothing to prevent the archer’s escape with Laurel, and she breathed a sigh of relief.
I told her how we three decided that I would flee with the Prince through the pillar, thus leaving my Fool and my soul behind to die at the hands of the Piebalds.
Patience understood my plight, her voice soft, “Oh Tom, you were in an impossible situation. You chose the best option, and it was so brave of you to trust in them and yourself when you chose it.”
“It felt like cowardice. I was literally running away, Patience, and leaving them to die,” I was stubborn in my desire to be despised, but she had none of it.
“No, Tom. It was selfless. You ensured the future of the Six Duchies with your decision.”
“Well, wait until you hear the next part before you make your judgment.”
After we were all safe in the cave with the Old Blood elders, I sat silently.
“Fitz? Are you well?” Patience asked cautiously.
“I’m sorry Patience. It’s been a year, and I still don’t know how to explain it,” I apologized. I had no words to explain what happened next in a way she could understand. Still, I would try.
“That night, my wolf and I dreamed together of our life. Then he woke first to hunt, and he asked if I would be joining as he was certain I wanted to. I asked for a bit more time, but I stayed with his mind as he enjoyed the morning. Despite the summer, there was frost on the grass. It was time for a change, he told me. Then he contemplated hunting a buck in the distance and, when I insisted he wait for me, he slipped out of my mind and ran ahead. And when I woke up, he was dead in my arms and the place in my mind where he lived for almost two decades was empty.”
I had not known I could still cry about his death, but tears poured out of my eyes like waterfalls. I grabbed desperately at the last clean handkerchief and clutched it to my face, and it was soon drenched. Another handkerchief was pressed into my hands, and I added it to the mess, like layering bandages on a gushing wound. It too was soon soaked through. The cloths kept coming, and I kept applying pressure, but my tears seemed impossible to stanch.
I don’t know how long I sat there, but eventually I could peel my hands back from my face. I set them down and accepted another one numbly to wipe my face once more. When I opened my eyes, I saw that Patience and Lacey were red eyed and wet faced from their own tears.
“I had hoped he was still alive today, somehow,” Patience admitted. “He sounded so noble and kind. Who would have guessed a wolf to have such a sense of humor?”
“He loved you so well, your wolf. He knew you entirely and loved you in full,” Lacey burst into a sob.
Somehow, these two old women without a stitch of Wit between them understood the depths of my sorrow. We spoke of him as one does at a funeral, a year after I burned the body, and they brought up stories from the past few days of him, where I had gone into more detail than I expected. I felt cleansed.
At last, we quieted. I stood to get more handkerchiefs just in case.
“The Fool mourned with you, did he? He must have!” Patience insisted.
I slowly shook my head, “No. He couldn’t. He was Lord Golden to those around us, and that man would not have stooped to care for the loss of his servant’s Wit-beast.”
“He didn’t!?!” She was aghast.
“Not…” I sighed, “He came to me once while we were camping and offered to mourn together, to bear the burden of the loss together. But I… well, I chose loneliness. I know I was the cause of my own loneliness, because I wanted to live a life free of duties and responsibilities and that freedom cost me my relationships. I knew it, and I told him I’d meet him back at the fire instead of mourning together. I was an idiot,” I said blandly.
“Not an idiot, dear heart. You were in mourning, and the one you were accustomed to relying on was gone. You did not remember how to lean on others,” Lacey said kindly.
I felt a sudden appreciation for her and, oddly, for myself. Here I was, leaning on others. What a strange mirror, to be faced with such an obvious sign of growth. Was this a product of experience or the return of my memories, I could only guess.
Patience dabbed her face a bit more, then steeled herself. “Well, what happened next?”
Once more her face was carefully still when I spoke of the rumors I suffered from related to Lord Golden’s preference in bed partners, including when Dutiful himself asked me about it. How a guard harassed me in the steams, how one of Golden’s followers bumped me repeatedly. How, following the arrival of ambassadors from Bingtown, I met one Jek waiting in Lord Golden’s rooms, and of Amber and the conversation they shared while I spied.
“I’m not proud of it!” I exclaimed to Patience’s anger.
“He was your friend! Why would you spy rather than ask him what it all meant after the fact?”
“In that moment, I doubted his friendship. He knew everything about me and never told me where he had been or what he had been doing for fifteen years. Yet this woman knew of me. I felt like perhaps the life he lived away from me was his true life and the friends he made there were his true friends, and he returned to me only when he had to and turned himself into whoever he needed to be to convince me to do what he needed me to do. A Catalyst to use rather than a friend he trusted. Who he truly was felt a stranger to me.” I sulked, my sense of betrayal still lingered. We had never spoken of it beyond our Quarrel. I had apologized for my words, but we had never spoken of why I said them. I did not know myself why I had said them.
“According to you, he carved your likeness into a ship’s figurehead. That does not sound to like something one would do for a stranger,” Lacey pointed out reasonably.
“He didn’t even ask me! He knows my preference for privacy, and he chose to carve my face onto a ship that travels who knows where! Can you imagine, the Witted Bastard sailing up and down the coast, on display for anyone to see? He knows how much I hate being on display.”
“Did you tell him this?” Patience asked kindly.
I released a pent-up breath. “No. He hid from me the entire time the Bingtowners were there, and I built a horrible story of his betrayal in my mind. Jek was always nudging me in the hallways and talking about the importance of being honest about some secrets. Hap literally walked away from me when I tried to talk with him. Starling practically cornered me and yelled at me for trading my royal life for one of ignominy being fucked by a foreign nobleman. And Chade demanding endlessly for Nettle come to court to learn to Skill. So, I decided, in my foolishness, to confront him about it after an exhausting night keeping Nettle out of my dreams and doused on elfbark.”
“You didn’t!” Patience was horrified, and I could not blame her.
“I regretted it all immediately afterwards, but I could not unsay those words,” At some point, my fists had clenched, and my eyes had closed. Would that I could go back in time to change what I had done.
“Well, what did you say, then?” Patience said primly. “I’m sure it can’t be as bad as you remember it to be.”
I opened my reddened eyes to look dolefully at her, “In this case, Patience, I am certain it is exactly as bad as I remember it being.” And I told her.
The room was silent afterwards.
“It is said that we are often harshest with those we love most, as we know they will keep loving us afterwards. Because we feel safe with them,” Lacey offered.
“Perhaps that is true, but afterwards we stopped talking except to snipe one another. Chade likened it to being trapped between two angry dogs. I tried several times to make amends, but he would have none of it,” I hated that my voice sounded childish and petulant. “I knew it was my fault, and I tried to fix it. I truly did. But it was as though I ceased being of any importance or relevance to him at all. And that in turn felt like it confirmed my worst fears. My best friend was a stranger to me and viewed me as unimportant beyond someone he was required by fate to use.”
We all let that sit for awhile, until Patience released me from that thought, “Well, I assume that’s not the last we will hear of him. How about you tell us the rest?”
“And then Dutiful commanded I protect Civil, and I just ran inside like a fool. I freed Civil but was stabbed in the side, and I managed to take down Laudwine, his two lackeys, a small dog, and finally Laudwine’s horse, then I collapsed in the street from bloodloss,” I said it as though I were commenting on the weather, but my mothers’ faces grew pale, and Patience once more insisted on seeing the scar from the wound that almost killed me. I described how Kettricken and Chade fought over how to best retrieve me and how propriety won out. I still felt bitter about that and made no efforts to disguise my sense of abandonment. Patience wanted to walk out and yell at Kettricken for giving into Chade’s advice, but again I held her back.
“By the time I was retrieved from jail, I was near dead. I remember Chade trying to encourage Dutiful to fix me with the Skill, but the boy only knew how to reach for my mind rather than into my body. It was the Fool who managed to find his way. Then we all connected: Chade’s knowledge of internal organs, Dutiful’s purpose, and Thick’s power, channeled through the Fool and into me. Thus our coterie was formed. But they went too far.”
“Too far? How do you mean? You lived!” Patience exclaimed, clearly baffled.
I shook my head slowly, “They healed me in my entirety, Patience, and all energy in my body was exhausted, sent towards healing every old wound I had. I woke up looking like a skeleton, but without any scars whatsoever.”
“But you have scars,” Lacey pointed out idly, “Your mother has insisted on you showing them to us.”
“After some time healing, Chade and I worked together to draw the most obvious scars back onto my skin. I couldn’t come out of that room looking like an entirely different person, but I’m getting ahead of myself. The first time I woke up, Kettricken was tending to me herself…”
I spoke of Jinna’s disgust over my killing three men, how she considered it a wolf’s actions. “I genuinely thought we had reached an understanding between us. Her hedge-witch magic could easily be turned against her, but no matter how I explained the Wit to her, she would not budge in her belief that I killed those men because I was part-wolf. It did not help that I could not tell her that I was protecting Civil, but still. I think she thought I went to that house to murder some people to please the wolf part of me, and the purse was an excuse.”
“At least she showed you her true colors,” Patience harrumphed.
“At least! It hurt, Patience. She had provided Hap a place to live and helped take care of him, and all the while I thought we were friends. But no, I think she thought she was doing me a kindness for even treating me like a human instead of some evil Witted monster,” I felt quite small in that moment.
“You’re a good boy, Tom, and a good man. She doesn’t deserve the wolf in you.” Patience said loyally. Relief washed over me.
My mother was worth more than a hundred Jinna’s.
I told them of the Fool’s reticence to continue being Prophet and Catalyst, and his certainty that he would die on Aslevjal. I did not grant my mothers time to respond but instead pushed forward to my immediate panicked attempt to Chade and our strategy to prevent the Fool from even getting to Aslevjal. As I tried to move on to negotiations with the Witted leaders and Web, Patience interrupted me.
“You can’t simply not allow us to comment on that, Tom. Your best friend the Prophet and jester, who you’d been at odds with for months, was certain he was going to die, and you tattle on him?” She sounded aghast.
“Would you have done anything different? He was certain he was going to die. He was terrified. But he didn’t need to go dig up a buried dragon, so why in the world would he come just to die?”
“This is like your reticence to allow Nighteyes to die on his own accord,” Lacey noted wisely.
“Nighteyes was old, and we knew it would happen soon. Any way the Fool could die would not have been natural,” I argued stubbornly.
“Do you truly think you did right, Tom?” Patience asked, an offering of understanding.
I growled. I wanted to pace, but instead I only wrangled my teacup in my hands. “No, I don’t,” I admitted at last. “I don’t understand how he thought he could tell me with certainty of his own death and then not expect me to do anything. The man sees the future, and somehow his magic prevented him from seeing I would behave in that way.”
“Truly? He had no idea you would react in this way?” Patience sounded impressed.
“None whatsoever. I blindsided him completely. He admitted as much to me later.”
Patience tapped a finger on her lips idly, “Perhaps that was why he refused to listen to your apologies after your quarrel. He thought if you stayed angry with him, you would not believe his prophesy or, worse, not care at all.”
I was stricken by this idea, “Not care? He’s my best friend!”
“Perhaps by his reasoning, you had proven yourself able to deeply wound your best friend. And you do have a history of not believing his prophesies,” Lacey pointed out, rocking slowly in her chair.
I growled again, unable to deny that.
Patience was clearly pleased when I described my apology to the Fool, though she was as discomforted as I was when he joined our Skill lessons and, in my opinion, deliberately misunderstood my request and placed his fingers upon my wrist in front of everyone.
“It felt like a private thing that he chose to parade in front of them. I could not have been more mortified if he threw me down onto the table and kissed me in front of them. That I was distraught and he was unbothered made it even worse,” I complained with my head in my hands. I still did not understand how as private a person as he could do such an intimate thing in front of others.
“And the coterie, they were equally upset?” Lacey asked kindly, blithely ignoring my example.
“Not… as such. Chade was angry at the Fool, and he and Dutiful were both upset by my reaction. I don’t think they understood what exactly happened. But Thick was sobbing. I tried to explain how terrifying it was, but the Fool just said he wasn’t scared of such a complete joining with me. After a time, Thick and Dutiful left and then the Fool and Chade fought over me like dogs over a stick. It was very uncomfortable to be the stick.”
“I can imagine,” Patience said dryly. “Chade I believe, but I had thought your Fool knew better than to treat you like that.”
“That man is dramatic. They both are. Perhaps they needed to have it out over you, and you just happened to be there,” Lacey said kindly.
“I would rather they not have had it out at all,” I grumbled. “I’m not a weapon, but Chade called me a sword, the sword he made,” I was still irked by being so clearly named and claimed as a weapon.
Patience harrumphed and folded her arms across herself. “Well, we know you chose to let the dragon live and that by their accounting, your Fool won. Let us continue.”
Patience wanted to see Chivalry’s sword. She insisted on seeing it immediately. I felt more uncomfortable at the prospect of moving the sword than of showing my mothers the dusty spy ways I traveled. I led my mothers through the spyways to the workroom, which received only a cursory glance before her eyes spotted the sword. She demanded I wield it and hold it in various stances, complimenting it all the while but refusing to touch it herself. Lacey, meanwhile, looked around the workroom with interest, though she touched nothing. I replaced the sword at last and we returned to their chambers to resume my story. They did not ask how the secret entrance opened, and I did not show them.
Patience was delighted at my daughter’s abilities with Skill-dreams, and I described the way she readily calmed Thick so that we could all survive the journey. When Dutiful discovered Nettle, however, she only shook her head.
“Of course he would be upset. The boy was lonely for so long. Your daughter’s childhood prohibited his own,” Was all she said.
“Do you think I made the wrong decision, then?” I demanded, aghast.
“In this regard, there was no correct decision, Fitz. One child or the other would have lost either way,” Lacey said mournfully.
“We gave him two good years at Tradeford!” Patience declared. “He ran with the stableboy, remember? Their friendship did not outlast distance, but it was good for a time.” And I was glad my son had at least that much.
I spoke of the Fool and I awkwardly rebuilding of our friendship on Aslevjal, and she gasped aloud when I described how he managed to pin Civil.
“But he didn’t harm the lad?” Patience asked.
“That boy could have used a whack upside the head,” Lacey mentioned idly.
“The Fool is not violent, but even I was surprised by the ease with which he claimed victory,” I was still impressed.
“Civil’s reaction seems disproportionate to what occurred,” Patience said ponderously, sharing a glance with Lacey. I explained our realization about the Piebalds and his lady friend Sydel. Still, Patience shook her head, “That might be enough to explain his anger at Lord Golden, but not enough to cause him to share rumors of the man’s supposed proclivities, including popping into the tent as he did. No, if he had feared for Swift genuinely, he would not have let the boy out of his sight. It seems almost as though he was trying to prove to himself that your Fool was the worst sort of man, to try to seduce a ten-year-old boy.”
Lacey looked at me then, then glanced away. “Perhaps he thought your Fool was attractive and was trying to find reasons to find him repulsive instead,” Her words were at odds with her tone, so ridiculous the concept and sensible the delivery.
“You can’t mean that,” I said firmly.
Patience tilted her head, “It does fit, Tom. Why else would young Civil be so intent on finding your Fool in such a despicable situation? He wanted to prove to himself and everyone else that your man seduces young boys,” She shook her head slowly. “No, Tom. I believe Civil needed to demonstrate your man to be repulsive, perhaps to convince himself.”
“The Fool isn’t my man,” I pointed out weakly.
“Of course not, dear. Patience misspoke. We know he isn’t,” Lacey patted my hand comfortingly, but I could not help but feel they did not believe me.
“So what happened next? Your poor bruised Fool successfully defeated the young upstart, and you retreated to his tent to discuss Civil’s concerns about Sydel. What next?” Patience asked.
“We got into a fight about my not accepting his death. I told him that I would likely be dead if he was too, so he needed to stop forcing my acceptance of it,” I scowled at the thought. Patience nodded. Then I grew uncomfortable, shifting in my seat. “He asked me to stay the night in his tent. He missed me.”
“He did, did he?” Lacey’s eyes flashed, and I remembered how ferocious she had been. Her ferocity had not diminished despite her crooked fingers.
“He did,” I said cautiously.
“So, did you?” Patience’s impatience lent a snap to her words.
“Of course I did,” I sighed. “Of course I did…”
“And?”
“And what?”
“Don’t be obtuse, Tom.”
I thought back to that night and my mind shied away from it. We had uttered truths and found what comfort we could in one another. Then in the morning, I acted like nothing had changed between us. We had not kissed, I reminded myself firmly, trying to hold back my blush. The Fool also acted like nothing had changed, and that had certainly not hurt at all. It was better that way.
“I slept poorly with strange amorphous nightmares. All of us with the Skill did,” I said evasively. Patience let out an exasperated sigh and opened her mouth to demand more, but Lacey placed a hand on her arm, holding her back. I waited, feeling like a rabbit watching a predator. Would she leap?
“Continue,” She said at last.
Patience barely flinched when I told her how Peottre poisoned me with his so-called courage cake then tried to vomit it up. She only shook her head.
“What?” I asked, confused.
“Fitz, your Fool said this was one of the few timelines that you survived. I don’t know how anymore, I genuinely don’t,” She took my hand gently as she said it to soothe the implication.
“Well, I knew it wouldn’t kill me, otherwise they wouldn’t offer it to Dutiful and Chade,” I said hotly.
“I know. I just…” She sighed and shook her head once more.
Lacey spoke up then, “But you are alive and here and reasonably well. That is what matters.”
“That is what matters,” Patience agreed, “Well, tell me how the poison treated you.”
“Like I had ants on my skin, lightning in my bones, and self-hatred in my heart,” I said honestly. She closed her eyes and held them closed for a time. I waited, and Lacey made tea.
Patience took her time to settle herself, drank a sip of tea, and looked at me once more. “I’m ready. Let’s have it, Fitz. Tell me.” Her voice was resigned, but her eyes were alert.
“For what it’s worth, I am also very tired of getting poisoned,” I started.
“I should hope so, Fitz. I would be tired after the first one” She said wearily. I wondered then if that instance had come and gone. A question for later.
Patience had become far less reactive as my tale proceeded, and I could tell it wearied her. As though to offset this, Lacey became more reactive. They both insisted I continue. Both were highly surprised to Dutiful’s command that I be true to my heart, but she did not want to linger. She insisted I keep going. She nodded along until I described how the Fool and I crashed through the glacier, when she gasped and grabbed Lacey’s arm. Still, she insisted I continue.
In turn, I insisted on pausing once I spoke of how the Fool and I slept by the dragon. It was not too early, but we were all exhausted. I had the afternoon free on the following day, and I resolved to tell the next portion without pause. Then we would have the conversation I had put off until the end over dinner. Then I would have a full day to think, then return to my Fool the morning after. I held firm in my decision, though I could see her anxiousness. She wanted to finish the story and reach the present at last.
We would get there soon.
Patience cried the entirety of the following afternoon. She did so quietly and softly, her eyes fixed on me. She did not speak, and I did not need her too. She cried as I described the Pale Woman and the way she treated my Fool and me. She cried when I described my attack on this woman, and she cried harder when I described Burrich setting my shoulder. She cried through the laying of the bombs, the battle with the dragons, Swift’s bravery, and Burrich fatal injury. On and on I went, and I sensed how I destroyed her small hope when I found the Fool’s body.
“You said he lives still?” Lacey asked, eyes hard. She was the rock my mother flung herself against, tears soaking into her shoulder. I nodded. “Go, bring us to his life.”
And so I did. We all cried tears of joy at my Fool’s survival. I did not describe in detail how the Fool reacted to being alive once more, only to say he struggled with it much as I did after my death, though his death was more powerless, and he did not have a wolf to retreat to. They understood.
When I described the bargain the Fool had made with Girl-on-a-Dragon, they cried in great sobbing breaths of relief. Then I described our return through the pillars, the Fool’s comradery with Prilkop, and my own return to Buckkeep with Thick.
“That brings us to now?” Patience asked, desperation on her voice.
“Yes, we reached the present at last. My Fool is with this Prilkop, I am here serving my Queen, and I plan to return the day after tomorrow to bring him back here,” I looked forward to my return greatly, but I was resolved to keep to my original plan. Distracted by the thought of him, I Skilled my Fool to find him tired, bored, and experiencing the pain one feels while healing, so I sent him my love and felt weary affection come back. Then he sent a feeling of curiosity and anticipation, and I responded with two quick pulses of excitement. I hoped he would understand my meaning.
“Tom? I swear Lacey, we get to the end and he refuses to even listen to us,” Patience said irritably.
“Sorry, I was Skilling the Fool to see how he was. He’s tired and bored,” I smiled at that. Tired and bored was so much better than dead.
Patience and Lacey exchanged a look then. “Well, that’s good,” Patience said awkwardly.
“Yes, very.”
“How about we have dinner first, then talk about what it was you wanted to talk about?” Lacey offered kindly.
I nodded and we spoke about inconsequential things until dinner arrived.
Chapter 3: To truncate oneself for love
Notes:
I had hoped to do a double-post yesterday, but this chapter needed more editing that I thought!
Enjoy :)
Chapter Text
Somehow, I had managed to tell the seventeen-year-long tale to Patience and Lacey in five and a half days. To do so, I had necessarily abbreviated the parts that were of no real relevance to me, though Chade and Kettricken would have required much more detail if this were a formal report. But for my purposes, those details would have only slowed us down. I had a deadline to keep and a question to answer.
Namely, what would I do about Molly?
When I first regained my forged away memories, I had declared that would take Molly back. I had been convinced that I should do so, but those were the emotions of the seventeen-year-old boy I had been and needed to be tempered by the thirty-four-year-old man I was. I could not determine if that desire was either due to Burrich’s death, or the very strong reminder of how I felt seventeen years ago, or because it was truly what I wanted now that I was in full possession of myself once more. I refused to reclaim Molly unless she was truly who I wanted to be with. After the years of pain she suffered from loving me, she deserved that much.
The opportunity to recount my life to those who had no decision-making power over it was novel and terrifyingly honest. Normally I reported as it was owed to someone in charge, but I had instead told my story to those I wished to know it. Such a telling left me feeling simultaneously exhausted and refreshed, and I felt as though it had reframed my understanding of my own life. Often when I thought of my past, I focused on the negative. I would examine each poor decision and place it carefully into a bag attached to my feet, so desperate was I to drown myself.
It was difficult to view my life as a series of tragically poor decisions when Patience laughed more than she cried, and she hit me with a fan to stop me from wallowing on mistakes I viewed to be irredeemable. But when I was truly distraught, my mother and Lacey grieved with me. Grieving together did not lighten the load, but it helped me feel less alone in my grief. There were times when they struggled, and a few times we needed to pause to allow one or more of us to stabilize. Despite all this, they persisted through the tangled web of my life to the tattered ends of my present.
So, on the sixth evening, we had dinner and spoke about nothing important. Then, dishes emptied and stacked, I sat before Lacey and Patience, tea in hand, and dragged the next topic of conversation out of my mouth. The conversation needed to be had, whether I wanted to have it or not.
“I would like to return to a question you asked me earlier. You asked what I thought of Kettle’s truth, that I loved not Molly but instead that time in our life when we were together.” My words stopped as I surveyed the paths before me. I did not know how to continue. Should I ask the question outright or stumble my way through my thoughts on the matter and ask their opinion? Undoubtedly I would be stumbling either way.
Patience saved me by responding to the implied question, “You never forget your first love, I don’t think. That first time, you give your heart away with such enthusiasm and grieve its return, but you never get all of it back. Molly’s heart still has a place for you, I suspect.” I knew she meant Burrich.
“But when your husband died, you did not go to reclaim that piece of your heart from Burrich, even though your returned to Buckkeep,” I pointed out, trying to find common threads between our situations. It felt unkind to say, but still it helped me to have some situation to compare with my own.
Her laugh exploded from her like a crow’s caw, so sudden and sharp it was. “No, I most definitely did not. Could you imagine?” She giggled at Lacey, who smiled softly at her.
“If status or gossip did not matter, do you think you would have?” I pressed her, but before I even finished asking, she was already slowly shaking her head.
“No, I would not have. We had changed too much. It is not only that I loved that time of my life, but I also loved who he was at that time, and he loved who I was at that time. And even though you may view us as unchangeable, and I know he viewed himself as unchanging, neither of us were the same as we were.” She said gently. Then, she asked me gently, her voice a calm breeze through a meadow, “Perhaps you should ask instead what you loved about Molly and what she loved about you, and whether those things changed in seventeen years?”
I felt as though I was standing on that scree slope in the mountains once more and the rocks had started sliding. What might be a breeze for her was a gust for me, so I had no way to fight back against it and right myself as the scree slowly slid downhill. I let myself fall.
I loved Molly’s fire, strength, and ferocity, and I had no doubt she still had those attributes is plenty. From Nettle, it seemed Molly’s fire was one contained in a fireplace, blazing warmly and steadily, flaring only when a new log was added. Was that close enough to the blaze of our youth? I also knew Molly to be strong: she formed the foundation of safety and love for each of her seven children. I loved her ferocity even as I feared it, for I knew she would be honest with me even when it hurt.
But what had Molly loved of me? Newboy, who didn’t talk much of his life and played pranks, or Fitz, who disappeared and reappeared without notice and declared his love with abandon? To Burrich, she called my declarations lies, and perhaps in her eyes they were. After all, I had refused to abandon my King for her, and she hated my decision. She loved Newboy and Fitz, but the bonds of FitzChivalry Farseer had been too much for her.
I briefly considered whether Tom Badgerlock would be enough for her, but I rejected that thought immediately. Tom was a forged man, so terrified by the consequences of his actions that he failed to consider the consequences of his inaction. To be Tom and not FitzChivalry, I would be cutting off parts of myself to fit who she needed me to be.
And perhaps there was the heart of the issue: In our youth, I trusted her with so little of myself and none of my secrets. I did not trust her with the parts of myself that I feared she would not accept, so I hid them from her and offered her only what she would find most agreeable.
The scree slope became a cliff, and I was plummeting.
I recalled my quarrel with the Fool, where I pressed him repeatedly, demanding he explain to me who he was. He had claimed that words were too small to contain a person, and he feared that my heart was too small and too unwilling to contain all of him. For me to love him, I required he cut off parts of himself, and he told me he would never ask the same of me. He loved me for all of myself, and he knew me for all of myself, but he refused to maim himself so that could say the same. To make my life easier, he chose to hide those aspects of himself that he knew I would not understand. He offered me only the facets that were most agreeable.
With that realization, I was shocked Molly had ever let me into her bed. I had shouted at the Fool until he collapsed at the very thought that he had kept secrets from me. Molly knew that I kept secrets from her, and while she balked under the limitations, she invited me back again and again. She left only when she had to choose between Nettle and me.
The Fool loved me without limits. More, he loved Nighteyes. I had never introduced Molly to Nighteyes for fear she would make me choose between her and my wolf. For his part, my wolf was certain that she would not accept him, and he dreaded and feared going to her. Even if Molly had accepted him, I was certain she would have struggled with it, perhaps the same way Starling had struggled, with a confused shrug but no real understanding.
If Molly would have struggled with Nighteyes, it seemed impossible that she would accept the Fool as a part of my life. Would she require I cut him away or would she simply turn her head and ignore him? I tried to imagine a life without Molly, and it was painful but acceptable. I had done it for seventeen years. A life without my Fool was unacceptable: it would be a truncation of my soul. I would be half-forged all over again.
I would not abandon my King for Molly, but I would defy death for my Fool.
With that realization, I wondered: Was I selling Molly too short? Perhaps my fears of her rejection were unfounded: our bond had never been tested in such a way. The closest exception was when Molly subtly asked me what I would do if she was with child, and I could not conceptualize the possibility. My imagination had been too small to consider leaving the Farseers to raise a hypothetical child of my own. When this child ceased being hypothetical, she took herself away rather than telling me directly.
Would she react as Jinna did if I told her how many men I had killed? Would she blame the wolf in me rather than the man? Would she despise the man?
My thoughts landed on some sort of ledge, stabilized at last. I found myself practically doubled over in the chair with the heels of my palms digging into my eye sockets almost painfully. Once aware, I immediately straightened my back, and the cracking of the bones in my back revealed how long I had been in that position. I rubbed my eyes then opened them to see Patience quietly trimming a plant while Lacey read a book on the sofa.
“I think the real question is, would Molly be willing to accept me in my entirety, rather than the breadcrumbs of myself that I offered her when we were sixteen? Would she listen to me tell the story of my life since our parting over five days without hiding any of my secrets or shameful acts? Would she love me afterwards?” My voice sounded dead, with barely an inflection as I spoke. I suspected I knew the answer, but I wanted a second opinion if one existed. I tried to set my face to one as devoid of emotion as my voice, but I am certain I failed.
“Oh Fitz,” Was all Patience said. When I raised an eyebrow at her, she shook her head, “It’s impossible to know without trying.” Her words were slow and speculative, and I thought she tried to maintain hope for me.
“Will she accept my relationship with the Fool? I intend to help him recover. I will not pull him back from death then abandon him as Chade did to me,” I shied back from the thought, and redirected the conversation to a question that might have an answer, “I also have responsibilities in Buckkeep. I agreed to be the Skillmaster until a replacement can be found or trained, and I am dedicated to ensuring a smooth transition of power to Dutiful. Kettricken has named me Sacrifice, and I have accepted this title,” I could see comprehension on their faces when I told them such. “But Molly did not understand my loyalty to the Farseers when I was a bastard. I don’t know if she would understand when I am a shadow king, temporary though the position may be,” I admitted.
Perhaps this was the closest moment in our past that best demonstrated the likelihood she would accept me.
They returned to the table as I spoke. Patience sat down with a plop, while Lacey lowered herself more cautiously. Lacey took my mother’s hand and squeezed it. “Our Molly always had a jealous streak in her,” Lacey was apologetic.
Patience lifted her head slightly, placing it on her other hand. “If Molly struggled with your loyalty to the Farseers in the past, it is unlikely to change in the present,” she said kindly.
I felt a shameful flood of relief then, that I had such an easy answer at hand. Like the Fool, I refused to hack off parts of myself for the love of another, and my suspicion that she would require such a sacrifice was confirmed by those who knew her. In that moment, I knew I would not drag Molly through a five-day long report of my missing years. I would not try to win her back to me. I would tell her what needed telling for Nettle, and we would figure out a way to parent our child together, as much as Molly or Nettle would allow.
I chose, in that moment, to allow who I was to free me rather than bind me. I would not truncate myself for Molly’s love.
“Thank you,” I told them. But my body started to buzz with energy, and I near shook with it. Anxiously, I could not help but ask, “I wouldn’t be betraying her by not trying to win her? I wouldn’t be betraying Burrich?” My knee bounced. I kept it away from the table so it would not jostle Patience’s tea set, but that only seemed to make the movement more obvious. I inspected my teacup with unnecessary enthusiasm.
Lacey slowly reached out and placed her hand on my knee, slowing it and forcing me to look at her, “No dear. You are not obligated to try to woo a woman seventeen years after you last saw her simply because her deceased husband asked you to take care of her.”
“But how do I stay true to my promise to Burrich without… without pursuing Molly?” Dread rolled off me like mist from the ocean. It was noxious stuff.
“You tell her Burrich asked you to help and that you’ll help as much as you’re able.”
“As simple as that?” That sounded doable. Surely my clumsy mouth could not butcher such a simple statement.
“As simple as that.”
The following morning, I woke in the workroom, Gilly fleeing my throat just as I returned to consciousness. I had stayed up late the previous night, for despite reassurances from Patience and Lacey, I still could not shake my belief that by not pursuing Molly, I was betraying someone.
I had written pages and pages last night, circling around the topic of whom exactly I was betraying. The closest I could determine was I felt I betrayed the man I had been, the one who endlessly prodded the emptiness where my pained memories of Molly had lived. If these memories were so agonizing that I cast them out, surely that meant the boy who sacrificed them to the dragon would want the man I was to pursue Molly today.
But I was not that boy anymore, and the man had suffered a gaping hole in his mind, because the boy could not accept that she had chosen someone else. By not going back to her now, was I failing to pay tribute to the man who suffered for the boy’s mistake? Did I owe it to him? To either of them?
I remembered Nighteyes reminding me not to roll in the carcass of my past, not to hold onto pain. I had denied him then, arguing that it was a betrayal to Molly to forget her. But in truth I had betrayed her the moment I put those memories into Girl-on-a-Dragon. I had been left behind with a scab of excruciating emptiness that I picked at and worried over instead. Only now that I remembered truly what had happened could I truly allow myself to let go and stop rolling in a carcass long dead.
Wolf-like, I refused to be bound by the expectations of who I used to be. I instead chose to embrace who I was in that moment, and that man did not want Molly anymore, not in the same way.
With a flourish of a quill, I wrote that it was my decision whether I chose to pursue her. Not Burrich’s. Not hers. Not a seventeen-year-old boy’s. Mine.
Decision made, I had consigned my pages to the fire and slept in my clothes.
Once awake, I longed for a window to judge time by certain I was running late to breakfast with Kettricken. I briefly reached through my Skill-link to the Fool to see how he was doing, as I had been started doing morning, night, and whenever I had a spare moment. He may have felt our connection during our years apart, but I refused to let it weaken to the point I could not find it. He felt weary, but I felt a rush of appreciation through our bond. I sent a wave of anticipation and excitement back, tempered with some caution. Soon, I would see him. But not today.
I noted with some dissatisfaction that I had once again slept through someone tidying the chamber and bringing my breakfast. Surely the most secret room in all Buckkeep would be more private. Disgruntled, I completed my morning ablutions and shaved fast enough to cut myself thrice. I rushed through the maze to Kettricken’s rooms for our morning meeting over breakfast, then we Skilled to Dutiful and Chade. They were traveling to meet once more with the Hetgurd before they would finally make their way back home. Our meeting ran longer than usual as I would leave first thing the following day for Aslevjal, and Thick would take over. It was late morning by the time all of us were satisfied with the plan for the next several days.
As we stood to part for the day, Kettricken seized me with a hug, squeezing tightly. I cautiously returned it, “Are you well?”
She reached out to brush a lock of hair from my eyes, placing it behind my ear. “You’ll bring the Fool home? You’ll bring him back?”
“Of course I will,” I was puzzled. Where else would he go?
“Good. I miss him,” She said simply. “Is there any way I can aid his return? That I can help him heal?”
I considered my frustrations earlier that morning, “Perhaps it would be best if he healed in Lord Golden’s old rooms. They are more out of the way than Chade’s tower room, which is a major crossing point in the walls,” I proposed.
“Of course,” She nodded once, then again, “His creditors left those rooms practically bare and I have left them alone. It will be simple to prepare them for his arrival.”
“Subtly, if you can. I would prefer to maintain them myself until he is ready for servants. I would rather no one know he was there, if we can manage it.” I think my voice revealed that I was not looking forward to the tasks. If my time as Tom Badgerlock had taught me nothing, I had learned I was a terrible servant.
She pondered it a moment, “I have a servant, Prudence, who is very discreet. She is bonded with a jay. I will assign her to include Lord Golden’s old rooms upon request.” She gave me instructions on how to request Prudence’s assistance, then she parted to go to a Shoaks-Rippon trade meeting. We had decided that I had little to add to that meeting, so I could instead take some time to prepare for my departure.
I returned to the workroom to ensure my basket was ready. Kettricken had managed to find apricots, and I had located a small bottle of the apricot brandy from the supply Lord Golden had left me. I reviewed my supplies, then checked again with the Fool. He was well, though bored. Boredom was good.
After some consideration, I reached towards Chade, uncertain of my welcome. We had scarcely spoken outside our daily conversation with Kettricken and Dutiful, and I could not tell if that was by accident or if he were upset with me for my proverbial crown.
Chade, do you have time to think through a puzzle with me?
The answer came immediately. Better think through a puzzle then stare at this abominable ocean. What is it? I sensed his desire to be back in Buckkeep able to rebuild his messy web and preside over it once more. Perhaps a puzzle to assemble would be close enough.
Who is the Black Man? This Prilkop. He comes from the same land as the Fool, they speak the same language, and he claims to have been present when Icefyre wedged himself in the glacier.
Do you think he lies? Chade seemed enthused by the question. Perhaps a centuries-old prophet would be a worthy adversary for his talents, I considered idly.
There are some inconsistencies in the things he said, and I can’t tell if it’s a translation issue or if he’s being dishonest. When Thick and I first met him, he said that he stayed on Aslevjal because he failed in his goal, and it was the last place he saw a vision of himself. But then, when I asked him why the Fool changed color while the Pale Woman did not, he said that often the Whites who speak much and do nothing stay white, while those who change the world change the color of their skin along with it. The darker the color, the greater the change. The incongruity between the two statements had irked me, and my feeling of discontent had only worsened as I repeated them.
And the man is, as noted, black. The Fool was only golden from waking the stone dragons to save the Six Duchies, and whatever he else did for fifteen years. I assume his hand was at work in Bingtown with Tintaglia. This Prilkop must have changed the world quite a lot to be black. Chade sounded thoughtful as he inspected the puzzle of the Black Man. Tell me of the other times you met him.
Well. He took the Fool’s honey jar the first night on the beach, and he only returned it after we released Icefyre, when Thick and I camped on the beach. I thought harder. When the Pale Woman tossed me out, I wandered the glacier for some time until I saw him with a lantern, and he led me back to camp…. Oh! The Fool and I saw him in the Pale Woman’s city. We were wandering around lost and hungry, then he was suddenly there in the distance, and we chased him. He disappeared when we ran into the Pale Woman’s patrol.
I sensed Chade briefly waving away someone, pulling his attention away from me, then it seemed he went to the ship railing. He never spoke to you before you freed Icefyre?
No. If he is anything like the Fool, it’s possible he didn’t want to talk with us and change something by accident.
Chade’s tone was derisive. If he wanted to change nothing by accident, he would have stayed well away from the two of you. Or he would have spoken to you and asked how he could help you, so that it was your decision what changes he wrought. No, I suspect he revealed himself to you on purpose. Chade pondered, and I could sense his fixation on an idea that he did not yet reveal to me.
It’s possible I would have died had he not appeared both times. I acknowledged this with some degree of frustration. I felt supremely discomforted at the idea of owing the man anything. The silence hung between us, though it seemed as Chade considered the implications of my words, the fixation growing sharper.
I jumped when he spoke again. You are certain he was not allied with the Pale Woman?
I was struck dumb. He stole food from her, I think. He… spoke against her. He described how he thought she was the prophet he was waiting for, but then how he became disillusioned with her. It sounded weak even to me.
He sounded irritated. Yes fine. But, if I understand Prophets and Catalysts correctly, he was waiting mostly for you, since you are the one who can do anything. You came with the Fool, whereas this Pale Woman was effectively useless at doing anything directly to Icefyre. You were the one who chose to free Icefyre rather than kill him, who saw the ramifications of a Farseer killing a dragon. She tried to push you with the fool’s survival to do the opposite.
You’re saying that her ineffectiveness at doing anything may have meant more to Prilkop than her goal? The idea had merit.
Perhaps. He only told you his goals after you had chosen to save the dragon. Did you see any evidence that he sabotaged her operation? That he tried to stop her? At my silence, he continued. It seems to me as though they formed some sort of truce. If I were the Pale Woman living on a desolate glacier capturing OutIslanders to feed to a stone dragon, I would happily have captured a centuries-old White Prophet who disagreed with me, even if he did nothing to stop me. He would have filled the dragon far faster than some tortured sailors. At the very least, I would have gotten information on Icefyre, since he supposedly was there when the dragon put himself into the glacier.
As he built his argument, I began to move. I put on warmer layers and shoved more clothes for myself and the Fool into a canvas bag with shoulder straps. I had planned to be more selective later that afternoon, choosing garments I thought he might appreciate, but all he really needed was to be warm. I strapped on my sword and grabbed the basket and ran through the walls. I hoped to get to the pillar fast enough.
Fitz? Are you well? Chade asked me, worry coloring his thoughts at my silence.
I left the Fool with Prilkop during his changing illness. I need to get him now. I can’t wait until tomorrow. If what you suspect is correct and he was allied with the Pale Woman, then my Fool is in danger.
Chade’s silence worried me, and I was certain I would only receive a rebuke for my ignored duties. When he responded, I was surprised by the compassion in his voice. Of course, boy. It’s good that you planned extra time for your return to Aslevjal. Do you want me to pass on cancellations for you through Thick? My wave of gratitude almost dropped him to his knees. Communicating cancellations to Thick often took far longer than penning a letter and passing it to a page. Oh fine, what are they? He sounded amused.
I enumerated the meetings that I had planned to spy on for Kettricken, and I would need to cancel the dinner introducing Hap to Patience. A message to the Queen and my mother would suffice, and both messages could be short.
I’ll handle it, lad. Let me know when you have the Fool in hand. Safe travels. And he severed the connection, leaving me to focus on my task.
I quickly reached to the Fool through our link and could sense amusement possibly in some conversation or other with Prilkop, I thought jealously. It seemed like he was enjoying himself. That made one of us. I sent him nothing back that would reveal my imminent return. If this Prilkop was who I feared, I was sure he had warped my Fool’s mind so that he would refuse to return with me to Buckkeep.
Chapter 4: The Lies of Prilkop the Black
Notes:
Chapter length moving forward should be a bit more stable, ranging from 6-9k! Of the 18 chapters for Act 1, chapter 1 is the shortest and 2 is the longest.
This was written with events of the Fitz and the Fool trilogy in mind, but I would not say it spoils them. All information here can be figured out or speculated from the contents of Fool's Fate alone with a highly suspicious mindset. If you are concerned about it, skip the paragraphs between "Several reasons" and "Please, Fool."
Hope you enjoy! :)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Travel through the Skill-pillars felt instantaneous, and I felt only a little nauseous upon arrival. I wondered why this time was so different than the others only to scold myself for forgetfulness. Nighteyes and I had chased Will through a portal and emerged the other end ready to fight a dozen men. I brushed aside my curiosity as idle fancy, promising myself I would think more on it later. I had a Fool to rescue.
There was warm air circulating the pillar room, and as I descended, I saw that the ice that enveloped the city had started melting. That did not bode well for the Skill scrolls. This felt like Prilkop’s doing, but it was not clear whether he was righting a wrong or trying to efficiently destroy any information left in this city. I would deal with the scrolls later as well. I had a Fool to rescue.
I navigated out of the city with surprising ease. As I reached the entrance, I looked suspiciously at the opening. I remembered thinking it would need daily maintenance so as not to be frozen over. I considered the well-worn path, obvious even at night. These did not sit well with me either but were concerns to be dealt with later. I had a Fool to rescue.
I made my way down the well-worn path to Prilkop’s door, trying not to run. I settled into an odd loping walk, walking quickly for a few steps, then breaking out into a jog in excitement and fear, then slowing back down when I realized what I was doing. At the door, I knocked thrice and was pleased to hear the Fool’s muffled voice invite me in. I opened it and entered a warm room.
My Fool was seated in a chair by the fire stirring a pot. I stopped all at once, rooted in place by the change I saw before me. His skin was no longer golden but instead the color of rich cherry wood, unmarred by the large green and purple bruises he had when I had left. His hands, still jagged, moved with a hint of their old grace as though they no longer pained him. What stunned me the most, however, was his eyes. They were hazel.
Always my Fool had been all one color, from his hair and his skin to his eyes. Now, the green rims of his eyes contrasted with the brown of the rest of him. The other great change was his hair. He wore it loose, and it fell straight down, no longer wafting about his head like in his youth or fluttering as Lord Golden.
I had the irrational urge to run my hands through it to see if it was as silky and smooth as it looked. I wanted to hold our arms next to one another to see who was darker. I wanted to stare into his eyes to see the colors change as his pupils expanded and contracted.
The Fool smiled at me when I entered, and his smile only broadened as I stared at him. “Surprised to see me alive? Here I thought our frequent Skill contact would have assured you that I am well, but it seems seeing is believing.” He set the wooden stirring spoon down and stood up and limped towards me.
Wordless, I set the basket on the ground and rushed toward him, my arms open. It had been a week since last I saw him, but it felt like fifteen years. I wrapped my arms around him, placing my hands cautiously to avoid hurting his back. I wanted to lift him but feared harming him, so I only pressed him into me. He relaxed into my embrace, placing all his weight onto me. I nearly drowned under a sudden torrent of affection, and I had to strangle the sob that threatened to spill out. The thundering beat of my heart, clamoring since I had Skilled with Chade, at last slowed and quieted. He was here. He was here and alive and happy to see me.
Wolfishly, I pressed my face against his hair, breathing in the strong smell of cooking spices that covered his comforting lack of scent. Against my rough cheek and beard, his hair felt soft as silk, and I feared damaging it when I pulled away. “Such a wonderful greeting! I would say I should come back from the dead more often, but it’s too painful to do casually of course,” He joked weakly.
“Of course,” I repeated numbly. I knew I had much to tell him but touching him filled a more immediate need. I let myself be filled with him.
A tapping on my shoulder disturbed my peace. “Fitz, as much as I’m enjoying the experience, if you keep crushing me, there will be a repeat performance. I would rather not die again, even if this would be a far more pleasant way to go,” His voice was shaky and breathless. From lack of air, I realized. From me crushing him.
I abruptly released him, forcing my hands behind my back to protect him. He staggered under his own weight, so suddenly returned to him, and took a great gasping breath. His face was red, and guilt swept over me. “You don’t have to die for me to hug you,” I declared, “Or disappear for fifteen years. I’ll hug you every day if you’ll let me.” The earnestness of my voice reminded me of a boy making a thoughtless promise. I blushed from embarrassment at my sudden display but wanted him to know I spoke true, “I mean that. I will.”
The Fool fluttered his eyelashes at me and spun away from me to return to the fireplace, grace returned for a couple of steps. There he only sat down again and resumed stirring. “A hug every day sounds delightful, but that hug felt more like one you give while terrified. What’s wrong, Fitz?”
After such a rush to get here, suddenly I was at a loss as to what to say. I had no idea how to introduce my sudden and intense suspicion of Prilkop, and my greater fear for his life in Prilkop’s home. I had no idea what Prilkop had done to trick my naturally suspicious mind into trusting him with my Fool, nor did I know if he had applied his talent toward my friend. The Fool had been excited to see me, so I could only hope Prilkop had not poisoned his mind past the point of no return. But I did not know the words to properly explain myself to him.
I gave myself time to consider by dealing with the supplies. I removed the pack from my back and picked up the basket I had dropped, putting both on the table. I proceeded to lay out the food and drink. Wordlessly, I handed him a couple apricots, then I cut bread and cheese for myself to snack on while he cooked. I thought about how to answer his question, and as I contemplated the conversation ahead of me, my knees began to tremble. Before it became obvious, I sank into the other chair by the fire. I opened the bottle of apricot brandy to take a drink before I offered it to him.
I waited until he had a sip and handed the bottle back. I did not stopper it again. Thus fortified, I revealed to him the source of my terror. “I think Prilkop was working with the Pale Woman, or at the very least they were not opposed.”
The Fool did not stumble at my words but only because he was seated. Still, his hazel eyes widened so that I could see the whites all around, and he stopped stirring. He rotated his chair so that it faced both the front door and me. “What makes you say that?”
“Several reasons,” I said, then hesitated. He gestured for me to keep going.
I took a fortifying breath and began to outline my points, beginning with the most obvious ones to me. I spoke rapidly, trying to convey all the information I could before Prilkop returned. “Several reasons, none of which are conclusive proof, but all together I believe they are damning.”
I held up one finger, “First, if they were opposed, do you not think she would have killed him or even sacrificed him to her dragon? He had centuries of memories, which would have filled the dragon quickly. Further, he lives a short walk from an entrance to her lair and used the path frequently enough that it was visible at night, and the entrance would have required daily maintenance. I find it unlikely that she would have allowed him daily access into her territory unless they were allied and working together towards a mutual goal. And, well, if you were him, would you want the Pale Woman as a neighbor?” I saw him shiver at the thought and was pleased that he did not interrupt me or make excuses.
I raised another finger, “Second, I think the times we met him before we freed Icefyre aided her goals as well. After all, she sought to use me as her Catalyst to ensure the death of the dragon. When we were lost in her city, we saw him and chased him directly into her ambush. Why did he not lead us out of her territory? Or to the Skill-pillar? Or ask us if we needed help, and what form of help we would like? By running, Prilkop ensured we would be captured by the Pale Woman.” I saw his mouth open and then snap shut. He regained a neutral expression.
I raised a third finger, “Third, when the Pale Woman separated us, she tossed me outside an entrance. I was lost and injured, in no shape to be on a glacier. I saw Prilkop with his lantern and followed him back to camp. How could he have known which of her many entrances she would toss me out of unless she told him directly? He says he is without visions, so he could not have used his powers as a White Prophet to be in the right place at the right time. By leading me back, he ensured I begin working to kill the dragon as quickly as possible.”
I paused and took another sip of brandy, passing it back to him. He took his own sip and held onto the bottle, eyes locked onto mine. I do not know what he saw there, and I could not tell if I had convinced him. His face seemed as unmoving as stone.
Anxiously, I raised my fourth finger. “Fourth, a speculative concern, but it bears mentioning. Do you remember when we two were traveling to the beach, he was outside our camp the night before we fell into the glacier? The stakes crossed that thin crust of snow that we fell down? It would not be impossible for him to move the stakes that night. I don’t know why he would visit up and lie down in the snow, but it occurred the night before we fell.”
I took another deep breath to prepare my fifth piece of evidence. I did not like to consider the possibility, but perhaps as White Prophet, it would convince him. I spread my thumb, my hand held open as if in greeting. “Finally, he has told me contradicting reasons as to why he is here and why he is the color he is. Before I found you, he told me that he failed in his quest. He said the other Elderling cities were empty and still, and he spoke to Icefyre before the dragon buried himself in the glacier, and then he stayed because it was where he saw his final vision. But after I brought you back here, I asked him why you went through your changing illness when the Pale Woman, he said that as White Prophets cause change they darken, while prophets who do little stay white. He told me that you and he both changed because you both prevailed in shifting the wheel of time. But how could this be true if he told me that he came to this island because he failed?” I took a deep breath and raised up my greatest fear in a banner. I had only speculation and half-formed thoughts, but my Fool would perhaps take the ideas and draw them together in a more salient way. I wished I had Chade’s talent for organizing an argument at that moment, but I had only myself and my faith in my Fool.
“And he is black, Fool, black as night. More importantly, he is much darker than you even now. Think of all we have done together and consider how drastically those changes have shifted the wheel of time. Think of the changes you have wrought while away from me. And now we have saved Icefyre and ensured the return of dragons and Elderlings both. We have brought back to existence two species that will change the course of the world. How much farther would he have needed to shift the wheel of time to become as dark as he is? What changes would he need to have caused? If he witnessed the Elderling cities still and empty and Icefyre burying himself, if that was his time to be the White Prophet, then perhaps he is the one who ensured the near-extinction of dragons, and that is why he is black. Perhaps he merely stayed on Aslevjal to ensure no one tried to wake the last male dragon in the world, and when he told me earlier that he failed, he meant that he hadn’t managed to destroy them all.” Somehow my voice had stayed at a low volume over the course of speech, but my passion rose all the same. Once I ran out of words, I reached for the brandy in the Fool’s hand, and he released it easily as though his hand held it still only by accident. I took one sip and then another.
“Fool, I don’t know what he has told you, but I think he has never hindered the Pale Woman, and he likely aided her in many ways. I fear that he created the world that we have fought so hard to change, and that he would happily undo the changes we have wrought.” My throat closed then, choking off my tight words. I closed my eyes and turned my head aside from him, trying to calm my increasingly rapid breathing. He said nothing as I calmed myself, and I appreciated the space he granted.
“Please, Fool, I want us to leave here and go back home together. I want to be gone from this horrid place forever,” I begged with a ragged voice, trying to keep in the tears and the anger that threatened to spill out of me. If he was willing, I would cheerfully carry him to the pillars that instant.
I could feel terror turning my belly to ice, the same terror that settled when Jek had visited. What if he didn’t believe me? What if he chose to believe the other White Prophet from the same place, who spoke the same language, who had the same magic? Did he trust Prilkop more than me? Was our relationship built only on how he could use me as a Catalyst, and now he was delighted that he could leave me again? Would he abandon me again?
I knew my fears to be irritational. We had shared our beings through the Skill enough times that I knew his love for me to be true. But telling myself this did not alleviate the fear. But there had been too much tumult between us this past year for me to have any certainty how he would respond to my fears and my desires. I knew his passion for making the world a better place, and I knew that if he needed to abandon me for the sake of the world, he would do so. How could one broken man outweigh his entire life purpose? He had sacrificed his life for it. Surely he valued his own life more than my own after all the pain I had caused and foolish mistakes I had made.
I dropped my head on my hands. The bottle of apricot brandy did not spill, but it was a near thing as my head nearly bashed into it. My breathing had intensified as my terror expanded the frozen pit inside me. I was stretched across it, desperately holding myself with toes and hands clenching the edges, my back and belly muscles braced. Only with intense concentration did I not fall into its spiked depths, but it seemed to be growing wider. I could only stretch so much before I fell in.
I felt a cool gentle hand brush my fingers as he removed the brandy bottle, and I could hear the slight sound of it as it was set on the table. Then his hands returned, bringing arms with them to wrap around me. The Fool placed his head atop mine, and I felt his breath stir my hair and his chest move. Belatedly, I realized he was speaking to me, “I’m here, Fitz. You’re safe. I’m alive. I’m well. I’m right here.”
In a moment of insanity, I felt rage bubble up that he did not include, “I’ll never leave you,” in his litany. When sense returned, I popped the bubble ferociously. Perhaps he did not know if he could promise that just yet. Instead, I accepted his comfort and tried to relocate a wolf’s appreciation for the present. My Fool was here. I was safe. He was safe. Right now, everything was all right. And, in a hard moment’s thought, I had brought a sword with me. I could fight Prilkop. I would kill him if I needed to. If he was anything like the Fool and the Pale Woman, he would be stronger than I expected, but not well-versed in the art of stabbing people with swords. I felt more than willing to give him a lesson.
Thus stabilized, I peeled my sodden hands from my face, and the Fool lifted his head off mine, and I could straighten in my chair. He had moved to stand next to me so he could comfort me more effectively than in his chair. He began to release my shoulders, but I grabbed his legs to maintain our embrace, pressing my face into his belly. It was awkward, but I found it reassuring. I worried that I would need comfort for what would come next.
The Fool gently rubbed my shoulders as I clenched his thighs, and I eventually accepted that our conversation would not resume until we released one another. While I was reluctant to do so, I was even more aware that Prilkop still had not returned. I felt a degree of satisfaction in his absence, but it was rapidly overridden by worry. What was he doing? When would he return? A part of me wanted him in sight so I could make sure he was not wrecking evil on all I cared about, but the greater part of me wanted never to see him again.
Recognizing the impending return of my enemy, the liar Prilkop the Black, I released the Fool’s legs and sat back in the chair once more. The Fool returned to his own chair, where he resumed stirring the pot. As the smell of his meal reached my nostrils, my stomach growled audibly. I considered eating more bread to quiet it but instead selected apricots, not wanting to fill my belly too much before eating his cooking. I offered him one, and he accepted it.
“How did you know I liked apricots? Aren’t they out of season?” The Fool asked with idle curiosity.
Frustration spiked in me that he chose to talk about apricots rather than Prilkop when that man could return at any moment. But the Fool would know Prilkop’s schedule better than I, so I had to accept his redirection. “You asked for them before I left. You were mostly asleep when you asked, but it was the only thing you asked for,” I shrugged. “So I found some.” I offered him another handful, which he accepted.
Rather than eating them, he turned them over in his hands as though an answer would be found within. “How are you?” I prompted him, not certain where to go from here.
“I’m well. I did not expect you to wait so long to return,” He admitted, and I felt like I walked into a door. Had I waited too long? Had he already decided to leave me?
I blurted out my excuse, “You asked for time away from me to determine for yourself what you wanted to do. I tried to give it to you.” My hands gripped the apricot pit as though I would crush it. Perhaps I would. “I planned on returning sooner, but I was so exhausted that it did not seem wise. And I wanted some time to think to myself as well.”
The Fool raised an eyebrow, “What did you think about? It could not have been about Prilkop the entire time. You would have returned far sooner were it so.” He took a sip of the soup, nodding once to himself.
I chucked the apricot pit into the fire and watched it burn. “The emotions of a seventeen-year-old sit restlessly in the body and mind of a thirty-four-year-old. So, I talked with Patience and Lacey to try and unite my halves. I needed to better understand who I am now.”
The Fool went to get bowls from the shelf as he considered my words. He ladled the soup into the bowls and cut more slices of bread. He handed me a bowl, bread, and spoon and sat back down with the other set. “And what did you learn?” He asked cautiously.
I dipped the bread partially into the soup and held spoon and bowl in each hand. My dinner secured, I met his hazel eyes once more. They were so much warmer than his golden or pale blue ones. “I chose to listen to Nighteyes’ advice to be freed by who I am rather than bound by it. I am in control over my days, and I can choose how I spend them and with whom.”
His smile looked strangled, and he almost immediately looked away from me. I frowned at the top of his head. Was he not happy for me?
“So you’ll be returning to Molly then?” He asked his soup.
Oh.
“No, I don’t intend to,” I murmured. I felt relief. I felt ashamed.
His head rose sharply then, and his eyes met mine once more. He seemed terrified. “Why not? In most futures I saw for you, you went back to her, and she almost always took you back.”
“In any of those futures, did I manage to retrieve the memories I had locked in Girl-on-a-Dragon?” I was curious. The question had nagged me all last night.
“No,” He admitted, “Never. I was dead, and I never told you of my agreement with her... I should have told you at some point, but I never did,” He sounded confused by his oversight.
“I understand. I think I tried to tell you about the feathers multiple times, but they kept slipping my mind. There is a strange magic about them,” I considered this puzzle, but it slipped my mind once more. It was not important. I had a Fool to rescue.
“Regardless, now that I have my memories back, I don’t see why I would make the same decisions as I would if I were still half-Forged. Nor do I want to behave like I’m still seventeen. Burrich and Molly had seven children and sixteen years together,” I repeated what I told Nettle during our painful first conversation, but it barely hurt at all now. Instead, it comforted me. Perhaps I had abandoned Molly to raise our daughter, but she and Burrich had created a good life after that. They had not stopped living as I had.
“Are those the only reasons? Did I do wrong to give your memories back to you?” He sounded mournful at my decision rather than delighted.
In that moment, I decided to be fully honest: I refused to lose him out of fear of rejection, “Fool, of course you didn’t. I was half a person before you did. And now I finally understand what you spoke of that the day we quarreled, when you refused to truncate yourself for love. I will not do that either,” His eyes were huge as he stared at me. His pupils were small and ringed with brown, while lacy green stretched to surround them. There was a forest in his eyes, and I could fall into their depths without care.
“What do you mean?” He whispered, breaking my reverie. I shook myself free and tried to keep eye contact without getting lost.
“Molly never understood my loyalty to the crown. She kept insisting that I should be able to do whatever I wanted, that a horse can only wear one saddle. So I hid parts of myself from her so that she continued loving me. It was unfair to both of us.” I sucked in my lips and reminded myself once more that honesty could only serve me here, “Perhaps she would eventually come to terms with my loyalty to my family, but… oh Fool, Nighteyes was so worried that if I went to her, she would make me choose between love of her and love of him. How do you think she would react to you? You’re part of me, Fool. You’ve been in my body and my mind. Losing you would be like losing Nighteyes all over again. I won’t do it. I refuse.”
The Fool’s face was like the sun coming from behind a dark cloud, so sudden and blinding was his delight. “You mean it? You choose me?”
I spoke the words softly but clearly. He needed to know. “I choose you. I wouldn’t bring you back to life to abandon you.” Before, I might have been insulted that he thought I might, but I understood now. When I regained my memories, I had been so convinced I should return to Molly. I had scarcely considered whether she might not accept the Fool, my Wit, my newfound roles as Skillmaster and Shadow King, or my loyalty to the Farseers in general. I briefly thanked my past self for taking the time to come to terms with my newfound sense of life.
“Oh Fitz, I was so worried that if I rejoined your life, I would be taking your mate and cubs from you. Are you certain of this? I don’t want to take from you whatever years you might have left with Molly.” At the tangled fear and hope that laced his voice, my heart could only crack. I knew then that I held the whole of his heart in my hands. This was a turning point in my life, and the wrong words would push him away from me.
It was really no decision at all.
“I have never been more certain of anything in my life, Fool.” I filled my voice with all the confidence and certainty I felt.
The Fool reached forward and gripped my hand still holding the long-forgotten soup spoon, his hazel eyes delving into the dark reaches of my soul. “Good. Then we will return to Buckkeep as soon as possible.” His words soothed me entirely. I had never been the sort to jump for joy or dance in excitement, but suddenly I could understand where the impulse came from.
Unaware of the delight within me, the Fool continued, “But first, we have a lie to craft, you and I. Your argument was very convincing about Prilkop’s loyalties, but regardless, I think it would be best if he does not know our suspicions when we depart. He would be a dangerous enemy, so it is better for us to part as friends.” He shivered, loathe to play the role he would lay out for himself. He looked nearly as grim and nauseous as he had the morning before he had toyed with Sydel and kissed Civil.
“What do you propose then?” I trusted his experience in this matter, and I trusted our fate in his capable hands. I finally had a spoonful of cooling stew, then immediately took another. Despite the temperature, it was delicious. “Shall I be a lovesick Catalyst begging you to return with me? A Skill-user and friend determined to help you heal? A wild wolf protecting his pack?”
He chewed thoughtfully. “All three, perhaps?” He gestured at me with his spoon, “You see, Prilkop had all but convinced me that it would be dangerous for me to stay with you. After all, I am supposed to be dead, but you are still the Catalyst of this age. He had convinced me that we should leave within the month to travel back to the school we both attended so that we could bring our experiences of the world back to them. We would excise the Pale Woman’s prophecies from their libraries, reinterpret old prophecies considering what we know, and wreak such change on the school so that no child is ever treated the way I was ever again.” Rather than sounding enthusiastic about the task, he sounded resigned. I could not blame him in the least.
“But, that would be foolish,” I was aghast, “You know how much appearances matter. If you went to them so soon, you would not be making a grand gesture of equanimity and guidance as a victorious prophet, but as an injured runaway who defeated their chosen champion. They might even hate you for defeating her and bringing dragons back to the world. It would be a difficult task even if you were at full health…” Then the realization struck me. He was in danger if he returned as Prilkop suggested, “And if you failed to convince them, would they not treat you even worse than before?”
As I spoke, he grew paler and paler, and his hands began to shake. I eventually set down my bowl and claimed his bowl as well. I then took his hands in my own and rubbed the backs of them gently with my thumbs. “Since when have you been so savvy about such things?” He asked me shakily, and his light teasing begged me for a return to solid ground. I felt as though I heard him in the Skill or in the wind. Jest with me, Fitz, for if we can jest, we can laugh, and if we can laugh, we won’t cry. And then the world must be well, otherwise we would not be able to laugh.
So I laughed at his weak teasing, “I’ve been practicing. I haven’t only been looking for apricots and talking to Patience while I’ve been gone. I also have agreed to function as shadow king that rules behind and alongside with Kettricken.” I felt oddly embarrassed by admitting such a thing after years of insisting I wanted nothing to do with Buckkeep politics. But he did not need my embarrassment. He needed me to jest with him, “But I’ve been thinking about buying a crown of sorts to wear while Gilly and I look through the spyholes. Something spiky.”
The Fool laughed wholeheartedly, “Black metal with blood-red gems?” He shook his head at me, “Truly Fitz, I’m impressed. You aren’t returning to Molly and you won’t be returning to a cabin to live out the rest of your life in solitude?” His hands twitched in my hands. I did not want to release them, so I didn’t, though I loosened my grip so he could free himself. He tightened his in response.
“No. If I retreat to a cabin, then I isolate myself from my pack. From my mother and family and cubs. If I stay, I can work to make things better for me and the people of the Six Duchies,” My voice sounded more certain than I expected.
“Well, I’m glad you see that now. Nighteyes would be proud,” The Fool smirked, shoulders relaxed as though he set down some burden. He pulled his hands out of mine and redistributed our soup bowls, ladling more to add heat. We ate silently for a time, and when both bowls were empty, I took them to the wash basin to clean them, then laid them to dry.
I sat back down and looked at his face, still creased in worry, “Would you like me to get a cabin? I know you need time to heal…. Kettricken and I arranged for Lord Golden’s chambers to be ready for your return, but we plan to keep your presence quiet until you’re ready. She assigned a discreet maid to aid us with some tasks, but otherwise I planned to tend most of your needs myself.” I chewed on my lip, concerned that I had overstepped.
He shook his head slowly, then, “No, a cabin may have worked best for you with your introverted ways and wolf-like tendencies, but I would not want to be so isolated as that. I would love to have you there to help me, but I think we would both go crazy if you had nothing to do besides watching me heal. I may have recently been dead, but I’m not an invalid,” He smiled wryly.
On the subject of his healing, I wanted to make him an offer, “I would like to try doing a Skill healing on you at some point, when you’re feeling a bit better. I’ve figured out how to focus my healing to only do a bit at a time, so we won’t repeat that disastrous Skill healing in the spring. But only if you want.” I didn’t want him to think I needed to fix him, but I hoped to help him regain full functionality of his body over time.
He did not answer right away. Instead, he took the time to heat a pot of water over the fire, adding several logs. The fire surged up to swallow them, and the cave temperature rose markedly. He sat back down and answered, “I think I would like that eventually. Once I’ve recovered a bit more, and you’ve gotten a bit more practice.” He glanced towards the door as though expecting Prilkop to walk in at any moment.
“Where is Prilkop anyway?” I asked, fiddling with my sleeves to try and expose more of my skin, the heat from the fire suddenly too much.
“Exploring the old city, I suspect. He’s been there every day gathering supplies for the journey that I will no longer be taking with him.” I was inordinately pleased by his way of describing that trip.
“Well, he can go alone now, if he’s so intent on reforming your school.” I reached into the basket and brought out honey and the herbal tea I had prepared. He handed me the teapot. “I would like to leave today if I can. Tomorrow morning at the latest. I think he found a way to heat the city. The ice is melting, and I fear the Skill scrolls are molding away. I need to gather as many as I can before we return.” As much as I wanted him to spend as little time as possible in the city, I feared leaving him alone with Prilkop even more.
He nodded, “It will be a delicate conversation. I will need to convince Prilkop I no longer wish to return to him without revealing to him the exact reason. I will doubtless need to weave quite a web of lies into some semblance of truth for him to believe me. I will need to speak in Mencen to get to get my points across, but perhaps you could be a bit menacing and maybe possessive of me when I do?”
Such a request would be easy for me. It would allow me to behave more like myself than Tom Badgerlock the Bodyguard had ever been.
To show my dedication to the role, I stood up and glowered at the door, cracked my knuckles, and flexed my muscles, then glanced quickly towards him as though I were a dog looking to my master for instruction, or perhaps a lover looking for permission to beat some young flirt into pulp. I squashed that imagery immediately and instead turned my head back to the door and growled, showing teeth. The Fool cackled delightfully, “Perfect, that’s exactly right.” I smiled awkwardly at his praise. Truly this role allowed me to behave exactly how I wanted if I could not simply pick him up in my arms and carry him directly home.
You must make your snarl bigger than his to reclaim the Scentless One. This Black Man will not give up so easily, I heard Nighteyes’ echo warning me. He would steal from our pack.
The thought enraged me so much that I hardly felt my usual mournfulness at Nighteyes’ voice. Instead, my growl increased in volume, and my muscles tensed and flexed. I would rip Prilkop to shreds before releasing my Fool to his clutches. I glowered at the door, ready to spring on him as soon as he entered.
“Wonderful,” He breathed, and I flushed at his praise. Then the Fool placed his hand on my forearm from his seated position. “Down Fitz. He’s not here yet, and I’d rather you not greet him by attacking him. He did take care of me since you left, and I would not repay his hospitality with violence,” he said mildly. I felt not unlike Civil’s cat being held in place by Web by scarcely a light touch on his back, such a power the Fool had over me. I lowered my hackles and sat back down on the chair. His hand ran up along my arm as I lowered myself to rest instead on my bicep, causing me to shiver. He squeezed my arm gently.
“He wanted to take you away, back to people who hurt you when you were small,” I whispered. I looked at my hands, so skilled at killing. I would happily strangle Prilkop with them.
“I know Fitz. I’m glad you would defend me from him. I’m thankful that you’re keeping me from that future,” He replied softly, “It’s just so strange to be here, in this world where I cannot get even a glimpse of the future. It’s so dark and unknown. It terrifies me.”
I placed a hand on his, trying to comfort him. “I can help you. I have more experience making my way in the darkness than you are.”
“Truly. It may be dark and strange here, but I’m glad I’m with you.” He smiled at me the abruptly turned to serve the tea. He poured it into two mugs, each chipped and of different size and shape. He stirred some honey into his and handed me the spoon. It was somehow getting even warmer in this little cave. I felt myself sweating as my belly warmed from our meal and my face warmed from the conversation.
“I’m glad you’re with me too,” I agreed. I stirred honey into my tea as well but could not bring myself to drink it. I was nearly sweating, and this tea would only warm me further, making my discomfort worse. “Would it be alright if I took off my shirt? It feels so hot in this cave,” I blurted out.
The Fool’s face displayed a rapid series of emotions that I could not make out, “Of course not, Fitzy-fitz. It’ll make you all the more intimidating when Prilkop does return.” I removed my shirt rapidly and he averted his gaze when he never had before. I was about to ask why, but he spoke again, “Would it be rude if I laid down to wait? Today is the first day I have left bed for more time than it takes to go to the privy, and cooking took more energy than I expected.” I saw the weariness in his motions and stood up to offer him my arm. He accepted and hobbled back to the bed to lay down.
I adjusted the pillows and blankets around him to tuck him in. I fetched our mugs and sat on the ground next to the bed. In a moment of madness, I laid my shirt atop the covers to add some degree of warmth. I told myself that if it looked possessive, that was simply the role he asked me to play. The loss of the shirt had already begun to cool my heated torso. I tucked my legs under myself and propped my head on my elbow so that I could see both his face and the entrance to the cave.
Once he had been settled under the covers, he took a sip of tea and sighed happily. “This is lovely, Fitz, thank you.” I could only nod. I reached up to brush a hair back from his face instinctively, and he nuzzled my hand in response, his eyes closed. My blush only deepened, and I could not tell if I regretted removing my shirt so that he could easily see my body’s response to each of his actions. Perhaps he would think my redness was solely a product of the heat in the cave, as I had told him.
Whatever I felt or he thought, he did not open his eyes. “Tell me what you did back in Buckkeep? How is everyone?” I smiled and eagerly recounted to him all that had happened while I had been home.
“You met Nettle at last? That’s wonderful!”
“I almost completely mucked it up. I wanted so badly to greet her as myself, and I confused her. I need to meet with Molly at some point so we can talk about how to best reveal Nettle’s heritage. I want her to hear from me who I am, but I don’t want it to seem like I’m trying to replace Burrich,” I scowled at the problem, but it refused to be menaced by my expression.
“I hope you and Molly work something out. It would be easiest if she was on your side for this,” His voice sounded sleepy, and I could tell he would not be awake much longer.
“I would settle for Nettle not hating me. I bargained so that Molly and Burrich could raise her. I really do think if I had returned to them, she would have been dragged to court far sooner, but it’s hard to argue that I protected her by abandoning her,” I sighed forlornly as I considered the scale of the task before me. “I wanted so badly to be there for her, to raise her. It’s terrible that my actions make it seem like I didn’t want her at all.”
The Fool patted my hand weakly. “Maybe you could try writing out what you think you ought to say? You always explain things so well when you write them.” I considered the mountains of parchment I would burn in the attempt, but any amount would be worth the sacrifice if it allowed my daughter to know me not as Shadow Wolf or Tom Badgerlock but as myself. It was a good dream.
Notes:
When I re-read Fool's Fate most recently, it was very soon after I re-read the Fitz and the Fool trilogy. Going directly backward allowed me to better understand what had happened at the end of FF. I did not expect to find myself completely rabid to find any and all hints behind Prilkop's motivation to separate Fitz and the Fool. When I saw all these hints, it shifted my understanding of who Prilkop is entirely, and now I think I need to re-read the F&F with this headcanon in mind. I'm a trusting person so I'm not surprised I missed them, but I was SHOCKED that Fitz (who tends to being suspicious of absolutely everyone) left the Fool with Prilkop at all. I blame too much recent exhausting Skill use and sleep deprivation, which Fitz does not have here.
Chapter 5: A Role to Play (Possessiveness)
Notes:
I was feeling overly anxious about life things and decided to focus on what I *can* control, AKA editing and posting another chapter in this fic!
I'll post as usual on Monday as well!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
I awoke when Prilkop’s door opened. I immediately tried to lift my head but found that I was held fast, the Fool’s hand thoroughly tangled in my hair. I heard rather than saw Prilkop pause in the doorway, as his breath hitched, and his steps did not proceed inside. Blessedly cool night air wafted into the cave as he viewed us. I wondered what he thought at the sight: I was sprawled shirtless on the floor next to him, my head pillowed on my arms next to the Fool sleeping in bed, his hand claiming me.
Well then. The display of possessiveness had already begun, and it might as well continue.
I opened my eyes and was just barely able to make out his silhouette in the doorway. “Prilkop,” I greeted him.
“Changer. You returned soon,” Prilkop’s voice was concerned enough that I almost believed him. I had to remind myself that if he was anything like the Fool or the Pale Woman, he would be skilled at playing a role. This White Prophet had centuries of experience and more success than either of them, based on his coloring. I could not trust anything he said to be true.
“I brought cheese and tea, as you requested. I also brought sausages, bread, apricots, plums, apple butter, two types of jam, and brandy. The Fool made soup as well. It tastes delicious with the bread,” I waved my hand toward the table and hoped he would interpret the offering as one of peace and friendship. I too had a role to play.
He closed the door and hurried to my offerings. I turned my head as best I could to watch his movements. He first picked up one of the cheeses and smelled it, smiling broadly. He cut a slice of it to go with the bread, then took a bite, chewing slowly. “You slept on the floor?” He asked, eyebrows drawn together in distress. I reminded myself that Prilkop was a liar, so I only shrugged in response. He pursed his lips and continued eating. He cut a slice of cheese from the other wedge and ate that as well.
“What have you found in the city?” I asked curiously.
“Food. Old clothes, old tools. Many bodies.” He pursed his lips in dismay. Then, as if he suddenly remembered something, “I made it warm again.” He declared enthusiastically.
I shivered as I imagined the impending smell of the old city, “Bodies and heat don’t mix,” I reminded him.
His face fell at my comment. “I could make cold again? Others might not know how to make warm, once we leave,” He offered. My face stilled, but I remembered my role.
“Could you tell me how to change the heat? Or the Fool?” I asked instead. Chade would certainly want this information.
“I could,” He acknowledged, but he did not agree. He instead prepared a bowl of soup with bread and sat at the table for dinner. At the sight of him assembling a meal, I realized that I was hungry once more. I checked my Skill link to see whether the Fool was awake and sensed only peacefulness in his mind. He was dreaming sweet dreams, and I resolved not to take him out of them for what was sure to be a tiring and unpleasant conversation.
I slowly excised myself from the Fool’s grasp, careful of my Fool’s crooked hands as I untangled his fingers from my hair. Once freed, his fingers twitched with absence, and my heart clenched with the same. I took his hand and kissed it gently, then in a fit of devotion for the role I needed to play, kissed each broken finger at its unnatural bend and tucked the hand back under the covers. I tucked a loose lock of hair behind his ear, then ran my hand down his jaw to cup his face. I leaned over to kiss his brow.
While my actions were most certainly a display for Prilkop, I was still shocked by the ease with which I practiced such motions. I felt no uncertainty or self-consciousness for my behavior, and I blamed their lack on our need to be convincing. I would not leave without my Fool, and I would do whatever was necessary to ensure this.
I kissed his cheek and lingered, breathing in his unique lack of scent. It smelled nearly identical to safety in my mind. Unthinkingly, I nuzzled my nose into his cheek, and when I realized what I was doing, I squashed my instinct to jerk backwards. That would not serve us. Instead, I leaned into the motion, taking a strange joy at being obviously possessive of my White Prophet.
Satisfied that I had laid a firm foundation for the Fool’s change of heart, I stood, running my hand along his hair in the process. It was exactly as soft and silky as I imagined. I repeated the motion twice more before I realized I was delaying unnecessarily. I turned to find Prilkop staring at me, face tense though I had not even begun menacing him as the Fool had requested. “He is most precious to me,” I told Prilkop honestly.
I crossed the short distance to the fireplace to reclaim the nearly empty pot of water and fill it from the water barrel, and I hung it back over the fire to heat. While doing such simple actions, I leaned into my wolfish instincts to protect my pack. I was sharing the den of one I did not trust if I turned my back, so I did not do so. I was angled towards him in all things. I walked in a controlled fashion, with no excess motion wasted. I followed each of his movements closely with suspicious eyes.
I hoped my wolfish behavior was as alarming to Prilkop as it had been to others.
I served myself more soup and sat in the other chair. Despite our two chairs being equal sizes, I towered over him. I made myself subtly larger not by posturing but by allowing each movement to fully engage my highly visible muscles, like one does when stretching or exercising.
Prilkop and I ate silently with wary eyes trained on each other. At one point, I moved suddenly to claim a plum and was pleased to see him flinch. “I did not mean to startle you.” I lied with all the guile Chade had imbued in me.
“Not your fault,” He begrudgingly acknowledged.
Once we finished eating, Prilkop offered to take my bowl, and I handed it over. I quested towards the Fool with the Skill to find him still deeply asleep. I ate a few plums, wanting to save the apricots for the Fool, and tossed the pits into the fire. Prilkop rejoined me after cleaning the bowls, so I handed him some plums as well. I did not reach for or offer the brandy.
“Does he usually sleep now?” I asked Prilkop, conceding that he had spent more time with the Fool recently and perhaps knew what to expect.
He moved his head back and forth, considering. “No. But today he cooked and spoke with you.”
I nodded thoughtfully, then was at a sudden loss. I had no idea how else to play my role. I had nothing more to ask him and did not want to wake the Fool up when he was exhausted. I might as well go back to sleep.
“I’ll join him in the bed. I had an early morning and could use the rest,” I told him. There was just enough space for two of us in Prilkop’s bed. I remembered setting up a separate pallet the night I dropped the Fool off and how strange it was to sleep separately. I resolved to share a bed with him until he requested otherwise.
I was pleased to see Prilkop frown. “We can make a pallet,” He offered, confused.
I shook my head. “No, we will share,” I felt as though I was taking advantage of his limited command of my language but decided very firmly that I did not care. One did not give up any advantages when dancing with snakes.
Prilkop nodded but was clearly not pleased. I ignored him.
I made my way to the bed and shifted the Fool gently back from the edge, and he moved pliantly under my hands. I lifted the blankets and laid down next to him, his body deliciously cool against mine. I tucked the blankets around us, and my body formed a solid barrier between him and Prilkop. It was the smallest space we had ever shared together, but I did not care. I kissed the top of his head and began to slow my breathing as though I were falling asleep.
I heard Prilkop prepare for bed as well, and when his breathing slowed, I used the Skill to send a needle thin tendril to Chade.
Chade, I have the Fool. We plan to leave tomorrow, but we’re going to try to convince Prilkop that we are not suspicious of him. He would be a dangerous enemy.
Chade latched on to me immediately, enthused by the contact. That’s good news. The Fool and I have our differences, but I would rather he be with us than with an enemy. I heard the ship crashing through waves in the background.
Prilkop had somehow convinced him that they needed to leave soon to go back to the school they both attended, the one that sent forth the Pale Woman to do their work.
Are you sure you can’t kill him, Fitz? If he’s as dangerous as you say, it may be best if he does not return to this school either.
No, we don’t have definitive proof of either his goals or his loyalties. I’ll kill Prilkop If the Fool asks it of me but only then. I had resigned myself to the idea that Prilkop would live. I would not push my friend away for the sake of killing an old man.
I understand. A shame though. If he must survive, I’d love to pick his brain to learn what he knows. Chade lamented. I followed his train of thought to consider all the knowledge the man may have and its potential advantages. But if I would not kill him, I was even less interested in bringing him back with us. He was a danger to my happiness, of that I knew for certain.
I remembered my earlier concern. He somehow restored heat to the Elderling city. The ice is melting, and I fear for the Skill scrolls. I brought two large bags, but I think almost the entire Buckkeep Skill library is here. We will need to make more trips and soon, before the moisture destroys them. I asked Prilkop to teach me how to control the temperature, and he seemed hesitant to give me that knowledge.
Of course he would be. Chade’s sigh was palpable through our link. Well, you can return with what you can find tomorrow, and I should be in Buckkeep in ten days or so. I can come for the second trip. Do you think we can convince Thick to join? Nettle is too new and Dutiful will have quite a number of public events to attend. Or perhaps we can bring someone without the Skill through?
While I was hesitant to bring Chade with me, I acknowledged that it would be faster with more hands and eyes. Thick hated the pillars almost as much as the ship. The trip was shorter and that was the only benefit. Regarding an un-Skilled person… Chade, to bring someone with you through the pillars, you need to know exactly who they are, and you need to protect their mind with your own when you cross. And you need to be prepared to gather all parts of them if they get lost in the Skill stream. I don’t have anyone that I know so intimately that I would be willing to risk in such a journey, let alone someone that I’m willing to introduce to this secret. It may have to just be the two of us until Nettle is ready.
Is that how you can travel with the Fool then? Because you know each other so well? I frowned at his sudden change in trajectory.
We usually have crossed the pillars while connected through the Skill on his fingers, but I think we know each other well enough that we could cross without. I went through a pillar with Nighteyes once and kept him safe, but it was terrifying. It was even worse when I brought Dutiful through. Perhaps bringing those without the Skill would be safer because they have no ability to reach out into the stream, but if not, you could easily lose yourself trying to rescue them.
Unless you don’t try to rescue them, Chade mentioned idly. He flinched from the slap of my wordless rebuke. I’m just considering it, Fitz! No need to attack me. My job is to consider all possibilities, no matter how distasteful. You benefited from my thinking earlier today when we realized this Prilkop is not to be trusted, he reminded me indignantly.
I know Chade. I apologize. I had benefitted from his way of thinking innumerable times in the past. He did not seem mollified by my apology, however, which raised a question. Did that actually hurt?
A bit! Like being stung by a wasp, only I can’t rub it and there is no stinger to remove, he bemoaned.
I sent him a soothing tendril of thought containing the essence of an apology. I truly felt guilty for causing him pain, so I sent that as well.
Ah, that helps. Thank you boy. What did you do?
Undid it, I suppose.
And how did you know it would work?
I smiled. Skillmaster’s secret.
Chade laughed aloud into the night. You had no idea it would work.
None whatsoever. But now we know it does. I turned to the next order of business. Do you know if Thick’s awake? I need him to ask Kettricken to prepare a cart for the Skill scrolls, but I have no clue what time it is in this cave.
He should be. It isn’t at all late. Are you already in bed?
I shifted against the Fool then, and he stirred against me, murmuring. His breath stirred my chest hair. I checked his mind briefly and saw only contentment. I returned to Chade. Yes. When the Fool and I strategized how to tell Prilkop he will be leaving with me, it hinged on him being the person communicating in the language they share. But our conversation earlier exhausted him, and he slept through Prilkop’s return. I decided to head to bed and have this conversation with you rather than try to avoid any number of conversational traps. I don’t want to give the game up and ruin our strategy.
Sound reasoning, Chade agreed, and I sensed a lingering thought that he needed to air. I waited for him to ask it, and dreaded where his mind would take him. Are you sharing a bed with the Fool? He asked nonchalantly.
I squashed the panic that arose in me practically before it began. Yes. I’m sleeping on the outside of the bed between the two of them. I do not want to chance anything tonight. I believe Prilkop would do whatever he needs to prevent the Fool’s return to Buckkeep, so I want to ensure they have no interaction without me very present.
But why are you shirtless? Chade’s voice was aghast.
It was hot earlier, so I removed it, and I didn’t think to put it back on before I went to bed. I shrugged internally. I’m not getting up to put one on now. Prilkop isn’t any more likely to attack me because I’m shirtless. I think I scare him a little. Ah yes, terrifying an old man. A warrior’s triumph.
Well, as long as you can get some sleep tonight. It seems the bed is quite small. Tomorrow will be a long day.
I simultaneously looked forward to it and dreaded it. I know. Let me check in with Thick and then go to sleep. I’ll let you know when I’m back in Buckkeep.
Stay safe, my boy.
I’ll try. I cut the connection.
I reached out to Thick to find him amenable but impatient. Ask in the morning! He demanded. One more task for the morrow. I exhaled into the Fool’s hair, then settled down my mind to sleep.
I woke suddenly in the darkness, my nerves buzzing with awareness. My hand went to my belt knife, and I strained my Wit, ears, and nose before realizing the futility. Prilkop was as invisible to the senses as my Fool. Perhaps I should not have been so willing to sleep in the den of an enemy, I thought grimly. A White Prophet who may have nearly destroyed two species may have fewer qualms about murders in the dark than my Fool. I looked over my shoulder, eyes searching for his pallet in the dim light. I found it and watched as his body rose and fell, and I exhaled my own sigh of relief.
No knives in the dark just yet. I turned back to the Fool to find him awake, eyes wide and mouth ajar. I raised a hand to cup his face and learned forward to press my forehead against his. “You’re here with me. You’re safe,” I whispered, gently brushing my thumb over his cheek. I looked into his eyes in hopes of convincing him.
His eyes closed at last, and he exhaled a shaky breath. “So yesterday wasn’t a dream?” He whispered.
“No, it wasn’t,” I murmured. The alarm with which I woke was still there, hovering on the edges of my mind. Was Prilkop awake and listening to us? I did not want him to hear what we had to say. Feeling brave, I leaned back from the Fool and brought my silvered wrist between us, raising my eyebrows in askance.
He glanced at my wrist then back to my eyes, seeking an answer. I jerked my eyes backwards towards the fire. He nodded slowly and brought his gloved hand between us. He tried to bring his other hand up to remove the glove, but it appeared to be trapped beneath our bodies. I cautiously pulled his glove off for him, and his eyes fluttered closed as I did so.
Once he was freed, I held his hand loosely in mine, careful not to touch his silvered fingertips. Then I waited, not wanting to force our connection on him.
His eyes opened at last, meeting mine once more. I released his hand and offered my wrist once more, intention plain. “Minds only?” I whispered to him. He nodded shakily and joined us together.
I managed to stop my body’s instinctive jolt at the connection, but my heart sang with completion and begged for more, begging to become one with him. I held myself back the way a wolf might from a kill, or a man might from a lover who was struggling to breathe. I would not ravage him or consume him, and I held myself to that belief.
Fitz, why are you shirtless? The Fool’s question echoed Chade’s in such a way I could only laugh silently, my shoulders shaking. I sent him my memory of my mentor’s Skilled question earlier, and I felt his amusement.
I was hot, remember? I asked if it would be rude, and you said it was fine. You were right too. I think I intimidated Prilkop because of it.
That’s not surprising. Public nudity is less common where we’re from. I felt a tinge of embarrassment at the concept of shirtlessness as public nudity. Oh hush, Fitz. This is a good thing: it means you put him off balance. So he did come back?
He sleeps on his pallet by the fire. We had dinner together and spoke a little, but you were out cold, and I did not want to wake you. I have laid the foundation for being both menacing and possessive for our act tomorrow. I sent him my memories from earlier: how I kissed his head and knuckles, nuzzled his cheek and pet his hair. How I called the Fool most precious. How I subtly made myself larger while we ate, and how the Black Man flinched at me. I tried not to feel embarrassed by my antics, but I did not want to hide them from him. This was only a role I played. The role he asked me to play.
That was well done Fitz. The Fool responded, awed by my behavior. You’ve made my conversation tomorrow much easier.
Glad I could help. I held very firmly to my belief that I should not join more strongly with him in that moment. If we joined, would he see that many of my actions were affectionate first and a display second? Would he see how I longed to kiss the knuckles right now in front of me? I had no idea where these desires came from. I had never had them before, not that I could remember.
Hadn’t I?
Flashes of memory ran before my mind’s eye. The Fool’s face lit by fire as he stared at it in thought. His hands on my shoulders as we stood before a mirror together. A stumble and a catch and a joke about dancing. His face thrown back in the Elderling tent, eyes squeezed tight as he stuttered out my name, lips bruised and his neck wet from my mouth.
Best not think about that just now, not while we were linked.
More of the same tomorrow? I asked awkwardly.
Yes, that’d be ideal. Maybe you can keep your shirt off, He smiled lecherously at me. I felt his sheer amusement through our link, but that did not stop me from blushing, not on the heels of my hidden thoughts. His glee soared and his smile widened, Oh Fitz, you make it so easy. Bless your mountain mother for her fair skin.
I had no clever retort to this and chose to ignore it, though my face still burned. When do you plan to speak to him? As much as I’m sure you’re enjoying my role in this, I think sooner would be better, if you have the strength for it.
He sighed to me through our Skill-link, though his breath remained steady. Yes, I think you’re right. And we’ll need several hours to deal with the scrolls. Do you think she’s dead? Ilistore?
Ilistore?
The Pale Woman. You didn’t think she was named the Pale Woman when she was born did you?
Your family named you Beloved. The Pale Woman is not that much stranger, I remarked dryly.
Yes, and your duchy naming conventions are much more reasonable, naming people things like Patience, Celerity, and Blade, of all things, he teased me fondly.
I’m just a Fitz, what would I know of proper naming conventions?
Nothing, apparently. You may have been born a bastard and named a bastard, but you somehow fail to have the attributes of one. The Fool’s face softened, and his tone was affectionate. I felt his mind brighten from his regard of me, washed clean of his anxiety about both Prilkop and our task tomorrow. I smiled foolishly at him and squashed any thought of kissing him.
Names, that is what we spoke of.
And you were and are Beloved. So well have you matched your namesake, I teased him thoughtlessly. His breath hitched, and I realized my error. I enveloped our link with affection and used my other arm to awkwardly hug him to me, our Skill-linked arms trapped between us. I’m sorry. I forgot. I’ll try not to use your name again unless you grant me permission once more.
I held him until he relaxed once more, then loosened my hold, keeping my arm still wrapped around him. Thank you, Fitz. I know you meant it kindly. It isn’t your fault my name has been so tainted.
Let me know if I can help remove the taint. I would love to call you by your name at some point without you flinching.
You would? He sounded surprised.
I would. I am so sorry that I rarely called you thus after you told me your name. It had been one of my greatest regrets after I thought him gone forever.
I would like that, he told me cautiously. I would like that quite a lot.
One day then, you will be ready for me to say it, and I will name you thus every day ‘til the end of our days, I nobly promised him, feeling seventeen again.
Oh my prince! While his arms were still trapped, he could not fake a swoon, so he instead sent me an image of himself falling gracefully on a strange couch with an arm and a back on only half of it. A couch for one?
He sensed my confusion. It’s a divan, a fainting couch. They have them in Bingtown and Jamaillia. But yes, it’s a couch for one person to sprawl dramatically on. Or to be fed grapes.
That seems such a strangely… specific purpose. I thought they were silly and trivial, but I did not want to insult him. I need not have worried.
Oh they’re delightfully gratuitous. I’m sure Chade would love to throw himself on one in a fit of pique at the concept of you having thoughts and ideas all your own. I snickered at the very image he sent me. It seemed exactly the sort of thing Chade would do. But in all seriousness, Fitz, do you think Ilistore is dead?
I considered how she seemed when last I saw her, practically begging me to kill her, insulting me in hopes I would do so. I think it highly likely. She has no hands or help, and her city was designed with both in mind. I doubt Prilkop would feed her even if they were allies. Do you want me try to find her with the Skill? She has spoken to me in that way before, so I should be able to find her.
Please? His mind felt small as he asked me.
Let me try. I lowered my shields and searched, first checking each of the Skill connections attached to me, then searching Aslevjal as systematically as I could. There was no one else on the island besides the three of us as far as I could tell. Nothing. I think she is dead. If she is not, do not fear. I will be with you the entire time, and I am certain I can kill her easily. I sounded bloodthirsty at the prospect. The Fool shivered at the offer. Don’t picture her. There is no use worrying about it until it happens.
He laughed quietly. We must keep the memory of Nighteyes’ happy. Let us live in the present.
Then I heard a wolfish voice join us, You learn well, little brother. Tomorrow will come when it comes, and you have all you need to be ready for it. You will hunt well together.
Brother! I called to him. There was no response. The Fool and I held each other in silence.
Is that… how he sounds sometimes? It felt like he was alive and with us. The Fool asked cautiously through our connection.
You heard him? I was astonished by the thought.
Yes. It was like that time we first joined together in the mountains. Like his entire presence was with us, and we were whole again.
Yes, that is exactly how it’s like. And then he leaves and I am alone in my mind once more. I sounded morose but could not help it. At last, it seemed like someone understood, but that did not alleviate the sensation of his absence. Nevertheless, the Fool’s confirmation alleviated my fear that my wolf’s echo was the mad creation of a sad man.
No wonder you always look like you’ve been hit over the head when it happens. He’s so overwhelmingly alive for just a moment.
Yes. It was described to me as more than a memory, but less than him. I didn’t understand what Black Rolf meant until it first happened.
Well, I’m glad to have heard his voice once more, if nothing else. I wish he and I had spent more time together before he died. I miss him so. The Fool admitted, and I could sense the pit of regret underlying his words.
I miss him too. I agreed. Silence settled once more between us, companionable through the Skill, but tempting us to join even further. I think we need to follow another piece of wolf advice Nighteyes always gave me.
What’s that?
Sleep when you can. We are fed, and we are safe enough. We can best prepare for tomorrow by being well-rested.
I felt his assent, and he released my wrist. We both gasped at the sudden distance between our minds. I rapidly helped him with his glove then wrapped my arms around him, pulling him against my chest. I wanted him as close as possible.
“You’re so hairy. It’s practically fur,” He whispered to me, petting my chest with his gloved hand.
“Are you complaining?” I asked a touch indignantly. I pulled back from him just in case.
“No! No. It’s a bit ticklish? But otherwise, it’s quite nice. I meant that… it’s just very uncommon out side the Six Duchies, everywhere else I’ve been. Mercenia, Jamaillia, the Spice Isles, Bingtown. Even the Pirate Isles. Men may have beards and some chest hair right here,” He placed his hand on my sternum then danced his fingers across my chest, “But not as thick as this,” To prove his point, he sank his fingers into the hair above my heart. They were visible, but my hair curled over his fingers. I understood his point.
“Others have far more than I do, you know. I’ve seen guardsmen with hair on their backs or on their sides. Even their asses,” I reminded him. I felt strangely self-conscious. I had never considered the hair covering my chest and my belly to be exotic before. Did that make it attractive or repulsive?
“Is your ass hairless then?” I flushed, but I did not respond. I knew he had seen me naked many times before. “I had not realized your chest reddened too when you blushed. How delightful,” He trailed a gloved finger down from my heart, circling the underside of my chest to go between the muscles on my abdomen, parting the strip of hair with his finger. All I could do was focus on breathing steadily. His eyes seemed fascinated by the movement of his hand, almost as though he was watching someone else control it. He circled my navel once and descended further.
I could not hold in my quiet yelp, nor did I have any control over my stiffened nipples, the goose pimples that rose on my skin, or the hardening in my leggings that he could surely feel laying as we were. I did seize his hand to stop it from wandering, however, bringing it back to my chest, and his eyes followed the motion. “We were supposed to go to sleep, remember?” I growled at him, my voice low.
His eyes met mine in the near darkness, and I could see the whites around his irises, his pupils huge in the dark. I don’t know what he saw in my face at that moment, but he smiled broadly at me as though I had not just rebuked him. Instead, he looked at me as though I was something worthy of desire. In his eyes, perhaps I was.
I broke his gaze, unsettled by his regard. “Can we please try to sleep?” I begged.
His laughter shook his shoulders, “We can certainly try,” He sounded doubtful.
“Try, please. For me,” I closed my eyes, desperate to leave this terrible limbo we existed within Prilkop’s home. I already tired of this act we were putting on, both for Prilkop’s detriment and our own safe escape. In the dark space, silent except for our breathing, I noticed the quiet truth I had hidden from myself: I did not think of my affection and possessiveness for the Fool as a role to play, but rather an admission of truth. More importantly, I did not know how long I could pretend it was an act without revealing the truth underlying it.
I pulled the Fool closer to me once more, pressed my face into his hair and breathed deeply. I felt safe holding him and hoped he felt safe being held.
“I’ll try,” He whispered, voice muffled by my chest. By my fur.
I awoke once more to the strange caution that fills a room when someone is trying very hard not to wake those who sleep. I had somehow rotated onto my back in Prilkop’s small bed, and the blankets were far heavier than I recalled. My chest was oddly wet and cool. I blinked my eyes open slowly and found that my blanket was in fact the Fool draped over my body, his head tucked under my chin, the actual blankets askew atop us both. His open mouth drooled onto my chest hair.
Well, this was a novel addition to our relationship. In all the bedrolls and pallets we had shared, not once had he drooled on me.
One of my hands rested on his waist and the other was on the swell of his buttocks, my thumb tucked into the waistband of his leggings. I flushed hot as I gently removed it. Once I removed my presumptuous hand, I felt an even greater source of embarrassment. To my horror, my cock was hard and wedged between us, digging into his belly.
I stared up at the ceiling and blinked slowly, mortified. I tried not to move, not wanting to accidentally rub myself against him, or worse, to face him if he woke from such movements. I rotated my head towards the center of the room, where Prilkop was preparing breakfast by the fire. I turned away, unwilling to face him either. I stared at the ceiling and mentally recited a rhyming poison poem that Chade had taught me decades ago, waiting for my body to quiet.
To my dismay, the Fool shifted perhaps once a minute, jostling my hardness and awakening a fresh wave of lust each time. He did it just frequently enough that it seemed like he was doing it on purpose, and he had moved his head to be off the puddle he had created. Suspicious, I checked our Skill-connection and sensed great amusement from him. I growled in frustration and seized him bodily to rotate us back to our sides, giving my aching cock room to quiet. My greater bulk created a modicum of privacy between us and Prilkop.
“You were doing that on purpose!” I whispered accusingly at him.
His eyes sparkled, “You seemed to enjoy it.” He adopted a brief serious expression and glanced as though looking behind me, then back to my face, whereupon he resumed his expression of delight, wiggling his eyebrows at me. He was continuing our act for Prilkop, I realized.
“I was barely conscious,” I grumbled, but nodded my assent. I did not like being used in this way, but if it would make our task today much easier, he could use me however he wanted.
“I was unconscious last night,” He raised an eyebrow at me and brushed a stray hair from my face, then kissed my cheek. I glowered at him but accepted both the rebuke and the treatment. I ran my hands through his hair, the silky strands catching on my calluses. He placed his hand on my waist, highly visible to Prilkop, and stroked my side lightly.
After a time, I began to feel uncomfortable by our motions. I wanted to leave here as soon as possible, but he had the greater task this morning. I did not want to rush him. We lingered a little longer before I whispered to him, “Do you want to get up?”
He nodded, grimacing, “I have a desperate need to visit the outhouse.” I hastily moved so that he could take care of his needs. The Fool waved at Prilkop, who responded in kind, and rapidly made his way out the front door to find his reprieve.
This left me, shirtless, coated with the Fool’s drool, uncomfortably aroused, and with the old prophet who wanted to take my Beloved from me. Thankfully with the Fool gone and only Prilkop for company, my erection was rapidly doused. Once freed, I wiped the spittle from my chest with yesterday’s shirt, then I stood to stretch and idly considered whether a wolf attempting to intimidate an old man would allow his erection to fade. Probably not, I decided. Nothing like a tent in one’s trousers to stake a claim.
Prilkop glanced at me warily, so I went to loom over him in what I hoped was a vaguely intimidating fashion under the pretense of looking at what he was doing. He seemed to be making some sort of unleavened bread, baking it on a rock next to the fire. The loaf I had brought was mostly heel by now. I briefly wished I had brought a second one, then remembered my task. I needed menace the liar Prilkop the Black, who would steal my happiness away from me if he could. I leaned forward to loom more effectively, wishing there was a light above my head to cast a shadow.
Prilkop seemed to ignore me, but his motions grew brisk. When the Fool returned, I nodded at him then left to visit the outhouse myself. I returned to find the two of them talking in their own language. I stood by the Fool’s chair, placed my hand on his shoulder, and waited. I felt self-conscious without a shirt on, but the Fool seemed to appreciate it judging from his glances towards me. Prilkop, meanwhile, seemed to dislike it based on his own dark looks. It seemed I was very effectively fulfilling my assigned role as, apparently, a rabid hunk of meat.
The two continued to talk, and I grew impatient. I assembled a plate for breakfast and seated myself on the floor next to the Fool’s chair. His hand made its way onto my head and into my hair to claim me. Based on the tone of their words, they might as well be talking about the weather rather than the Fool’s imminent departure.
I constructed for him a small sandwich with bread, cheese, sausage, and jam and passed it up. He accepted it, looking down at me and smiled. I smiled back and pressed my head into his hand. “Thank you, Fitz,” his voice was soft. When he turned back to Prilkop, he said something brief, and Prilkop’s response was angry. We were making progress at last.
I continued handing tidbits to my Fool, refilling my plate several times as their conversation grew increasingly intense. Once we had both eaten enough, I tried to subtly intimidate Prilkop. I leaned against the wall, against the table, or even while seated, leaning on my arms with my legs stretched between the two of them. I would occasionally cross the room, appearing suddenly behind Prilkop and causing him to jump in surprise, as though he had forgotten me. My nonchalance was a weapon against Prilkop as well. I saw or felt him watching me as I confidently occupied his home.
I buckled on my sword belt and very obviously checked my belt knife and boot knife for sharpness. I trimmed my nails. I opened the pack to dig through it, revealing yet more knives, but also a second set of clothes that I had brought for the Fool and the Mountain-style boots Kettricken had provided. I judged he would still need an extra layer for the walk between Prilkop’s cave and the Elderling city. I put on a fresh shirt and jerkin, then tucked any extra clothes into the basket, placing the two large bags on top. I stood behind Prilkop once more and Skilled to Thick, reminding him about the cart.
At last the Fool stood up, throwing his hands in the air, and said something sharp and angry, and Prilkop’s face fell open in shock. The Fool then began to angrily put the clothes I had laid out over what he was currently wearing, not bothering to change. Then he said something quiet to Prilkop and bowed stiffly. Prilkop’s eyes narrowed, and he did not return the gesture.
The Fool turned towards me, “Coming Fitz?”
I left the wall and picked up the basket. I bowed to Prilkop as well, though I did not dip as low. Then I followed my Fool out of the cave, leaving the food and brandy behind.
We walked silently, following the well-worn trail to the entrance. The Fool looked at the trail and entrance as though they personally offended him. Given our conversation the prior day, I suppose they had. Once we were inside the city, he released a pent-up breath. “That was much more difficult than I expected,” he admitted to me.
“It took longer than I expected.”
“I was trying to get him to tell me how to alter the temperature of the city and he refused. Then he refused to tell me anything about the city that I didn’t already know, saying it was unsafe for me here. It was so condescending,” He fumed. I grinned at the reversal in our usual roles.
“Like how Chade sometimes treats me?” I offered.
“Worse. Chade raised you and trained you, so it makes sense that sometimes he treats you like a boy or an apprentice. Unless it’s about the Skill or politics, he often adjusts once he realizes what he’s doing. On the other hand, I met Prilkop less than a month ago, and I have done nearly as much as he and far more than many, many Prophets have done, and he acted as though I was still a child in Clerres, learning how to identify symbols and patterns in my dreams,” He scoffed indignantly. “Then when I insisted that I know my Path better than he does, and I know this region well enough to reliably predict the repercussions of my actions, he called me arrogant. He said I wasn’t dedicated enough to putting the world on a better path. I died to put the world on a better path!” He practically shouted the words, and the volume of it froze us both in place. Feeling paranoid, I opened all of my senses to watch for others who might have heard him.
He took several deep breaths to force calm back into himself, then continued at a normal volume, words clipped. “It was very, very difficult not to hurl accusations at him. Even if you and I had not spoken yesterday, I would have gone with you back to Buckkeep for this treatment alone.”
I could not hold back my grin of delight that he would be coming back with me.
He looked over and smiled broadly at my expression. Then he looked behind us with exaggerated caution, eyes twinkling. He raised his hand to place it next to my ear and I could not help but lean in as he whispered, “He thinks you seduced me.” He burst out laughing and I immediately joined in. Our laughter reverberated through the walls of the ancient city.
“I have never successfully seduced anyone,” I declared between gasps.
“I don’t know what you did, but you managed to convince him that you were an absolute harlot! He likened you to some mythical creature, so great were your skills of seduction.”
I shook my head at him, “Well, he clearly has never seen me at one of those parties Lord Golden dragged me too.”
“You were so, so bored.”
“I was in so much pain standing there! That overly aggressive healing was terrible at first, but it is so pleasant not having my back ache all the time,” I admitted to him.
“Oh Fitz, I wish I’d known! I could have arranged a way for you to sit, I’m sure. Lord Golden would have appreciated having such a handsome chair cushion at least,” He sighed dreamily at me, and I shook my head at him, scowling at the thought.
“I would have either been red as a poppy or as stoic as possible, trying to look anywhere but at you. Probably both.”
“Definitely both. It might have done wonders for Tom Badgerlock’s dour reputation, but I think Fitz would have died from shock,” He teased me relentlessly.
I only rolled my eyes at him. We resumed walking and he giggled every once in a while at the thought. Each time he laughed, I walked ever lighter. We were going home together. He was with me. He had chosen me.
I was almost sad to interrupt him as we neared our destination, “I’m afraid that the Pale Woman kept the Skill scrolls in a room near her bedchamber. She was very angry when I left her and taunted me about the Skill scrolls. If she is anywhere, I suspect she is there.”
His face paled at the thought, and he was silent as he considered the prospect of meeting her again. “Are you sure I have to go?”
I said as kindly as I could, “It’s either go there with me, or be somewhere in this city by yourself.” I gave him a crooked sort of smile, aware that this was no true choice. He sighed wretchedly and took my hand, gripping it fiercely.
We reached the wreckage of the scroll room, with its shelves pushed down and lightly splattered with oil. The room was thankfully only a little damp from the melting ice. In the center of the room, Ilistore laid long dead, her face a snarl with blackened arms held overhead. We could only stare at her.
“Do you want me to deal with her?” I spoke at last. He nodded shakily, hand over his mouth. I carefully set down the basket and walked over to consider my unpleasant task.
“How far away do you want her?” I asked calmly.
He slowly approached her and looked down at her. He poked her with the toe of his soft mountain boots. He had not removed his hand from his mouth, though she did not smell nearly as bad as I would have expected.
“Maybe just to her bedchamber? I plan never to go there again, and I would prefer you not go too far right now,” His voice was quiet and shaky.
I nodded once and waved him back, then bent to pick up my burden. She weighed hardly anything at all. I left her out of sight behind her bed and returned, pausing to Skill to Thick about our impending return. I reminded him not to touch the pillars at all because then he could accidentally travel somewhere.
We gathered as many of the scrolls as we could, and I was very grateful for the two large bags I had brought. Once filled, I loaded one of the packs on my back and the other on my front, while the Fool claimed the basket. We made our slow way up the stairs to the map room, then to the room with the pillar. I caught my breath while the Fool divested of the warm clothing and switched his boots in anticipation of our arrival in late summer Buck.
The Fool grasped my wrist with his Skill-touched fingers, and with my spare hand, I touched the carved sigil for home.
On the other side, Thick and Nettle were waiting.
Notes:
I apologize for nothing.
Chapter 6: Home
Notes:
So the chapter I planned to post this week wound up being exceedingly long (10k) and disjointed. I couldn't come up with a cohesive chapter title at all. I instead broke it into two chapters, this one and the next, both of which I'm posting today.
Thank you for the comments and kudos! I really do appreciate each and every one.
Chapter Text
Even the unexpected arrival of my daughter could not dampen my enthusiasm for returning to Buckkeep with the Fool on my arm. Once we saw them, however, he released my wrist without any fuss and put his glove back on. I tried not to mourn his absence.
“Hello Tom!” Thick greeted me no less than fifteen feet from the pillars. He waved his hand.
“Hello Tom,” Nettle stood next to him, her face unreadable to me.
“Hello Thick. Hello Nettle,” I greeted them both, grinning at the blue sky, warm temperature, and the cart that would carry the heavy scrolls. I headed directly to the cart to carefully remove the bags from my shoulders. Nettle helped steady the bags as I unloaded myself.
“What’s in these anyway, bricks?” She asked, looking at me strangely.
“Skill scrolls. This is part of Buckkeep’s old Skill library,” We now had scrolls we might actually understand, which was another point of positivity in my day. Nettle and I might even read them together. I had even seen some that required no translation.
My daughter stared at me as though I had grown an extra head.
“Hello Fool!” Thick greeted the Fool as he approached the cart at last.
“Hello Thick. I see you have your whistle! Does it work well?” He asked, smiling at him.
“It does!” He did not blow in it to demonstrate.
“Is your name really Fool?” Nettle asked, peering over at them.
The Fool came around the cart to greet her, “You can thank Tom for that. Before he came along, it was merely a title. Well met, Lady Nettle,” He took her offered hand and bowed over it gallantly, his smile dazzling.
“Nice to meet you,” She fumbled awkwardly, “And what should I call you? Fool does not seem like a good name for casual conversation,” She crinkled her nose at the thought.
“That is well, as I would rather not be spoken of in casual conversation. I recently absconded from Buckkeep after a year disguised as Lord Golden, and he was fleeing a sizable debt, acquired in the name of a future that did not happen. I return for some degree of anonymity to heal from some recent injuries. You may refer to me as the Fool to Thick, Tom, Queen Kettricken, Lord Chade, and Prince Dutiful. Your mother Molly may recall me, but we never formally met while she was here. Otherwise, I would rather not be named at all, if you please,” And so he simultaneously let her into a secret and laid very firm limitations as to who she could talk to about it.
I marveled at his forthrightness but needed to amend his list. “Lady Patience and Lacey also know who you are, Fool. When I told them what I had been up to since last I saw them, I spoke of you,” I said apologetically. I had kept his secrets as best I could, but I needed them to know how important the Fool was to me. I think in revealing my regard for him to them, I also confirmed it for myself. I hoped desperately he would not be upset at my betrayal.
Instead, he looked over at me and smiled broadly, “Of course Lady Patience and her maid Lacey. I should have realized.”
“They would quite like to meet you again, once you’re feeling better,” I shifted awkwardly as I extended the invite.
“I would love to see them again,” The Fool murmured under his breath. As though suddenly aware of his audience, his tone turned light-hearted once more, “Once I have the energy to handle Lady Patience’s particular brand of enthusiasm, of course.”
Nettle frowned at us both, but rather than say anything, she swallowed as though forcibly holding in the words she wanted to ask. “I’m saddened to hear that you were injured, and I hope your recovery goes smoothly,” Her voice was formal and stilted, as though she recited words from a page.
“That was good, Nettle,” The Fool grinned at her, his voice somehow conspiratorial rather than condescending. “Now. Would you like advice on how to talk to people in court to convey the same thing but in different ways? For example, if you were not sorry and wanted them to know it, but they could not respond directly without seeming discourteous? You see, Tom mentioned to me that you were frustrated by etiquette in court and specifically the way others interpreted your words. I could help you with this.”
Her eyes had been narrowed as he began speaking, looking sideways at me. At his offer, she turned herself entirely back towards him, face lit up in excitement, “You would? Without teasing me for my mistakes?”
“I will most certainly tease you, but I swear on Burrich’s healing salve that I will never purposefully harm you with words or actions,” He intoned, and with that he had won her far more handily than I ever had. I felt a moment of jealousy, but it was swamped by overwhelming pleasure to see my Fool and my daughter create their own relationship. He would help her in this realm far more than I could, and she clearly desired this guidance from someone other than the Queen.
They clasped hands then, sealing the deal. She then slid her arm into the crook of his elbow, and the two of them led the way back to Buckkeep. I pulled the cart, keeping pace with Thick, and I eavesdropped without care.
“You knew my Papa? Were you close then?”
“Not as close as he was with Tom, but your Papa was by far the best healer in Buckkeep and knew how to keep his mouth shut. In fact, when King Shrewd was unwell, he specifically asked for Burrich,” The Fool proceeded to tell my daughter stories of her father, keeping my role completely absent. I reached for our Skill link and sent gratitude towards him, and he responded only with joy.
“Now that you’re back, do we meet at sunrise to be students? You, me, and Nettle?” Thick asked, interrupting my listening. He plodded alongside me, swinging with arms exuberantly. I thought he was excited at the prospect of learning the Skill-magic with Nettle.
I considered the timing of our meeting along with my responsibilities to the crown and Thick’s sizable complaints about Skilling before breakfast. “After lunch, I think. So we’re all fed when we practice. I’m busy most mornings.”
“Ya, you Skill for the Queen, so I don’t have to,” He ambled along.
“Exactly right Thick. So tomorrow after lunch, we’ll begin by sorting through all these scrolls. They’ll guide us far better than the scrolls we already have.”
“How do they do that?” His skepticism was well-earned based on the scrolls we had reviewed over the prior year.
“They’re more general purpose and explain the ideas that our current scrolls assume we already know. Remember when we read that one scroll that acted as though we already knew everything?”
“That scroll was awful. So many big words that made no sense!”
“Yes Thick. These scrolls explain the big words so they make sense. The other scrolls are confusing without these scrolls,” I explained. I hoped these scrolls would live up to my expectations.
When we approached the front gate, we were waved on through. Nettle and Thick apparently were recognizable enough that we were not questioned. We four halted in the courtyard, suddenly awkward and very visible. Thick stood still for only a moment before his stomach audibly growled. “Goodbye Tom! Goodbye, Nettle!” Thick waved over his shoulder as he headed towards the kitchens.
The three of us turned to face one another, and Nettle’s eyes glanced back and forth between the two of us as though she were trying to place us in her understanding of Buckkeep. Her lips pursed, then she shook her head once and faced me. “Tom, my mother returned with me to Buckkeep because she wanted to meet the man who claimed to know her. Can we arrange a meeting?”
I felt I had aged a hundred years at the impending conversation. I started to freeze in fear and remembered how Nettle had recently teased me for my wolflike behavior. So I mentally shook myself like a wolf shaking dirt and detritus from his coat, and in the process I freed myself of the bulk of my panic and cowardice. One step at a time, I reminded myself. I needed to have this conversation to be able to talk with my daughter honestly.
I tried to calm my face and keep my tone amiable, though the words felt awkward, “Yes, I should meet with Molly. I was supposed to return tomorrow evening from Aslevjal, so I should be available later today or tomorrow to meet. Do you think that would work for your mother?”
“I can check. I’ll send you a message if she’s available?”
“Of course. The Queen has assigned me to Lady Patience now, so we should be able to meet in her chambers. I’ll need to check with her first, however.” It wasn’t perfect, but Patience said she would aid me as best she could.
Nettle sharply nodded at me once, then gave a proper farewell to the Fool and turned to depart, her skirt swirling as spun away from us. I did not watch her leave, not wanting others in the courtyard to note the oddness of our exchange. I instead turned towards the Fool. “Do you think you remember the way to your rooms?” I asked the Fool, my raised eyebrow to suggest he take the hidden paths rather than the main hallways.
“I believe so. I could also help you deal with the scrolls first,” He offered, looking at the heavy bags.
I shrugged, “Up to you. I wasn’t certain how private you wanted to be about your return.”
“Private is better, but I’d rather go there with you,” To support his claim, he placed a hand on one of the bags and tried to lift it. He failed, and he looked mournfully at it, “My body is taking much longer to heal than I’d like it to.” He sighed. “I could open doors for you? Make sure you don’t run into things?”
“There are a lot of stairs between here and the tower,” I warned him.
“I have to start building strength sometime,” He said tightly.
He helped me put the heavy bags on my body and claimed the basket. As we proceeded to Verity’s tower, he was sure to direct people around me and that I had as few obstacles as possible. With his simple clothes and darker skin tone, he was not recognized, though some did stop and look at him with interest. I felt a surge of jealousy at their appraisal. I had to remind myself the role I played was over now, but that did nothing to stop me from scowling at those who looked at him too long. Those who saw me quickly hurried away, so dark was my look.
He led me directly to the tower, telling the guard at the base that he had a delivery of Skill scrolls. We were let in immediately. I carefully ascended the narrow stairs, the bulky bags making it impossible to see where I placed my feet, and I tripped several times. Once at the top, I placed the bags on the floor in the middle of the chamber. We looked down at them.
“Should we take them out, do you think? So they aren’t damaged in the bags.” I was not excited by the prospect. I would rather head to our rooms and not think about the scrolls until tomorrow after lunch.
“Probably,” He also did not sound enthused. We shared a look. I sighed and began unpacking them, lining them up on the ground as we did not have enough racks to accommodate the large number of scrolls, nor could we two go through and organize them all at that moment. He joined me, but it still took longer than I expected. The task of reading and organizing all of them daunted me.
Once placed on a flat surface with minimal possibility of being crushed, we folded the canvas bags and set them down on the table, then washed our hands in the wash basin to remove the oil and dust. We descended the tower stairs and snuck into the walls to make our way back to Lord Golden’s chambers.
As promised, Kettricken had furnished the room, selecting items in her usual style that was both simple and well-made. I noticed she included a few colorful accents in line with the Fool’s taste. My queen had also arranged a meal to be laid out for us at the little table, and I silently thanked her for her forethought. We sat down at the table, and I served a plate for him. My stomach was too knotted to eat anything, so I heated water for tea.
He did not eat the food. Instead he moved bits around with his fork, staring forlornly.
“Do you like the chambers?” I asked nervously, the words fleeing my mouth. “I thought about setting you up in the hidden chambers, but with Chade, Dutiful, Thick, and anyone else, it seemed a lot less private than a room like this one. Here, there are only two doors, and you have control over both.”
“It’s wonderful, Fitz. Thank you.” His voice was mild, but he still did not start eating. Instead, he dropped the fork, slowly pulled his legs to his chest and gripped his knees with clenched hands.
“What’s wrong?” I prompted him, dreading the answer. Surely he did not want to return to Aslevjal.
He glanced at me quickly then looked down, staring at his knees. “I have a favor to ask, but I didn’t want you to take it the wrong way.”
“If it’s within my power to do, I’ll do it,” I promised rashly.
“Would you… sleep in bed with me tonight? Even though the bed last night was small, it was the best night of sleep I’ve gotten since… well. A long time. I felt safe having you there,” He stammered out the words, eyes fixated on his knees.
I reached over to lay my hand on his, and his eyes jerked towards the movement. I waited until he looked up at me. He did not move his head and his thick eyelashes blocked the view, but he was looking. He gulped audibly, and I smiled at him, “I would love to. I was hoping you’d ask. When I was recovering, having Burrich and Nighteyes nearby was… supremely comforting. When I had nightmares or when I just needed to not be alone.”
“Oh, that’s good.” His eyes were large in disbelief. “Thank you, Fitz.”
“Of course. I’ll sleep there with you for as long as you’ll have me.”
He worried his lower lip with his teeth, his tension still lingering. I made tea as I waited. “And what if anyone asks why we’re sharing a bed? I remember Chade expected you to sleep in his room upstairs when we first moved into these rooms, and they were bothered when we shared a tent on Aslevjal.”
I understood his fear then, and my own role in building it for him, and tried to assuage it. “Well, Dutiful and Chade know generally what happened, so it’ll be easy to deal with them if they ask. Kettricken and Thick won’t ask. And Patience would likely hit me with her fan if I slept anywhere else,” I smiled at the image of my terrifying mother intent on me doing the right thing.
“What about Nettle?” The Fool asked apprehensively.
“What about Nettle?” I echoed, confused.
“What would you tell her? About you sleeping in that room. With me.” He corrected himself stiffly.
I leaned back in my seat, “Well. I need to meet with Molly soon to discuss Nettle. I want to introduce myself to her as FitzChivalry. I want to claim that conversation. I would also like to introduce myself as her father but with Burrich gone… I suspect Molly will want to do that one herself. Then… Oh I don’t know, Fool. Will she hate me? I wouldn’t be surprised. She would have every right to be angry at me. And we will need to work together with the Skill…” I rested my chin on my hand looking at him, “You did so well with her today that I expect she’ll love you regardless of my affiliation with you. I expect you can tell her whatever you’d like, provided it’s not too fantastical.”
He smiled a small, crooked smile, “What sort of fantastical story do you anticipate me constructing for your daughter?"
I laughed then, considering. “That I’ve captured you and keep you as my personal jester and toymaker, maybe? Or perhaps that I’ve charmed you with my many bastardly magics,” I wiggled my eyebrows at him. “Perhaps I’m a dragon in disguise, and I’ve ensorcelled you to stay with me forever. Or you could say the bed in the servant’s chamber is terribly uncomfortable and the one in your room is plenty large enough for two people.” I thought of Patience and Lacey.
“What if I say we’re sleeping together?” He burst out.
“Well. We would be sleeping together,” I pointed out slowly. “There’s only one bed in that chamber, isn’t there? Or did Kettricken add a second?”
He gave a slight smile then and shook his head. “Point taken, Fitz. I’ll decide what to tell her, and I’ll let you know what it is.” I felt certain I was missing something then, but my hunger returned, and he had at last begun to eat.
Patience had been pleased at the brevity of my trip to Aslevjal and informed me in no uncertain terms that she rescheduled Hap’s visit for six days from now, and I would attend so she could become better acquainted with her grandson. I agreed to the timing but quibbled about her naming him in that way. “He’s your son, Tom! You need to tell him who you are eventually.”
“Maybe when he’s learned a bit of discretion,” I said. “Right now, he’s so fixated on that girl of his, I could see him using my name if it convinces her to give up that sailor,” I was not kind in my assessment, but the boy was young and in love. I only hoped that Svanja would treat him as well as he thought she would, but I doubted it.
My thoughts returned to the reason for my visit, “Nettle and Molly are in Buckkeep, and I arranged with Nettle to meet with Molly at some point in your rooms. Is that acceptable to you? I wanted somewhere with a door that closes in case she yells at me for hours, but also somewhere a recently widowed woman would not raise an eyebrow.”
She gasped, “FitzChivalry Farseer, are you thinking about the conditions of a conversation before having it?”
I rolled my eyes at her, “Yes mother, I have learned tact. Thank you for reminding me of the many times I blurted out whatever was on my mind at the first opportunity instead.” She glared at me, and I moderated my tone, “Would that be alright with you?”
“Of course, Tom,” Patience said kindly, then with a glint of mischief in her eyes, “Do you want me to be there for it? I can keep track of score.”
I flinched, “I’d rather not. She will most likely win. Maybe you could take Nettle on a walk while I talk with her mother?”
“We could go to the gardens, and I could teach her about herbs,” She nodded sagely. “I’ll do this for you, Tom, but I do expect the ability to build my relationship with my granddaughter soon after you start building your own!”
“That’s the goal,” I groaned inwardly at all that hinged on the success of my conversation with Molly.
Chapter 7: Unharnessed Horses
Chapter Text
Nettle sent Patience a letter saying that tonight over dinner would work for Molly, and I was shooed out so that Patience and Lacey could get the room readied. Since I had enough time, I stopped by the kitchen for apples and went to see Myblack, taking her out on a short ride. It seemed I was slowly winning her over. I doubted I would ever have the same affection for her as I did Sooty, and I was even more doubtful that I would come up with a suitable name for her, but she was still the Fool’s gift and one of the fastest horses I had ever ridden.
When I judged it time to return to Patience’s rooms, I checked on the Fool with the Skill. He seemed to be whistling? I sent him feelings anticipation and mild dread, hoping he could parse what I was about to do. He returned a sensation of comfort so powerful that I felt instantly calmed. I sent back gratitude and then closed the connection.
On my way to Patience’s door, I passed Nettle holding the hands of two young boys, Hearth and Just, I assumed. I introduced myself to them and they bobbed awkwardly at me, then they went back to whispering between themselves, ignoring me entirely.
“You look like you’re headed for the gallows,” Nettle commented to me.
“Your mother is a terrifying woman,” I reminded her.
“I suppose. She has always just been my mother,” And I could not deny that.
“Patience wanted to show you all the Women’s Garden while we spoke. Could you wait there for her?” I asked. At the very least I wanted Nettle to be out of earshot of the door when I opened it.
“She already asked me. That’s why I’m waiting here,” She looked at me oddly then, and I cursed my clumsiness. Dutiful had picked out my identity in part by the casual way I referred to my family.
“Oh. Well, that’s good. Thank you,” I stumbled through the exchange, and I think we were both relieved when I turned to walk towards the door. Unfortunately, Nettle did not move, and I could only hope Molly’s temper had mellowed with age.
In front of Patience’s door, I straightened my clean uniform. The Fool had helped me prepare my clothes and hair before I met with Patience so I was certain I looked as well as I could after a ride. I knocked four times and at Patience’s shourt I opened the door and closed it rapidly behind me. Molly was seated at the table facing away from me, and upon my arrival, Patience and Lacey stood up.
“Well there’s Tom. I’ll leave you to it then,” My mother stated as though she hadn’t just signed my death warrant. She slipped her arm into Lacey’s to leave.
“They’re waiting for you just outside the door,” I informed her.
“Thank you, Tom,” Patience murmured, patting my shoulder comfortingly as she passed. The door opened and shut behind me before I made my way to the chair my mother had vacated. I sat down and dragged my eyes towards Molly, the woman I abandoned.
She had cut her hair to the scalp in mourning, and all I could think was that Burrich would not have appreciated such a decision, but he was not alive to be upset by it. Her dress was black as night, high necked with long skirts, in mourning for her husband, the man who raised me. Her eyes and mouth had the beginnings of wrinkles forming at the corners, and her frame was broader than I remembered, a result from bearing seven children. She looked so different from my memory, and she looked so much the same. I had not seen her for half my lifetime now, but that did not lessen the pull I felt in my heart.
She was still so beautiful. Her enraged gaze was so familiar.
“Hello Molly,” I greeted her.
“Tom Badgerlock,” She sneered, my name heavy with rage, “Lady Patience always called you Tom. I should have guessed it was you,” Her glare only hardened, her teeth gritted and voice low. “I thought you were dead.” She enunciated each word individually, and my body tensed from memory of all the fights we had during our courtship. Her eyes drilled holes into mine, and I could see sparks in them.
I could not blame her for being angry, but I did not want her anger to prevent us from having a conversation. I did not want to tread the worn paths of fights long forgotten, where she raged and I begged and promised fantasies, and she begrudgingly forgave me. I would not be cowed by her fury and use dishonesty to patch the cracks. We needed to break a new path in our relationship if we were to come to an agreement regarding our daughter. So, rather than begging or promising, I wanted to listen to her as Patience had to me. I would agree with her until the anger passed, or at least quieted down enough that I could get a word in. She was the one who was hurt by my actions. She deserved my attention.
“I know. I’m sorry,” I said contritely.
“I thought you were dead for seventeen years, Fitz. Seventeen years. I thought they killed you in that dungeon, and Patience buried you. We have a daughter, and you let me think you were dead,” Her voice was accusing, and my long-buried sadness over not being able to return to my daughter swelled up in me. I felt tears sting the corners of my eyes, and I hastily wiped them away.
“I know, Molly. I know,” I didn’t know what else to say.
“You will explain to me what happened! How could you let me think you had died?!” The yelling had come at last, both sooner and later than I had expected, than I had hoped. We were both seated, and she was far shorter than me, but that meant nothing to the terror that welled up in me.
I had not managed to dissuade her anger, but I remained firm in my resolve. I would not cower or beg or yell. I would be calm and reasonable. I doubted I had the capacity for such things, but doubt could not stop me from trying.
“Because I did die, Molly. I died in that dungeon. And then I was dragged back to life and commanded to go aid Verity in the mountains. When I finally found myself both alive and with some measure of control over my future, you and Burrich had already gotten married. So, I decided to stay away. I thought it best for Nettle if she was raised away from court by two parents who loved her, and I was certain if I re-entered her life, she would be taken away to Buckkeep and have her childhood stolen like mine was. So, I stayed away,” I spoke as calmly as I was possible of doing, but once I said the short of it, the tears started to fall from my eyes. I was grateful to see the wooden box on the table had been restocked with clean handkerchiefs and claimed one. Perhaps Patience and Lacey had learned from our conversation earlier that a story of my life mandated tears. Molly did not seem inclined to cry.
“You can’t expect me to believe that you died. You’re in front of me right now!” She scoffed at me then. “Fitz, why do you insist on making these excuses? I can’t believe—”
“Burrich was there,” I interrupted her, certain the direction of her thoughts would not help me at all.
“What do you mean, he was there?”
“Can I tell you the story? I promise it is entirely true,” I asked at last, frustration overriding my intentions to remain calm. This game of question and answer was also not helping me at all.
She rolled her eyes then and gestured broadly at me, “I’m going to need you to give me the longer version of it, Fitz. You owe it to me.”
“Thank you,” I told her. I had already decided not to give her the five-day version, but she deserved more than half a minute. I considered how to begin. “You know why I was in prison?”
“They said you had the beast-magic, which is ridiculous because I never—”
“It’s true, Molly. I have the Wit magic. We call ourselves Old Blood. You see, soon after I returned from the Buckkeep to find you working for Patience, I rescued a wolf cub in the market…”
And thus I told her a slightly longer version of my story. It took only an hour or so, and while she scoffed in disbelief a few times, she was generally a good listener. I focused primarily on my recovery time with Burrich, using my Skill to look in on her and Burrich, Verity’s Skill-command to come to him, and the very real fact that Kettricken had planned to claim Nettle as the sole Farseer heir. I emphasized the ways I bargained for Nettle’s childhood, how each time I showed any interest or awareness of Nettle, it was like the bargaining phase had reopened, and I once again had to secure Nettle’s future in Molly’s home. I pointed out that my strategy was successful for sixteen years, and that Nettle was only removed from her home only when Dutiful joined Nettle and me in one of our shared Skill dreams.
She did require proof of my Wit-magic, and I offered her the best, most embarrassing proof I had. I explained how Nighteyes struggled with separating our two lives and, while I generally could keep him from my mind when we were together, there was an exception, when I had slept soundly while he kept watch in my body. According to Nighteyes, Molly had showed up crying and he let her in and helped her, then bedded her. I told her that when I awoke, I was angry at him. I had tried to speak to her about it, but she had shushed me and called the night “perfect,” then left without another word.
She was silent for a long time, and I ate my meal, trying to remain calm in the silence. At last she murmured, “I should have known that wasn’t you. You were behaving so strangely. You were so different.”
“It wasn’t me. I have practically no knowledge of what happened that night. I have no idea how Nighteyes behaved, what he said, or what he did. His explanation was not terribly clear, and there was no real way to ask you,” I told her.
“Perhaps it’s best it stays that way,” Her voice shook. I had to accept that, though it frustrated me greatly to still have no knowledge of what happened that night. She did not question any aspect of my Wit-magic afterwards.
Her composure was surprising to me, and I realized after the first hour or so that I had been using the Wit to calm her. Pulling her in, as Web might say. Soothing. He mentioned such abilities were usually learned naturally and, in the same breath, commented on strange gaps in my memories. Perhaps I regained this ability when I regained the rest of my memories? I felt uncomfortably like I was manipulating her emotions while I did it, but when I used the Wit to fully understand her as Web had taught me, I felt sadness rather than anger. Perhaps, her anger was a mask to hide her sadness, and my Wit was simply removing her mask as I had removed mine. Sadness, I thought, would be more effective for both of us.
Still, I lessened the strength of my soothing on her. Her anger did not flare, and I sensed we had gotten past the bulk of it.
I told her as well of the time I almost returned home and how I had Skilled Nettle by accident over the years. I spoke briefly of my time working for Lord Golden but prioritized telling her of Burrich, Swift, and Nettle. How I had hoped that revealing to Burrich that I was alive and watching over Swift would alleviate the anxiety in their household, but instead Burrich decided that he needed to rescue me too. I described how his arrival saved the Six Duchies: His suspicion of the Pale Woman’s motivations was the catalyst behind my decision to save the Icefyre.
She wept when I described how Burrich stood alone before a dragon and how he used his magic to force a dragon to its knees. Cockle had written a remarkably accurate song of the battle, including how Swift shot a magic arrow into the eye of the Stone dragon and slaying it and freeing the Pale Woman’s people, and it had already reached the Six Duchies. Burrich and Swift had saved us all, and I told her as much.
She still fixated on how the magic divided her family. “So Swift ran away because he had the Wit?” Her head was in her hands.
“Yes. Swift inherited it from Burrich, and your husband always hated it in himself and in me. I didn’t realize when he thought I was dead that he would take his hatred of our magic to such as extreme. I should have. Molly, I’m so sorry. It’s my fault that Burrich reacted so strongly to Swift’s magic.” I held such guilt for Swift’s difficulty in recent years, and my voice was laden with it.
Molly groaned tiredly, “It wasn’t your fault, Fitz. When Burrich thought you were dead, he could have done the opposite. He could have found one of those Old Blood communities and learned how to practice his magic safely. He could have tried to teach Swift how to control his magic, like that Witmaster is doing. But my stubborn husband chose to dig his heels in and did to Swift even worse what he did to you, even though he knew it didn’t work. It is not your fault what Burrich did.” She clearly considered the conversation to be over, for she switched topics without pause, “Swift is doing well then, under this Web?” She met my eyes carefully, and I saw in that moment that she had decided to believe me. To trust me a little.
“Very well. I’ve been very impressed by Web’s teaching, and I hope to learn more from him myself when they return. He’s a good man, you’ll see,” I found myself missing his calm demeanor and decided to spend some time learning from him. The rare lessons I had received from him had already helped me so much. I would make the time, I promised myself.
We spoke briefly of their marriage, and I told her what Burrich told me, that he was the better man for her and that I had agreed with him. “Did neither of you think I should get a say?” She snapped at me. My light soothing could only do so much, apparently, in the face of her sudden fury.
“Of course you do, Molly,” I acknowledged, but I would not cave, “But I also get a say in whether I chose to return and who I wanted to raise our daughter. By staying away, I ensured that you and Burrich had first say over Nettle. I prioritized Nettle’s childhood over my own life. Of course I wanted to return to you both. Of course I did. But even if you weren’t married to Burrich, I fear my return would have torn your family apart simply because Nettle is a Farseer. With me gone, I ensured you and Burrich could raise Nettle without Farseer influence.” It was not the easiest task to believe the father who abandoned their child did so on the child’s behalf, but my own experience as an abandoned Farseer bastard gave me a certain expertise in that topic.
I think in part I convinced her by talking about my boy Hap, a Red Ship bastard with no Farseer blood, who was therefore safe from Farseer interests. Nighteyes and I had raised him together, and he was the best son a man could have, at least before we came to Buckkeep. Together we lamented his relationship with Svanja, which we both agreed was foolhardy and frustrating. She told me of Chivalry’s budding relationship with a neighboring girl named Thrift, who sounded far less likely to lead her boy astray.
True to form, Molly smacked me on the head when I told her how I left him with a coin purse before my trip to Aslevjal, which he left with the girl for safe-keeping. “Why would you do that? You know she’s just going to steal it from him!”
“Because then he’ll have a clear sign she’s using him, and he’ll finally leave her for good. He’s a resourceful lad, and I can always acquire more money,” I pointed out angrily as I rubbed the raising bruise on my head. “You should see him, Molly. He’s as stupid and certain as you and I were in the face of Patience’s reprimands. After all, would you have left me if you hadn’t found out you were pregnant?”
“I wouldn’t have, and you know it,” she snapped.
“The same way I wouldn’t have left you, and neither will Hap leave this girl.” Then, I stopped rubbing the bruise and finally spoke the difficult words that needed to be said, “Molly, you should have left me. Or I should have. But I did not prioritize you in the way you deserved, nor was I allowed to tell you what I was prioritizing instead. It was unfair to you, and you deserved more. I’m sorry.”
Molly’s eyes were wide, in shock at my apology. I think if I had been trying to win her back to me, this was the moment I could have turned towards that goal. But I was not, so I did not. I instead let my apology hang between us for her to deal with as she saw fit.
“If I had listened to Patience, I likely would have left. After all, a horse can only wear one saddle,” Her voice was quiet as she stated that old phrase of my mother’s.
I was suddenly angry at that tired phrase, “I wish Patience had never said that. Why does one need to be the horse and the other the rider? A pair of horses properly harnessed and going in the same direction can carry far more together than one horse with a damn saddle!” I was so tired of being a horse laden with too many saddles and reins pulled in all directions.
Molly frowned but seemed to have no response for me. I did not know if she took my meaning, but I did not want to talk about it. I directed the conversation away from horses and saddles, not wanting to suggest she harness herself to me. “It wasn’t just that I didn’t prioritize you, but we never had the same long-term goals. Bastard or not, I am a Farseer, and I want to help the people of the Six Duchies to the extent my abilities allow. It comes with the blood. Even if Shrewd allowed us to marry, you would not have wanted to share my life and all its responsibilities, and I would have been incapable of sharing yours.”
“But why Fitz? Why do you want to help them? They hate you, and they killed you, and you lived as this Tom Badgerlock for fear they would use you or crown you. Why would you sacrifice a simple life to instead live this wretched existence?” Molly gestured angrily with her hands, voice distraught as she demanded an answer to the question she had asked me again and again when we were younger. I somehow had never come up with a better answer, despite all the years that passed.
“My existence isn’t wretched,” I said immediately, thinking of my mother strolling the gardens with my daughter, Chade and Dutiful sailing back to Kettricken and me. I thought of the Fool whistling in my rooms right now. In our rooms.
“I’m sorry, I should not have said that.” While I had thought of all the people that made my life so difficult and complicated and worth living, she had realized the size of the misstep she had made. “I just meant –”
I cut her off, “I know what you meant,” I said, not unkindly. “It’s a worthwhile question.” I thought about it now, giving the question its due.
“Because I can make the world better, Molly.” She stared at me at the boldness of the claim.
“It’s true. In the time of the Red Ship War, my actions directly protected our people. Not just rowing on the Rurisk, but Shrewd had me travel to Forged towns to advise them on what to do and help as I could. I also ensured Kettricken could safely flee Buckkeep to go to the Mountain Kingdom. And I know for a fact that Verity would not have successfully raised the dragons to beat back the Red Ships if I had not been there. That’s the honest truth, Molly.” The short list of the successes of my youth were intimidating to consider. What would have happened to the Six Duchies if I hadn’t been there? The Fool would know, but I did not know if I wanted the details.
I shook my head then, to clear it, and focused on the present. “And now it’s different. I know Kettricken, Chade, and Dutiful, and they do not hate me. They want my help. They need my help. I have all these abilities, and I’m in a unique position in which my actions can change things for the better. My actions can allow others to live a simple life. They allow people like Nettle and your boys to have a childhood. If I can do so much, how could I refuse? I want everyone in our kingdom to live safely and happily, with real childhoods, food on the table, and the ability to fall in love with the wrong people,” I smiled crookedly at her, thinking of Hap. I reached for her hand then, and she let me take it, and I gently rubbed it with my thumb. “And I have the ability and capacity to make that fantasy a reality. I’m sorry, Molly. But this is what I need to do.”
She looked numbly at our joined hands, then moved to hold my hand with both of hers. It looked giant in hers, covered in scarred cuts from battles past, while hers dotted with burn marks from cooking and candle-making. She rubbed my hand gently between hers. “I understand Fitz. I do, now, but I didn’t then.” And I brought over my other hand to cup hers as well, and we looked down at our joined hands rather than at each other. I sensed then that the opportunity had passed. The path had been chosen, and our horses were heading apart from one another once more.
After a time, Molly broke the silence between us. “So does that mean you have harnessed yourself to someone?” Molly asked cautiously. I caught underlying tension in her voice.
I responded as though I did not know what she was asking. In truth, I did not know how to respond if she asked outright. I considered my aligned fate with the Fool and Kettricken. Certainly the Queen and I had hitched ourselves to the same cart going in the same direction, “Perhaps? Partnerships are similar, and I have shared goals with several people right now. At the very least, I need to stay in Buckkeep until the crown is firmly on Dutiful’s head.”
She frowned but said nothing.
I redirected our conversation towards less dangerous waters, far from crown secrets and romance. “There is another thing we need to speak about. Near the end, I think Burrich hoped I would return to you. He asked me to look after you and the boys. I would still like to help you as best I can, for you and for Burrich. I can tell your sons stories of Burrich, pass on knowledge that perhaps he never got around to telling them, maybe travel with Nettle when she comes home, and I can help with the horses or, I don’t know, build a fence. Anything you think appropriate.” I felt remarkably useless as I offered my help to Molly. I hoped she thought it had value, “Nettle and Swift both seemed to appreciate my stories of their Papa,” I ended lamely.
Molly looked as though I was a horse at the auction. “I suppose that could be useful. To my boys, Burrich was a father first and a man a distant second. You knew him as both, in a way our boys eventually would have.” My shoulders lowered at last with relief that Molly would allow me to fulfill my promise to Burrich.
Then she released my hands then and we each leaned back, the closeness vanished. “What about Nettle?” Her voice was hard.
“I will be working with her daily in my role as Skillmaster,” I eyed her as I said this. She nodded, face impassive. I continued, “I would like to tell her myself that I’m FitzChivalry, not just Tom. She would find out eventually, and I do not enjoy hiding it from her,” She nodded again. I swallowed my fear and continued, “She also will need to be told she is a Farseer and what that means for her life. But I don’t want her to think I’m trying to replace her Papa. I would never want that.”
The very thought of telling Nettle of our relationship overwhelmed me. It seemed there were even more pitfalls, and failure would mean I would never have a personal relationship with my daughter. One wrong word and she would cast me off entirely. She did not have years of nostalgic memories with me as Molly had, and she had managed to survive her entire life without any help from me, so why would she want me now?
I had survived this conversation with Molly, the one I had put off for seventeen years, yet somehow, I could not handle the thought of my daughter knowing the truth of our relationship? How pathetic, my thoughts ridiculed me. How worthless and cowardly. Nettle would surely hate me when she learned the truth, and it was nothing worse than what I deserved.
In my self-loathing and panic, my hands stiffened into claws and dug into my jaw, the sensation painful but grounding, bringing me back to the present. Suddenly aware of Molly in front of me, I relaxed my fingers. I felt suddenly grateful for my beard which would hide the deep half-moon indents I had left behind. The bruises I had caused.
Molly reached over and gently removed one of my hands from my face, though I could not tell if it was to stop me from mangling myself or to comfort me. Both, perhaps. “We don’t have to tell her tonight,” She consoled me.
“Molly, for all our shared dreams, Nettle and I don’t know each other very well,” I admitted. “She was so disappointed to discover the Shadow Wolf she knew was just a middle-aged man with a broken face named Tom. Worse, she feels the Skill magic is like a disease that snatched her from her home and demands she serve her queen. She was so upset when she asked me why I chose her to have it, and all I could tell her was that I didn’t choose her, that it was just something she was born with. How do you think she’ll react when she knows it truly is my fault she has the Skill and will forever be in service to the kingdom? I’m the reason she can’t have a simple life. I tried so hard to give her a childhood and now it’s being ripped away from her, and she’s being forced into a life she does not want,” The words tumbled from me as I confided in Molly then of my greatest fears regarding our daughter. I trusted her to know far better than I how Nettle would react.
Molly squeezed my hand gently, and I suddenly realized how tightly I had been clenching hers. I released it suddenly and held her hand only limply, like a dead fish. Too far or not enough, how could nothing I do be correct? I was afraid of being rebuked for harming her and afraid of being rebuked for dropping her hand almost entirely. I slowly increased the pressure until we held hands comfortably, without clenching or weakness.
“Oh Fitz,” She broke the silence at last. She spoke slowly with care, her voice kind, “Nettle will be fine, I promise you. Not at first, perhaps, but Burrich and I raised her to be strong and face her problems head on. So much has happened recently that I think she feels overwhelmed by the change. Of course she is upset. But she does like Buckkeep. Back home, all she could see was how small our home was and how small our life was. We left a day early because she was so anxious to get back. I think with you and your family here helping her, and the friends she’s been making, she’ll do well. And if this Skill magic is anything like you say it is, I suspect that she will flourish in learning it. But it will take time, Fitz, and you can’t rush it,” She chided me gently. Her confidence did much to assuage my fears and ease my tension, and I felt myself returning to some level of calmness.
I smiled weakly at her and decided to tell her another reason why Nettle may learn to like Buckkeep, “I have a friend here who offered to teach her courtly speaking and ways in private lessons, so I’m hopeful that will help her as well. Far better he does it than I. I have never discovered how to avoid making a fool of myself,” Instruction from me on such things would be disastrous. Better I teach her the Skill, in which I had a vague level of expertise.
Molly looked at me oddly then, “Which friend is this?”
I glanced at her, “The Fool? I thought I told you of him. He traveled with me to Verity and then to Aslevjal.” Had I somehow forgotten?
“Why would the Fool know of ‘courtly speaking and ways’?” She acted as though I claimed the sky to be yellow.
“Because he’s good at it?”
“Fitz, you’re making no sense.”
I was deeply insulted and had a strange insight at how the Fool must have felt whenever I claimed he made no sense. How was this not obvious? “I told you of him. He pretended to be Lord Golden this past year and practically everyone liked him and thought he was clever. But he’s not a Jamaillian Lord, he’s just the Fool. He’s my best friend,” I added simply.
The glare she gave me could have pinned me to a wall. “Fitz, you spoke of him like he was a completely different person.”
Tom? Can we return yet? Nettle’s voice echoed in my head. Lady Patience and Lacey are both quite tired, though they are pretending otherwise. Hearth and Just are practically asleep.
Yes, that should be fine. We’ve covered everything we needed to discuss. I did not view our current trajectory to be important enough to deprive my mother and Lacey of their sitting room.
We’ll return in a few minutes.
See you soon.
“Fitz?” Molly’s fingers snapped in front of my face, trying to get my attention.
I waved my hand to chase them away. “Sorry, I was talking to Nettle. Patience and Lacey are tired, so they’re heading back. They should be here shortly,” I informed her.
Molly frowned slightly, “Is that what it looks like when you’re Skilling? Like you’re bored?”
I snorted, “I’ve never had anyone describe how I looked while Skilling, but apparently yes, I look bored. I suspect it’s because I’m suddenly paying attention to another conversation that you can’t hear. What were we talking about?”
“Lord Golden,” Her voice was warning me to be honest.
“Oh, right. The Fool is a very good actor and has a talent for understanding the hidden meaning of words and phrases. He knows manners and courtesies far better than I. Nettle and Thick met us earlier today, and he proposed to teach her. She seemed excited at the prospect.”
“But isn’t he… odd?” I felt a stab of anger at her words, at her dismissal of my best friend. I tried to ignore it, reminding myself that she did not know him, not truly.
“Not as himself. As King Shrewd’s Fool, I think he had an obligation to be odd and off-putting, yes,” I felt strangely as though I was connecting two worlds. Had Molly and my Fool truly never met? That seemed strange given his interest in me, and I wondered if he specifically avoided her. “Perhaps I could ask if he’d have the strength to meet you? He’s still recovering from Aslevjal…”
“Yes, I would like to meet him, especially if he’s your best friend and will be teaching our daughter how to survive this viper’s nest,” Her voice was acid in her opinion of Buckkeep. Given her experience here, I could not disagree.
At this point, there were four slow knocks on the door, granting us time to prepare ourselves. Our shared glance affirmed our silent agreement. Nothing more would happen tonight. I smiled crookedly at her, and she smiled back. I grabbed the handful of used handkerchiefs and tossed them in a small basket nearby for washing.
The door opened at last, Patience leading the way. She looked quickly between the two of us then opened it wider to admit Lacey, Nettle, Just, and Hearth. The two boys were practically asleep, with Nettle carrying Hearth and Just’s hand grabbing her skirt as though he used it to stay upright.
Patience clapped her hands, “Well then! I’m glad the two of you managed to catch up. Tom, would you be a dear and help carry young Just to his bed? The boy is practically asleep on his feet!”
I glanced at Molly and with her assent, I scooped up the lad into a front carry. At six, he was younger than Hap was when I first acquired him, and I did not have scars tugging my back anymore. He weighed nothing at all. The boy’s arms draped instinctively around my neck, his head settled against my chest. The complete trust he gave me nearly tore my heart in half.
“After you, Lady Molly,” My words were formal, but the tone was light. Molly rolled her eyes at me and started towards the door. Nettle’s eyes lingered on me suspiciously, and I smiled politely at her as I followed her mother. She quickly filtered in behind me, and I heard the door close.
Molly’s chambers were close by and offered a good view of the sea, and I was pleased to see Kettricken’s regard for Molly so clearly displayed. Molly opened the door with a key and let us in. She guided me towards one of the bedrooms set up with a bed for each of the boys. I returned to the sitting room to wait as she and Nettle settled the boys down to sleep.
When they finally emerged, it had been long enough that I was beginning to feel awkward. Molly seemed happy to see that I was still there, so I put aside any doubts about my hovering.
Molly took charge of the conversation. “It was wonderful to catch up with you after so many years apart, Tom. I never did ask, how did you acquire the name Badgerlock? If Nettle had just said ‘Tom the guardsman, who works for Patience,’ I would have known immediately who she was talking about.”
I suspect Nettle thought it was quite strange that the topic had not come up in the hours we had been in Patience’s rooms or that I had not been born with it as I often claimed. I chose to simply accept the question as she introduced to me, though it was not a pleasant topic, “It was soon after you left, Molly. The same time I received the broken nose and cut on my cheek,” I had hoped my eyes did not look too haunted as I said it, but by her reaction, I saw I had failed. “It went away earlier this year after that Skill-healing I told you about. My hair stopped growing in white,” I continued quickly, trying to assuage her fears.
Molly did not look overly comforted, but she continued on as though we spoke about the weather. “The Skill sounds like a very useful magic, especially if it can be used for healing. Are the two of you meeting for Skill lessons tomorrow then?” She looked at me and Nettle.
What was she getting at? “I had hoped to. We have a lot of Skill scrolls that need to be organized, and I thought we could try out some basic exercises. Would after lunch work for you, Nettle? Thick agreed to come, though I don’t know how much he would enjoy going through the scrolls,” I had no idea if Thick’s presence would be a boon or a hindrance, but he was a member of the coterie.
Nettle grinned at me, and I chose to believe it was out of enthusiasm for spending time with me, “That time works. The Queen has made it clear to me that my Skill lessons take priority over everything else, so my other responsibilities can be rearranged to accommodate them.”
“Wonderful. We meet at Verity’s Tower to practice,” I wanted so desperately to show her the room that meant so much to me.
Just as Nettle was about to respond, however, Molly slid in, “Tom, I was thinking it might be good for you to tell Nettle tomorrow a bit more about yourself. I would rather tell her my own parts of your story at some point, but I think she’d benefit from knowing more about you.”
My eyes practically bugged out of my skull at her suggestion, and I saw Nettle’s eyes did the same. At the look on her face, I had no doubt that we looked closely related. I quickly set my expression as something else, “Yes, I can do that. I’ll tell Thick to skip tomorrow then. Is that acceptable, Nettle?” I felt so painfully formal just then. So painfully at a distance. On the outside of family.
Nettle nodded jerkily, shock still dominating her face. “I would like that. I would like to know more about you,” She said numbly.
“Good. I’ll speak to the Fool about when he’d be able to see you as well, if you’d like. I don’t know how long it’ll take him to settle in,” I explained. Things were moving so quickly now. Was this what my life was always going to be like in Buckkeep? I hoped not.
“That would be good,” Nettle repeated, voice faint. I was struck by how much she seemed much like me when I felt overwhelmed. My instinct encouraged me to comfort her, but I was not allowed to do that. So instead, I stood there awkwardly, unable to imagine leaving my daughter when she was upset, and likewise not unable to do anything of value.
Molly noticed it as well, and she took our daughter’s arm then. “It seems Nettle could use a bit of tea with her mother before bed. Good night, Tom.” She then walked over to her daughter to guide her to the couch, dismissing me.
I bowed to their backs and fled to my Fool.
Chapter Text
I returned to the Fool’s rooms through the walls as quickly as possible, overwhelmed with guilt that I left him alone all day when I told him just the day before that he was my priority. Instead, I had to spent the bulk of the day with Patience, Myblack, and Molly.
I passed through the empty workroom and practically sprinted down the stairs to the hidden entrance in my old servant’s room. I closed the door and tried to calm myself, unwilling to startle him with my behavior. When I at last felt at ease, I gently opened the door to the sitting room of our suite.
The Fool was seated at the desk, head bent over a sheet of paper next to a stack of enclosed letters. I smiled at the sight: of course he was writing to his friends in other places. I wondered what he told them before Aslevjal: Had he told them he would die? Or had he acted like nothing was going to happen? I suspected the former given how certain he had been. The letters he was working on were likely very difficult to write.
When he didn’t turn around, I opted not to interrupt him. Instead, I tossed myself on the couch in front of the fire. I crossed my arms under my head and toed my boots off onto the floor, and I breathed deeply to try and release any remaining stress from the day. We were both here. He was safe.
When I felt my body relax as best it could, I looked at the carvings the Fool had placed on the mantle. My eyes were drawn first to the figure of Nighteyes he had given me before the sea voyage, and I could not help lingering on it. My wolf was joined by a carving of a dragon that looked like it was about to launch into the air, and a third carving of a long-haired cat curled into a ring. I was impressed by the indent the cat’s little face made on its thick tail fur.
The scratching sounds of quill on paper continued for quite some time, interrupted only by the clink of quill in inkpot, and I enjoyed the moment of peace, eyes half-lidded. Eventually, I heard a dramatic swish of a signature, then the sounds of folding paper. At the clear sign he had finished writing, I closed my eyes fully and pretended to be asleep, struck by the childlike curiosity of how someone behaves when they believe another to be unconscious.
I heard the chair legs rumble across the floor and his quiet footsteps as he came over to the fireplace. He settled onto one of the armchairs, and I was so disappointed I nearly gave up the charade, except I felt too embarrassed to pretend to wake up. Did he know?
After a few minutes of trying to snore quietly, I was rewarded by the soft sounds of him returning to his feet and approaching my supposedly sleeping form. He knelt by my head, then leaned over me to gently brush my hair away from my face. He sighed softly to himself, and I decided to reveal myself at last.
I roared as I surged upward and seized him bodily with my arms. I used my strength and my weight to pull him down on top of me, mock growling all the while. He fought back not at all, my prey accepting his defeat with only an explosion of laughter. I could not help but join in, my lungs’ violent movements tossing him about, so I rotated him and tucked him against my side.
“Got you,” I whispered to him as our laughter quieted at last.
“You nearly didn’t. You weren’t quite breathing like you do when you sleep, but you maintained it for so long I wondered if this was just a new way for you to snore that I would need to accustom myself to,” His eyes glittered as he teased me.
“Hopefully I don’t snore too badly,” I felt a bit self-conscious that I might disturb him at night with my breathing of all things.
“You don’t snore at all unless you drink too much, and usually that's when I’ve drunk too much as well,” he said charitably. I doubted that was the only time, but I saw no reason to tell him as much.
“How was your evening? Not too boring I hope?” A small hope glittered in the corner of my heart that he did not think I abandoned him all day.
“Not boring at all, no. It was honestly quite nice to have time to myself in this room after that cave. Prilkop was reasonably good company, suspect intentions aside, but it was a small space without any potential for privacy.” At his words, I released the remaining tension I still held on to.
“That must have been difficult for you,” I recalled well how he valued his privacy and eyed the door to the room that he had used for that purpose when he was a Lord and I was Tom the Bodyguard.
“You have no idea. I think if I’d been able to spend time by myself on my own schedule, I would have figured out his play. But instead, I only had him to talk with, and it was so nice to talk in the language of my homeland after so long,” His eyes were far away then and his voice was so longing that I could not help myself.
“Do you want to teach me? Then we can talk in Mercenian together,” I blurted out.
“Mercen,” He corrected me gently, “You would?” His eyes were wide in excitement at the prospect.
“Of course. It can’t be much more difficult that Chyurda or OutIslander, can it?” I asked stupidly.
The Fool grinned then, then spoke two syllables in his language very slowly, “That means hello!”
I repeated them carefully, and he shook his head, “No your voice must go up on the ‘ya’ sound. Not flat.” He repeated it again. I assume he emphasized the ‘up’ way of saying the word that he wanted me to imitate, but it sounded the same to me as before. I tried again.
“No Fitz, Mercen is a tonal language. Your voice changes in tone as you speak. Listen!” And he proceeded to say 6 identical sounds that supposedly had a different tone.
“Those aren’t… the same word?” I stammered out, suddenly overwhelmed by the prospect of learning a language that had sounds I literally could not hear.
The Fool placed his hand on my chest to push himself up from where he had been tucked. He looked down at me in astonishment, “They really sound the same to you?”
“Try again,” I begged.
He said them slowly, looking intently at me as he did so. I bit my lip in concentration, and he repeated the words.
“The fourth one sounds a bit higher? Like you’re speaking with Amber’s voice. And the second one sounds lower, like when you’re upset.” I could not recall a time in my life when I was so completely incompetent at something. Even when I pulled my Fool back from death, I felt more capable than I did in that instant.
“That’s... something I suppose. I can work with that,” He lowered his head once again to my shoulder.
“I’m sorry.”
“Oh Fitz, that you were willing to try is more than I can ask for. Besides, I’m planning on staying with you for the foreseeable future. We have plenty of time for you to learn,” He rubbed his hand in comforting circles on my chest, but my melancholy still spread despite his assurances. Surely he would leave if I continued failing him.
“I just feel inadequate that you would be satisfied with so little. I don’t understand how what I offer is enough for you.” The arm I had wrapped around him clenched him towards me, and I lifted my other hand to cup his head behind his ear. I pressed my face into his hair, breathing him in. In return the Fool pressed his face into my neck and tightened his arm across my chest, his upper leg slung over mine, and he buried a foot underneath my calf. It was as if all our efforts were concentrated on joining our two bodies together regardless of clothes.
After a few moments of this, I felt dampness on his hair under my face and realized tears were falling. Had I not cried enough lately? I knew of no way to dry his hair without removing my face, so I decided he could handle a wet head for a little while.
“Fitz,” His voice a breath against my throat, “You literally brought me back to life. You have saved me again and again. Even when we fight, you always return to me. You try so hard to understand me. You gave me the future I wanted, and then you ensured I am alive to enjoy it. You chose me just yesterday. You have given me so much. How could it possibly not be enough?” As he spoke, he opened our Skill link and send to me all the love and gratitude he felt. His emotions flooded over mine, drowning my fear and self-doubt, and left me only with the deep sensation of being loved. I was overwhelmed, and despite being drowned, I safer than I had felt since Nighteyes was alive.
“You have given me the world, FitzChivalry,” he whispered.
I had no words to respond with, and I had no ability to determine if any words I thought of were worthy or right or safe. I instead crushed him to me as best I could and sent my own feelings of love and appreciation back through our Skill bond.
We stayed like that awhile, as close to being whole as we could without touching his fingers to my wrist. Somehow all the individual efforts required in our exchange made the sharing all the more valuable. But then his arms began to tremble with effort of squeezing me, and we both relaxed our muscles and loosened our grips. I massaged his arm gently, hesitant to break the silence between us.
“So what have you been up to, Fitz? Your feelings earlier today made it seem like you were doing something far more interesting than napping and writing letters,” He joked self-consciously. His hand rested lightly on my chest, and even the gentle motion felt like he were pinning me down.
I was silent for a time, uncertain how to tell him, and. I massaged his arm as I considered my options. Finally, I said it plainly, “I talked with Molly.”
The Fool would have none of my silence, patting my chest with his enthusiasm. “Well, what happened? You’re alive and unharmed, so it can’t have gone too poorly!”
“It went well, Fool. Remarkably well. She yelled at the start, but she listened eventually. We spoke of the Wit-magic. She apparently didn’t believe I had it until I told her a story she couldn’t deny.”
“What story did you tell her?” He asked, curiosity rich on his voice. He rose from my neck so that he could watch my face, staring down at me with wide eyes. He looked like a child begging for a sweet.
“It’s embarrassing,” I stopped, uncomfortable. Go on, his hand gestured at me. I rolled my eyes at him. “Oh fine. There was one night in Buckkeep when I was so exhausted and terrified of sleep that Nighteyes offered to watch over my body while I slept. Molly chose to visit me that very night. Apparently, she was sad, and he comforted her and then bedded her. When I woke up, he told me just that, and when I tried to speak to Molly, she told me not ruin a perfect night and then left,” I spoke sharply, irritation rising as I told him the story. I was even more irked to find my face heating up in embarrassment.
He burst out laughing, and I could only glare at him, more than a little insulted. “She really said that? And she stopped you from saying anything because you’d ruin it?” I scowled at his amusement. “Fitz, you must see how that’s hilarious.”
“Yes, Fool, it demonstrates that my wolf was better at taking care of my lover than I was. Thank you for that sparkling reminder of my inadequacy,” I said sarcastically.
“Oh Fitz, you know I love your unique brand of romance,” He sighed dreamily, fluttering his eyelashes at me. “But yes, I can see how it’s not an ideal response.” He kissed me very suddenly on the cheek, startling me entirely. “So that story convinced her?” He continued out, halting any thoughts I had on his behavior.
“Very much. But she wouldn’t even tell me what happened that night,” I complained. I did not know how to respond to his sudden affection and allowed myself to be redirected. My cheek was slightly cold from his lips, but I tried not to think of it.
“What else did you discuss?” His question interrupted my lack of thoughts.
“Well, we talked about Hap and that damned thing Patience once said about horses and saddles. Oh Fool, I’m so tired of being a proverbial horse that one person must direct. I told her two horses properly harnessed and going in the same direction can carry far more than one horse with a rider," I scowled as I said it, and he smiled wistfully at me. "She accepted that, I think, and she accepted my explanation of why she and I were never really going in the same direction, and we still aren’t.” It hurt, but not nearly as much as I would have expected 16 years ago. Instead, I was relieved to finally stop pining for Molly. How much time and energy had I dedicated over the past few decades towards wanting a relationship that would not have worked anyway?
“That must have been a difficult conversation,” The Fool said ponderously.
“Less difficult than I expected," I debated telling him my suspicions but decided he ought to know, "Fool, I think I may have been using my Wit-magic to calm her down to an extent. I could feel how sad she was, and I used the Wit to keep her from covering it up with anger,” I admitted guiltily, certain he would think poorly of me for manipulating her emotions.
“You can do that?” He asked, a bit shocked.
“Apparently. Web spoke of it on Aslevjal and was surprised I didn’t learn instinctively. I think I remembered how to do it when I regained my memories,” I confided in him.
“Well, that’s certainly better than a charm that’s dependent on your collar laces,” He considered the implications of my magic. “Maybe that’s why you’re so blunt? As a child, perhaps you learned to temper your words with the Wit rather than, well, tempering your words. I never understood how you grew up in court with so many enemies and managed not to get in more duels over some vainglorious idiot’s honor,” he said contemptuously, as though he could imagine several idiots that I perhaps should have gotten into a duel with.
So I offered, “Is there anyone you’d like me to duel? I can do it."
The Fool only laughed at me, “See? You’re so blunt. It’s a good thing I’m helping Nettle with court manners, because without the Wit, I’m sure she would get into a fight daily under your guidance.” I could only frown at that, as I had no response that did not make me sound like a vainglorious idiot.
“Molly told me that I should tell Nettle who I am tomorrow during Skill lessons, but she wants to tell her about our relationship personally. So by tomorrow I need to figure out how to tell my daughter who I am without revealing my relationship with Molly or my relationship with her,” I grimaced at the prospect of that conversation, but I immediately turned to the hopeful part, “Apparently Molly thinks Nettle will come around with time, to me, Buckkeep, and the Skill.”
“That’s good Fitz, that she’s on your side here and wants your daughter to know you. If she didn’t, she would have pulled Nettle aside and told her everything the instant she saw you,” I had not even considered that possibility, and the thought of that happening was like ice in my belly. The worst I imagined Molly would do was yell at me within earshot of Nettle. The Fool continued, “And Fitz, I’m sure you’ll be able to find a story that works. You’ve written it a dozen times by now! And if you hit upon a topic Molly doesn’t want you to tell her, you can always just tell her that rather than lying. Parents do that all the time: ‘Ask your Ma about that’ or ‘talk to your Pa about this’. You can just say ‘It’s not my secret to tell’ or ‘Molly can explain better than I,’” He said this as though it were obvious, and I felt my irregular upbringing keenly in that moment.
“I suppose that could work,” I agreed uncertainly. While his words alleviated my specific concerns for the morrow, my generalized fear still lingered. I sighed forcefully, “I will be very happy to have all this behind us, Fool. And then perhaps we would achieve some form of normalcy.”
He sighed in turn as though I was being obtuse, “Do you really think your life will achieve any form of normalcy, with you being who you are?”
“I had a fairly normal life once, in the cabin with Hap."
“Ah yes, when you and a wolf raised a foundling child and did not travel more than a day’s cart ride from your cabin for nearly a decade, and your only source of outside information was a particularly irritating minstrel.”
I stumbled, “Is that not a normal life?”
“Only a royal bastard who grew up during a war would consider that a normal life. It was a quiet life, however, and perhaps that was what you needed after such an energetic one. Now tell me, would you really want such a life again?” The Fool’s tone brokered no room for dishonesty.
My instinct was to declare my desire for it as I had for years. There was an appeal in the simple life, but I could not live it without giving up much. Today, I wanted to spend time with my daughter and help my kingdom be kinder to those who were different. “Perhaps one day,” I said, “But not soon.”
“Well, one day but not soon, I may be inclined to join you,” He laid his head on my chest once more, and we stayed there while the fire burned down. I imagined the cabin we might live in. The places I inhabited were often sparce, but the Fool’s unique ability to make any place his own would ensure any cabin we shared would be beautiful and cozy. It would be nice to live in such a space with him.
“I would like that,” I said, voice scarcely above a whisper. Such a wish could not be spoken loudly, I think, or surely it would not come to pass. I was not even certain if he was awake as I said the words in my caution. I imagined tending to the garden while he fed the chickens. I imagined his joy when I returned from hunting with a great stag draped across my shoulders, him claiming a choice piece of meat for dinner that night, which he cooked while I dealt with the rest of the deer. Would he kiss me on our porch? In the kitchen? Would we share a bed still?
His voice startled me from my fantasies, a quiet whisper into the darkness. “Fitz, can we move to bed?” His light tone did not hide the exhaustion in his voice. I felt deeply guilty for trapping him on the couch with me.
“Of course. Do you want me to carry you?” I offered seriously.
“Let’s see how getting up goes,” He said dubiously.
The two of us began the awkward extraction process of removing him from his position as painlessly as possible. I tried to help him but was nervous to touch any part of him that might still hurt, and he was having issues balancing on the too-soft cushions or putting weight on my body without elbowing me in the gut or kneeing me in the groin. Eventually he held himself above me, and I slid out from under him and onto the floor.
He landed belly-first on the couch cushions I had vacated with an “oomph,” and I began to laugh at the ridiculousness of the entire procedure. The sudden noise reverberated through the room, and my laughter swiftly turned almost hysterical. I covered my face but could not stop myself as the tension from the past several days poured out of me. The Fool joined me, his laughter bubbling out of him slowly and quietly until it too reached similar levels of mania.
I had never been more grateful for the thick walls, tapestries, and doors of Lord Golden’s chambers, for I am certain we sounded demented.
It took some time to return to a semblance of composure: one of us would quiet and slow, but the room was filled by the sounds of the other laughing insanely, and that would set off another round.
At last we quieted. I had little hiccupping laughs that I kept a tight seal on, and I refused to think of our sudden madness, knowing that I would surely be set off once more. Relief had filled me during our mania, and I felt light as a bird in flight. “We’re here in Buckkeep, and we’re alive, and we’re together,” I was in absolute awe at the truth of those words. The Fool wanted to stay with me. He chose me over Prilkop. While I had plenty of things to worry about for tomorrow, I could not help but enjoy the moment.
“We’re here in Buckkeep, and we’re alive, and we’re together,” The Fool repeated with a smile. Our eyes met and held, and he grinned wider at me. “We also have a very comfortable bed very close by, and I’m afraid I have just used up all my remaining energy.”
“So you would like me to carry you?”
“Please. And if you don’t mind, I will choose to believe you’re carrying me not because I am weak, but instead because you are my gallant hero.” The Fool’s stubbornness would normally have prevented him from asking for help in this way, so I would not begrudge him the tale.
“Of course, my liege. I am here to rescue you from a most terrible beast: a comfortable couch,” I said solemnly. He rolled over onto his back as I stood up. “Now, would you prefer to be carried across my arms, a pack on my back, or facing me on my front?”
“Oh gallant knight, while I would normally love to be carried in your arms, I think my back would prefer the front carry,” The Fool sounded almost wistful at the missed opportunity.
I wanted the same, but calmer heads prevailed. I carefully picked him up, paying close attention to any gasps or sharp breaths, but it seemed I avoided any tender spots, and I was inordinately pleased that I managed to avoid hurting him. He still felt surprisingly light in my arms. For the first time, I wished we were not of a height: held in such a way, I could not see over his shoulder. I lowered him slightly but was still blind to everything in front of me. Recognizing my struggle, he loosened his arms around my neck and slouched his shoulders so I could see over him.
Thus I was able to carry him into our room. Thankfully the door had been left ajar, so I entered easily. “Which side?” I asked.
“The left one, please. Closer to the window.”
I brought him around and balanced him with arm and hip as I used my other hand to pull back the coverlets and top sheet. I gently placed him on the bed, then went to the wardrobe to find suitable sleeping clothes. Kettricken had kindly stocked it with loose comfortable garments, and I silently thanked her for her forethought. I chose a long night shirt and soft leggings and handed them to him.
“If you don’t need help, I can go bank the fire and clean up the sitting room,” I offered, leaving the decision to him.
He hesitated before answering. “I should be able to handle this. I’ll call you back when I’m done?”
“Of course,” I reassured him and left the room, leaving the door cracked so I would be able to hear if he called for me. I hurried back through the walls to the workroom to gather and bring down some of my own night clothes, then I banked the fire and tidied our sitting room, feeling like Lord Golden’s servant once again. When he called to me, I re-entered with a candle and my extra clothes, closing the door behind me. Without looking at him, I opened the chest against the wall to stuff the bulk of my clothes inside then put on the nightshirt. I considered wearing leggings as well, but that was a sure way to wake up sweating in the late summer heat.
I tossed yesterday’s clothes into a basket by the door of the room, vowing to meet Prudence soon. I did not want to make her job more difficult given that the Fool’s privacy and peace was dependent on her discretion.
When I turned at last to the bed, the Fool was under the covers, only his head visible. The dim light of the candle reflected off his eyes as he watched me. I smirked at his blatant leering, and he quickly averted his gaze, his cheeks pinking. I felt strangely pleased at his response.
I clambered into my side of the bed, placing the candle on the nightstand. “Fool?”
“Fitz,” He said agreeably.
I blew out the candle then and wiggled my way closer to him. I came across his hand, palm open and outstretched under the covers. I seized it with my own and carefully brought it to my chest. At the gesture, he rolled over to face me, and I felt his warm breath brush my cheeks, so close were our faces. I carefully brought my forehead to his, placing my free hand on the back of his head to hold it steady. I breathed him in and felt a semblance of peace.
“Thank you for being here,” I told him at last.
“Thank you for convincing me to come back,” He said.
I did not know what else to say, so I said words I knew would be both correct and safe. “Good night Fool.”
“Good night Fitz.”
Notes:
This chapter brought to you by water fights in the mountains and sledding on Aslevjal <3
My personal head canon is that Mercen like tonal Greek? I don't know where the thought came from, but it feels right.
Chapter 9: Without Pity or Obligation
Chapter Text
I awoke in darkness to sharp gasping breaths and the stench of fear in the air.
For a terrifying moment, I had no clue where I was: the bed was too soft, the room was too dark, the panic oozing off my bed partner was tangible. I surged upward, fists clenched, ready to fight whoever was tormenting my bedmate. But there was no one else in the room. I looked down to see the Fool under the covers to my side, body curled into a tight ball, his clenched face just poking out above the blankets.
I lowered myself back down, then I inched my way towards him, determined to wake him up gently. If he would rather sleep through his nightmares, he could tell me when he was awake, but I had not enjoyed experiencing such nightmares to completion when I had them.
Recalling my own reactions to being woken up suddenly, I decided it to be safer to wake him up gently. It was unlikely the Fool would strangle me or grapple me as I have been known to do, but I doubted his instinctual reaction would be something he was proud of. Since he was surely cold in his dream, I brought my warmth over, settling my limbs as close as I could without touching him. After a few moments, I could feel my warmth fill our shared air pocket under the blankets, but still his panicked breathing did not quiet.
I hummed some simple tunes, but those also did not seem to do very much. I switched to speaking a litany of words in a calming voice as Burrich often had, where tone mattered more than the words themselves. “You’re here with me. You’re safe and warm. I’ll protect you. She’s dead and she can’t hurt you anymore.” I reached for our Skill bond to send feelings of safety and peace to him. His panicked breathing slowed for a moment but then resumed its usual pattern. I would not be surprised if he felt such sensations were false, so I stopped sending them and wished he were more susceptible to my Wit.
I took several deep breaths to think, then reached forward with my hand, placing it on his shoulder where he had experienced little-to-no damage from the Pale Woman’s torture. I continued to chant calming statements to him, voice a bit louder, keeping the words rhythmic and repetitive. I moved closer so that his clenched hands brushed against my chest, brought my thighs up to his thin feet. Their icy touch made me gasp, interrupting my monologue, and I wished that I had thought to wear leggings for protection rather than just a sleeping shirt and smallclothes. Maybe the skin-to-skin contact would bring him back to himself faster? I could only hope so as his toes radiated cold across my legs.
His breathing began to slow, but he still shivered despite the warmth under our blankets. Uncertain what else I could do, I reached forward with my other hand to place it gently on his clasped hands while I rubbed his shoulder in slow circles with my thumb. After a few minutes more, he jolted suddenly awake, ripping free of my hands to thrust his skinny arms over his head. He somehow curled his limbs even tighter, his feet abandoning my thighs, his shins bashing into my belly. I continued making small circles on his bony shoulder, and I continued my calming ramble.
“F… fitz?’ He stammered out, arms lowering slowly so he could peer out at me.
“Just me. Just Fitz. We’re in your old room at Buckkeep,” I murmured.
“I was having a nightmare,” His hazel eyes were huge as they looked at me between his arms. He kept the rest of his face hidden.
“I know. I was trying to wake you without startling you,” I stopped my thumb’s motions at last.
“Did I wake you?” He asked, his voice ragged and upset.
“Yes. I’m glad you did,” I confided in him. “I had a lot of nightmares after, too. It was better for me to not be alone when I awoke.”
“I wouldn’t have been alone if you were still asleep,” he pointed out stubbornly.
“True. And maybe one day I’ll sleep through it, but I’m glad I didn’t tonight.” I was determined he not feel guilty about it.
“Oh.” He sounded offput by my behavior. He slowly unwound himself, lengthening his body without touching me. I pulled lightly on his shoulder to invite him in, and he accepted, tucking himself against my chest as he allowed my arms to wrap around him. I tangled our legs together, wrapping my warm ones around his skinny clothed ones, his freezing feet pressed against my calves. How was he always so cold?
“Want to talk about it?” I asked once we were situated.
He shook his head furiously against me, breathing shakily. “No,” His voice brokered no room for argument.
“Alright,” I agreed, rubbing my hand up and down his back once to remove any sting from the word.
“Fitz?”
“Fool.”
“This one wasn’t as bad as they usually are. Usually I wake up screaming.”
“Did I manage to wake you up before it got bad?” I pressed my face into his soft hair. It felt odd to try to hide from him using his head as coverage, but at least if I did wrong, his eyes could not accuse me. Only his voice.
“It was… pretty bad. I was screaming in my dream,” He hesitated, “The way you were rubbing my shoulder seemed to make its way into my dream. It was odd and annoying, but I was less… invested in the nightmare than I usually am. Like having a fly buzzing near my ear, I felt I couldn’t focus as much on anything else.”
“Sounds like I better be a nuisance in your dreams then. I’m told I can be very annoying.”
He laughed then, a sorry bedraggled thing. I have heard hacking coughs with more levity to them. “That you can be.”
“I learned from the best,” I pointed out, stubbornly trying to bring him toward lighter, happier thoughts. “After all, you teased me within an inch of my life when I was younger.” I remembered an embarrassing little ditty of a song and blindingly pale buttocks, when I had been so convinced I would die of mortification.
“It was for your own good! You weren’t listening to anything I tried to tell you, and you love being teased besides,” The Fool insisted, and I could hear the smile in his voice.
“I do,” I acknowledged, “But preferably in private. Those times you tormented me in public almost ended me. I could have turned into a puddle from embarrassment alone.”
“But you blush so well, Fitz! How could I not? And when you blushed, almost all the women and many of the men talked about how pretty you were. They barely considered you illegitimate when you looked so attractive,” The Fool, true to form, teased me mercilessly.
True to form, I blushed.
He cackled, somehow able to spot my changing color in the darkness. “So I have you to blame for why so many people thought I would be a capable ruler?” I said weakly, glad he could laugh so soon after a nightmare, even if it was at my own expense.
“Oh, if beauty equated to capability, Regal would have had Nine Duchies within a year. You have only yourself to blame for the coastal duchies’ support, you know. And Regal too, I suppose. It’s hard not to seem a capable ruler when compared to him,” He said scathingly.
I did not want to speak of my least favorite uncle, but if insulting him kept the Fool in high spirits, I could oblige. “Was he truly that attractive? He was always so loathsome to me. I can’t imagine anyone finding him pretty with a mind as small and evil as his.” I thought back to how Nighteyes and I had finally caught him in the Skill. Nighteyes had been disgusted by how pathetic Regal was.
“Oh Fitz, you’ve never been able to separate physical beauty from other purer forms. On a superficial level, the man was attractive. He put enough effort to ensure it. You are gorgeous without effort, and that lack of effort is attractive and endearing in itself.” My Fool peeled away from my body to look me in the eyes, placing a gloved hand on my scarred cheek. Our faces were so close that he filled my vision. The corners of his eyes crinkled in delight, his mouth curved in a smile, and his smooth hair draped over his shoulders, a strand dangling across his face. I wanted to tuck it behind his ear and just barely stopped myself from the presumption.
He had been fighting of demons in his dreams, then emerged from the battle to tease me relentlessly. His willpower had always impressed me, and in that moment, I felt enveloped by the beauty of his body and soul.
“You’re beautiful,” The two words spilled out of me thoughtlessly. When I heard them spoken aloud, I could not help the way my body froze in terror.
His eyes widened, and he grinned in delight. “See what I mean? Endearing and gorgeous, all without trying.”
My heart beat excitedly to have been so well received, and my body and mind relaxed dangerously. I was nearly drunk with fearlessness and daring. I found myself glancing again at his lips, and a precarious thought came to mind, and my now-fearless heart said it before my mind could catch up. “You know, we’ve only kissed twice before, and both of those were in not ideal situations,” I was trying and most certainly failing at being casual as I asked.
For the briefest of instants, his face adopted an expression of complete shock. It barely registered before a dozen emotions followed until at last he controlled it. “How do you mean?”
I proceeded conversationally, uncertain what exactly he was asking, “Well the first time you kissed me, I didn’t see you for fifteen years. And the second time was accompanied by the transfer of incredibly painful memories from Girl-on-a-Dragon.”
“You think I left you for fifteen years because of a bad kiss?” He sounded aghast at the thought.
“Not anymore, but I did for awhile. I waited for you to return to the Stone Garden, but you never did,” My eyes slid away from his, focused instead on some point over his shoulder, my words falling from my mouth like rocks. I regretted bringing up the conversation, but my bravery was held fast by my newfound honesty. My soul had determined this was a conversation that needed happening, though I would rather we bury it once more. I had chosen him over all others, and I meant it still, but we had not discussed precisely what that decision meant for us.
“You know that’s not why I didn’t return. I hoped by staying away, you would find some measure of peace,” He said slowly, repeating what he told me a year ago, and while I knew that was his intention, it certainly had not felt that way.
Instead, I remembered traveling for years as far as Nighteyes and I could go, and every street we turned and tavern I entered, I had found myself increasingly disappointed to see my Fool was not waiting there to meet me. I had crossed a kingdom and collapsed at his feet in the mountains with an arrow in my back, surely I would find him eventually.
But I never had, and my wandering ceased only when Burrich and Nettle had fallen ill.
A line formed between his eyebrows at my silence, and I felt very foolish and very fearless when I asked a question that had plagued me since he had shown me the soul of the world in the walls of my little cabin. “If I kissed you now, would you leave?” His eyes did not waver. He did not blink. I continued, “Would it be full of painful memories?” I closed my eyes then, unwilling to look anywhere at all as I asked my final question, “Would you even want me to?” I had chosen him just the day before, but somehow I doubted that he wanted me at all in that moment.
I felt his thumb brush my cheek and was surprised to find it wiping away a tear. I leaned into the sensation, comforted despite myself.
“No Fitz, I would not leave.” His hand cupped my cheek, “It would not be full of painful memories,” He breathed softly then, inhaling and exhaling deeply as though he was preparing for a swim in cold water. Or preparing himself for a time when he might not breathe for a little while, and immediately I squashed the thought. He continued, unaware of the direction of my thoughts. “I would want you to kiss me, but only if you did so out of love. Not out of pity or obligation,” Despite his careful breathing, he still sounded breathless and not a little scared.
My stomach dropped at his stipulation. I recalled our quarrel just a few months ago, when I yelled that I would never want to bed him. He spoke true when he said we were doomed to remember those words forever. The frozen pit of my guilt grew ever wider as I remembered my words that had built the Fool’s fear of our affection to new heights. I knew of no words that could demonstrate for him that I was honest in my desire. How could he have returned to Buckkeep with that conversation looming over our heads? How could he believe that I chosen him willingly, with such doubt in his mind?
My most recent actions on the glacier, in the Pale Woman’s City, releasing Icefyre, and bringing him back from the dead may have alleviated some doubt, perhaps. And my firm declaration that I chose him over Molly may have helped. But still, he believed I asked out of pity or obligation, and I only despaired.
I knew of no words that could demonstrate to him the sincerity of my intentions and the depth of my honesty. I did not know yet if I could love without limits as he claimed to, and I did not want to promise what I was not certain of. But I knew that I wanted to kiss him out of love, and I knew of no words that would convince him.
Thankfully, we two had a method beyond words to be honest with one another, if he was willing.
I opened my eyes at last and reached to where his gloved hand rested on my cheek, taking it gently into my hands. I gripped the excess fabric on a fingertip and looked at him for permission. He nodded minutely, eyes wide and mouth a little ajar, so I began my careful removal of his soft leather glove. Once freed, he held his hand limply between us, graceful despite the broken fingers and missing fingernails. I met his gaze once more, then held my marked wrist between us, mere inches from the fingers that had marked it.
I spoke into the silence between us, “Will you join with me?” The question made me blush, but I asked it anyway. I wanted permission, and I wanted to be honest about what I was asking, what I offered.
He took my wrist in his hand, holding it with his two un-Silvered fingertips, looking intently at my wrist. Still, he hesitated. “Are you sure?”
“Very sure,” I said and was surprised, liar that I am, that I was telling the truth. “I want this. I want you to see how I feel about you.”
And so he pressed his fingertips on my wrist, Silver matching Silver. His essence shocked my nerves, overloading my senses with the wholeness of himself, and I felt his back arch as I filled him in turn. I felt myself entering his veins and coursing through his body as he blazed through my own. We were closer than any two separate beings had any right to be, and I opened myself wholly to him, trusting that we would be able to find ourselves afterwards.
I found myself experiencing the pain of his body, far less than I expected, and the lingering fear and panic from the nightmare I had woken him from. After only the briefest glimpses at his surface, my heart dove down and brought me to where he housed me in his soul. I saw the tower of terror we had built over decades, beginning with little comments from others in Buck and exacerbated by every declaration of love I expressed for Molly. The tower was crowned by my own words that forced my love of him into a labeled container and forced him into a box he refused to fit. It was draped with my apologies and little actions of affection I had made, and other actions I made too, that I could not quite remember. The tower was heavily degraded and was even crumbling from the bottom up, where I saw his own affection, love, and sheer delight at my existence skirting the base of it. He loved me with such abandon in spite of the tower. His love had been damaged in places, but lovingly patched, and these reinforcements were strong and sure. I saw that he clutched this love greedily, using it as a bludgeon when his fears grew too strong. In a few places, I saw desire, but it was a remarkably small thing compared to the rest of it. He truly did want the whole of my heart, and I could only look in awe.
Remembering what we were here for, I looked back at him, and I felt him inspecting my deep anxiety about my future with Nettle, my fears for Hap, and my sense of inadequacy about my new role as Shadow King. When he sensed I rejoined him, we dove under the surface to where he filled the whole of my soul. Together we surveyed the gaping chasm of my guilt for how I had treated him, especially over the past year, from misplaced words to our quarrel to abandoning him at the dock, the edges were icy and crumbling inward as is expanded ever so slowly. It opened into a vast cavern of shame from when I left him to die on Aslevjal. Over top of it all, there laid a thick blanket woven of the sheer abundance of admiration, respect, and love I felt for him, and we could see how far back those feelings stretched in time, where he bunched filled even the dark, cobwebbed corners of my soul with his light. Any obligation woven into the fabric was for my role as a Catalyst trying to balance being myself against the future he seemed to want. Any strands of pity were firmly for my own sense of inadequacy, and these strands spanned the chasm. There was fear woven in, centered on what others would think of our relationship, but it was far less than either of us would have expected.
You feel so much, Fitz. This can’t possibly all be for me. He said, delighted and astonished as he surveyed the extent to which he filled my mind and soul. He cautiously and gently stroked the fabric of my feelings for him, and I felt his shock as desire instantly rippled, coloring the blanket, usually well-hidden but nevertheless present and poignant. Tangled with my lust was a sense that I was boorish and crass for wanting him so fiercely in such a base fashion, and a deep terror that I would not know what to do if I even had him. But my want was still there, gasping and groaning, possessive and reverential, and above all desperate.
Fitz, why didn’t you say? He asked in awe at the thunderous roar of my want.
I didn’t know how. I thought I had ruined it forever, that you’d never want me again. My voice small as we watched the ripple of color, then we turned to survey the chasm I had created, deep and wide and gaping. There was a slight pull to it, and it took effort to be near without falling in. He went too close in almost morbid curiosity, and he almost fell in. I pulled him away from it with practiced ease. Avoiding a tumble into the pit was at least a daily occurrence.
Why did you say those things if you felt this way? He clung to me, his tone blessedly curious rather than accusing, but I still could not help but shrink away in shame and fear.
I don’t know, I admitted at last, voice small. I… I want to blame the elfbark, but I was angry even before that. I had all these self-righteous plans of having it out not just with you but also with Chade and Kettricken. I wanted so badly to fight everyone that day, and I’m still trying to figure out why. I’m so weak and pathetic, As I spoke, I sensed myself becoming smaller and tighter and more contained, bundling myself away as though if I could only make myself small enough, I might cease to exist.
“Oh Fitz,” The Fool’s voice startled me from our inner world, and I felt the depth of his regard for me somehow deepen. “You’re not weak. You’re not pathetic,” He said with conviction, pressing the words into me. Then he released my wrist, and we both gasped at the sudden distance between us. He took his glove from my limp hand and put it back on efficiently, then he wrapped himself around me.
I tried not to feel ashamed as I allowed myself to be comforted, and I tried not to feel guilty that he was the one who had to comfort me for my own feelings for him, for the ways in which I harmed him, and I tried not to feel weak for the tears that rained down from my face or for the shaking of my shoulders as I wept into his nightshirt. Instead, I clutched his nightshirt in my hands and pressed my face to his shoulder as I shuddered my way through it all.
After some time, my shoulders quieted, my eyes dried, and my hands loosened their grasp. He placed a finger under my chin, and I did not resist as he lifted my head and encouraged my sodden eyes to meet his. Self-loathing overwhelmed me once more, and I closed my eyes, unwilling to meet his for fear of the contempt I would see.
Instead, I felt him kiss my forehead, then both cheeks, then he pressed a kiss over each of my eyelids. He brought his other hand up and drew our foreheads together, stabilizing me with the familiar gesture, and we stayed like that for a time. When at last he pulled away, I was able to open my eyes and meet his hazel ones.
“I love you, Fitz, with all my heart,” His eyes were soft and honest, and I saw no pain in his words.
“I love you too,” I murmured wetly.
I saw him suck in his lips, weigh my words, and come to a decision. “I think,” He began apologetically, “That we should save that third kiss for when you’re feeling a bit better. Given that the first two have such unfortunate associations for you.”
I felt such a wave of terror. What if we never would? What if I never got the nerve again? What if all we ever had were those two painful kisses, and after tonight he would never want me now that he had seen all of me?
He smiled kindly at me, and I had the suspicion he knew exactly the fears that ran through my mind and eyes and face. Perhaps my feelings echoed through our Skill link as well. I did not care in that moment how he knew, but I felt a confusing combination of terror and peace that he did.
“Unless you would like to kiss now, and save our fourth kiss for a less tumultuous moment?” He offered magnanimously.
Upon hearing his willingness to kiss me a third time now and his baffling willingness to kiss me a fourth time, need exploded in me, and I crashed my lips into his to claim our third kiss. To my excitement, he responded in kind, and our mouths moved together like they had kissed a thousand times before, like they had been made to kiss one another. I licked his lips open, and his cool and clever tongue pressed in to meet mine. A bolt of desire shot through me, and I groaned aloud, the feel of it reverberating through our joined mouths.
To my surprise, he moaned back, his hands descending from my face to grab at my shoulders and biceps. I fell backwards, using my renewed strength to pull him on top of me. My hands settled onto his waist, helping him get his legs arranged so he could straddle me. His mouth did not leave mine, plunging even deeper as his hands worked downwards to appreciate my growing chest muscles through the fabric of my nightshirt. His tongue warmed within the heat of my mouth as our third kiss deepened, and I reveled in the depths of his enthusiasm and desire, pleased at the way his tongue ravaged me and the way his hands claimed me.
I had never felt so wanted.
My hands boldly lowered to his hips, and to my shock, he ground down onto my lap, ripping another moan from my throat. I instinctively rolled my hips upward, and he bucked at the motion.
Awareness descended upon us both like a bucket of ice water, and we froze, our lips locked and unmoving, our hands clenched in the flesh they held, our hips still.
The Fool separated us slowly, his eyes foggy with desire. He breathed words into my open mouth, “Well, that was quite the third kiss, FitzChivalry.” He realized then that I was panting loudly, and he pulled back to give me space to breathe. I whined pitifully at his departure, rising to catch his lips briefly once more before my head fell, and I was forced to focus on breathing.
“And quite the fourth kiss,” He grinned at me.
“I aim to please,” I gasped out. I lowered my hands to rest on top of his thighs, a marginally safer location compared to his hips. Given his tendency for privacy, touching almost any part of him felt deeply sensual, and our current position did not help. I tried to get my breathing under control once more.
“Are you well?” He tilted his head at my prolonged cooldown period. I scowled at him, and he laughed, “Just checking. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this out of sorts before.”
“I’m out of sorts all the time,” I complained. “I’m just usually a bit better at hiding it.”
“But not in bed?” He waggled his eyebrows at me.
“What’s the point in hiding your reactions in bed? How else are you supposed to know what’s working?” I said, a bit irked. Past lovers had commented to me about how reactive I was as well, and I had never understood what they meant by it. They said it with delight, so I assumed it was a good thing, but that did not stop my feelings of insecurity that it was so abnormal to be worthy of comment.
“I like it,” The Fool declared, and I felt blood rushing back to my face from embarrassment. It was probably better that it was redirected there anyway.
“I’m glad you do,” I admitted, rubbing his thighs lightly with my palms and feeling honored that he allowed me to do so. “I liked your noises too,” I told him awkwardly.
He kissed my nose then pulled his face one more out of reach. “I’m afraid I will need to delay our fifth kiss until later, unfortunately. I’m exhausted, and morning is coming all too soon.”
I grunted in agreement and released him so he could climb off me as gracefully as his tired, battered body would allow. He arranged himself against my side, his head on my shoulder, his hair draped on my arm, his slender arm slung across my chest. I relaxed immediately and squeezed him to me with my arm.
“Fitz? You’re not going to try to pretend this didn’t happen in the morning, are you?”
“My powers of self-deception are powerful, but not that powerful,” I murmured.
After another moment of silence, he sat up on his elbow to look down at me, eyes riveted on mine. I watched him curiously. “Even still,” He said, then kissed my neck, flicking his tongue. I groaned quietly as he worked his thorough way down, moving my shirt collar to the side to expose the slope of my shoulder, and he kissed his way across the scar there as well. Once he passed it, he concentrated his efforts, and I grunted as though punched, gripping him tightly as he marked me. When he was finished, he sat back and inspected his work.
“There,” He sounded satisfied. “Proof.”
I looked at him coolly, “Is that really necessary?”
The Fool quirked an eyebrow at me, “A month ago, you know as well as I do that it would have been required. I don’t intend to allow you to back out of this, Fitz. Not this time.” His voice allowed no room for argument.
I raised my eyebrows at his implication, a little insulted and trying to hide it. “You asked me to forget last time,” I reminded him, “In the Elderling tent. You begged me to.” I kept my voice clean of barbs, but I refused to take the blame for how I behaved afterwards.
He glared at me. “I had not realized how completely you would forget! You acted as though nothing had happened!” He said angrily. But how could he be angry at me for this?
“So did you,” The words fell out of my mouth, weighted down by the pain I had ignored since then. I sounded dead and buried. “It was necessary, you said.”
He dropped his eyes, his face falling in distress. “It was,” He agreed quietly, “For you to leave me to die, it was necessary.”
I did not want to focus on it anymore, so I placed a hand under his chin and raised his face back towards mine, “It’s not necessary anymore. I won’t forget again. I won’t leave you again.” I kissed his nose and his cheeks and his forehead, then kissed his lips once more, sealing the promise with our fifth kiss.
“I won’t forget either. I won’t leave either,” He promised. Then he kissed the bruise he had left on my shoulder before lowering himself so that he laid once more against my side.
“Good,” I agreed.
Notes:
Hey we made it! This is faster than the usual longfic fitzloved slow burn, but there are reasons (as I'm sure many of you have realized). I'm very new to fic writing, and the tag game is a distinct weak point for me. If by Ch20 or so, y'all think I should remove the slow burn tag or replace it with something else, let me know then! We've still got a ways to go~
Chapter 10: Trying and Wanting
Notes:
I remember words i wanted to put here, but Daylight savings making it hard to remember. Hope y’all enjoy the new chapter!
Oh I made a tumblr account! Feel free to chat with me there! I’m smoky-solitude :)
Chapter Text
I awoke the next morning with the Fool’s fine hair in my mouth and a deep uncertainty which limbs were mine in our tangle. Pre-dawn light slowly brightened the room. I basked in contentment: his breathing was slow and steady, a far cry from the terrified gasps that awoke me last, and I had no desire to disturb either of us. Instead, I tasted his hair, ignored the sleep in the corners of my eyes and my numbed limbs under his body, and enjoyed the feel of his warmed legs against mine. I watched the pale morning light reflect off his hair and caress his face, and I imagined the light was my hands instead.
The hour approached when I would need to rise, unfortunately, but I had no way of removing his hair without disentangling my arm. I suspected he would sleep longer than I given the healing he still had to accomplish. Two days ago, he had been tired from cooking by the fire, and yesterday I had dragged him through the frozen city, up steep stairs to the Skill pillar, from the Witness stones to Verity’s tower, and back to our rooms. And I had kept him awake after his nightmare last night to join via the Skill and kiss him as thoroughly as he allowed me. He must be completely exhausted.
Under the rising light of day, my embarrassment became nearly tangible, but I refused to reject what had happened or what it meant to the two of us. I refused to harm him with lies and denial. I fought off my anxiety with my resolve, and it was cowed by my onslaught.
I still had to extricate myself from his embrace, however, and that would be painstaking work without waking him up. To get to Kettricken’s chambers for our usual breakfast, I would need to start now. I sighed and began my work, freeing one arm so I could get his hair out of my mouth.
After a surprising amount of effort, I emerged at last and changed into clean clothes. I tried to pull my hair into a warrior’s tail, but it was unfortunately still too short, and I only managed the back half. I was resigned to it being an unruly mess in the front. I padded my way through the sitting room, where I saw a note had been slid under the door. I unfolded it and read the four words in Kettricken’s blocky handwriting.
Enjoy your day off.
I tossed the note into the fire. It seemed I had gotten out of bed for no reason. I doubted I could return to sleep, and I did need to secretly acquire breakfast and prepare for my meeting with Nettle after lunch. The Fool had told me he missed time to himself when he had been in Prilkop’s cave, and I was determined not to suffocate him with my presence. I would take some time to train with the guardsmen this morning and perhaps visit Hap later on.
I considered my plans with odd excitement and recalled a time when I would have moped the day away instead, complaining about not being needed, then complaining the next day about having too many people who needed me. Had I really been so insufferable?
I decided that question did not need answering.
The day could begin with breakfast, and I listened with my ears, Wit, and Skill at the door. When I confirmed there was no one nearby, I left and locked the door behind me. I stopped by Patience’s chambers to ask Lacey if they wanted me to bring them breakfast as well, and they accepted, but I had to beg off joining as I needed to bring food to the Fool. We made plans for lunch.
I went to the kitchens and gathered a breakfast for two groups of two, one pair of which claimed to be starving to death, I said while rolling my eyes. The kitchen workers matched my expression at the dramatic claim and loaded two trays for me, one much larger than the other. Burdened and carefully balanced, I returned to Patience’s door, which I tapped lightly with my boot. Lacey accepted their tray gratefully, and I made my way back to our chambers. I confirmed that I was alone in the same methods as before, then unlocked the door and entered, barring it behind me.
The Fool was awake, though only just. He sat on the couch with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, his arms clutching his legs to his chest as he so often did when we were young. He looked up warily when I entered. I placed the tray on the low table between the couch and the fireplace and sat next to him, wrapping my arm around his rounded shoulders. I kissed his hair cautiously, and he smiled at last.
Emboldened, I placed my other hand to his cheek to turn his face towards me, and I bent to claim our sixth kiss. This one was soft and slow and delicious as he unraveled beneath me, limbs lengthening so he could hold me to him. I pressed my tongue into his mouth near the end, and he moaned ardently in response. When I pulled away, his face moved as though to chase my retreat, his eyes closed and face ripe with longing.
I seriously considered claiming my seventh kiss before I remembered my duty. I needed to do what I could so as not to stand in the way of the Fool’s healing, and that meant he needed to consume food as well as kisses. I began to assemble a plate for his breakfast.
The Fool opened his eyes slowly, and he began to wake up in earnest. I kissed him briefly on the cheek as I balanced the plate on my knees. From an insulated pitcher, I poured some coffee into a teacup and handed him both the plate and cup. He hesitated before he accepted them, wakefulness apparently making him once more suspicious of my intentions.
I assembled a larger plate for myself, made a cup of tea, and sat back to take a bite. The Fool had yet to start eating and instead stared at me in disbelief.
“What?’ I asked irritably, through a mouthful of sausage quiche.
“Just… making sure you haven’t been replaced with an imposter,” His eyes flickered over me then, at my eyes, mouth, and hands.
“Would you have kissed an imposter?” I asked, feeling audacious.
“Probably not,” He scrunched his nose at the thought, but still he did not eat or drink. “What’s the name of your second Wit-partner?”
I eyed him, “Seriously?”
He nodded.
“Smithy. A terrier puppy Patience gave me before I started my skill lessons with Galen. You named him, and you helped me by feeding him and playing with him, but you refused to clean up his messes. Are you feeling well?” I set down my plate and took his head in my hands to inspect his face. I checked his gloved hands as well then touched his chest and arms, but I stopped myself before checking his legs or back. He bore all this with dignity though there was still doubt on his face. He raised an eyebrow at my behavior.
“I remember my promise. I’m not backing out,” I told him. Then, in a fit of panic, I asked, “Are you backing out?”
He shook his head and finally took a sip of his coffee. “No, I’m not backing out.”
“Oh. Good,” I shoved more quiche into my face in hopes of tamping down the panic. “Kettricken sent a note telling me to enjoy a day off.”
“So, you got me breakfast?”
“I got us breakfast. I also brought breakfast to Patience and Lacey, since I’m ostensibly their guard. I’ll be meeting them for lunch, if you’d like to join,” I eyed him then, curious.
The Fool nodded absently, “Maybe. I’ll need to see how I feel after breakfast,” he grimaced.
“Are you well?” I asked him again and used my eyes to inspect the parts of him I had not investigated with my hands.
He frowned, “Well enough. I’m sore from yesterday, and I fear stretching will only make it worse.”
“I can order you a bath. Kettricken assigned us a very discreet Witted maid Prudence,” I stood then to move the pot of water over the fire to heat it, adding a few logs to speed up the process. I spotted the tub in the corner and determined Prudence would simply need to bring more water.
He eyed me again. “What? I am capable of thinking of solutions for others’ problems,” I said indignantly. “I can order you a damn bath.”
“All I’m saying that if you were replaced by a duplicate this morning, you would not be doing a very good job of mimicking the Fitz I know and love,” He said.
My stomach dropped, “You can’t possibly stop loving me because I brought you breakfast and offered to order you a bath.”
“No, but I can certainly be confused by your behavior. I expected you to pretend nothing happened, though I hoped not, and I find myself confused that you aren’t pretending in the least.”
“Well, I would appreciate it if you don’t test my identity by asking me about my secrets and terrifying me,” I said testily. “A lot has happened in the past month. I’m allowed to adapt to accommodate a host of new memories, my dearest friend dying and coming back from the dead to live with me, myself coming back from the dead to many of the people who know me, and a new romantic relationship that I am trying very hard not to ruin one day in. I am trying to be optimistic here,” I exclaimed in frustration, barely keeping to a civil volume and tone. There was so much change happening around me lately, surely my behavior was the least concerning of it all.
He grinned broadly at me at my admission, “A new romantic relationship you say?”
I rolled my eyes at him, “Yes. And I am trying very hard to take care of them as they deserve.”
The Fool practically purred. He set his plate and cup on the table, then reached over and removed mine as well. He confidently climbed over me to straddle my hips, rucking up his nightshirt in the process. He held my face in his hands.
“You are doing a marvelous job,” He said, then he brought his mouth down to mine.
Our seventh kiss was filthy. It had more tension than our third kiss and more desperation than our fourth. He kissed me like he meant to devour me, his hands burying deep into my hair, and he used his grip to manipulate my head precisely how he wanted to better consume me. His hips ground against mine, and my fingers dug powerlessly into his thighs. My heart soared as he enveloped me with his desire.
He reached down to grab one of my hands, which he guided it under his own nightshirt and placed it firmly on his waist. I whimpered at the feeling of his smooth skin and brought my other hand up to mirror the first, gripping his sides and touching his skin. I had never felt so fortunate.
Cautiously I brought my hands higher, crossing the smooth planes of his waist and up to his flat chest. He moaned into my mouth as I brushed one of his nipples. I rubbed it experimentally, clasping it between my fingers, while my other hand wrapped around his back and pulled him toward me.
He released my mouth and gasped my name, and I took the opportunity to lift his shirt up and brought my mouth to his other nipple. This was not as different as I expected, if his reactions were anything to go by.
“Eda’s tits, Fitz,” He moaned.
“Your tits, more like,” I quipped quietly, pleased to hear him laugh and even more pleased when his laughter was cut off with a gasp as I nipped him. His hands in my hair encouraged me further as I debauched his chest to the best of my ability, leaving love bites and marks across the expanse. I delighted in the smooth planes of his chest, his firmed nipples ever so slightly darker than his skin, and his unsurprising hairlessness. I longed to kiss down his belly and under his waistband to see how far down the hairlessness went.
I rolled my hips upward into his, uncertain how much I was doing given the tight fit of my trousers but enjoying myself regardless. In a fit of pique, he released my head to rip off his nightshirt, and I eagerly explored his shoulders and neck, careful not to leave any visible marks. I still left plenty of other marks out-of-sight, and I smirked inwardly. Still, I wanted to lay claim to the parts of him I could see, so I gently bit his neck, licking him as he groaned into my hair.
A firm and inexorable tug from his hands pulled my face away from his torso, and I went easily. The Fool looked down at me, a picture of lust with blown pupils and his mouth gasping short, harried breaths. He claimed my mouth for our eighth kiss, deep and plundering at first, and it luxuriously quieted to gentle kisses free of tongue. Truthfully, I appreciated his clear redirection of my attentions. In that moment, I knew exactly what he wanted of me, and it was bliss.
He pulled back at last, wrapping his arms around my neck, placing his ear next to mine, and his lungs worked slowly and deeply.
“Are you sure you’re Fitz?” He asked the back of my neck.
“Fool, you saw into my soul yesterday. This can’t be that surprising,” I said wryly, trying to keep my pain at his question from my voice.
“I know. It’s just so… different from what I’ve grown accustomed to. You’ll remember this, after all,” He admitted.
I had no clue what he meant by the second half of his statement and chose to focus on the first. “I know. I’m…. trying. I’m trying to be less afraid of everything. I want so many things now, Fool, and I am trying to attain them. Before, I would just accept that anything I wanted was impossible to get, so it wasn’t worth even trying. But I’m trying now, Fool. I’m trying,” I repeated desperately. I could remember a time so recently when wanting something seemed only like a path to disappointment one way or another, but already I had somehow acquired so much that I wanted without being punished. I feared the other shoe would drop, but it hadn’t yet.
“That means… You want me.”
“I want you,” I kissed his ear to seal the statement.
He backed away to look at me with searching eyes, “You’re not afraid?”
I smiled crookedly, “Of course I’m afraid. But I am trying not to let that fear stop me anymore.”
Our ninth kiss was slow and delightful, as chaste as it could be with him straddling me and shirtless. I felt less tension in his lips, as though he believed he would get a tenth. I understood that feeling.
He pulled away, and I desperately needed to redirect our energies before I did something either of us might later regret. “Come now, we need to eat. You need to heal, and I’m hoping to go to the training yard after this.”
“To the training yard?” He asked, clambering off me and putting his shirt back on without fuss. I mourned the loss but recognized the need.
I shrugged, “I like weapons training.” I resumed eating my breakfast.
He chewed a slice of apple thoughtfully, then swallowed. I watched his throat with deep interest. “I always was under the impression you did it begrudgingly.”
“Recently, as Tom Badgerlock, yes,” I thought back to my childhood, “But not always. Not before.” My life seemed peculiarly arranged into a series of befores and afters. Before and after the time I nearly died in the mountains, before and after I did die in the dungeons, before and after I lost my soul and Verity went into the dragon and the Fool flew away from me. Before and after I gave up my search for the Fool and settled down in a cabin, then the befores and afters of his return, his death and rebirth, and the reclamation of my soul. We were in another after now, but what were we before? I hoped it was one of the good ones. So many of the dividing lines in my life were terrible.
I tried to understand why my opinion on weapons training had changed. “This past year, I hated that training made me into a weapon to be used. But I’m not a weapon anymore.” I took great pleasure in the realization.
“You’re a person,” He pointed out.
The statement was so simple, so obvious, but still it hit me over the head with a rock. I was not only a bastard or facsimile of a son or a failed father. “I’m a person,” I said aloud, lightheaded at the words. I could only stare into the middle distance as I considered the implications.
“Eat your breakfast, Beloved, before you pass out in awe of your newly realized agency,” He said gently, breaking me free from my musing. I returned sheepishly to my plate once more.
We each ate a few more bites, the Fool looking speculatively at me the whole time. “What now?” I asked with exasperation.
“Well, I was wondering if you could forget something for me,” The Fool said nonsensically, the words reverberating strangely in the room. A bell was struck, and I felt an deep instinct to reach for something in my mind, but I found only confusion. There was nothing to reach for.
“I suppose I could,” I said doubtfully. “Why are you asking me this? What happened that I need to forget?” I saw his face fall in distress, sensed heart-rending agony through our Skill bond. He swayed as though he might fall over. “Fool, are you alright?” I shoved my plate onto the table and reached for him and did my best to hold him as he wavered.
“I’m fine, Beloved,” He said faintly. I had not seen him look so poorly since I had left him in Prilkop’s cave, and I informed him as much. He reacted not at all.
“What did I say? I answered your question. You said you weren’t backing out earlier. Did you change your mind?” My world had narrowed to Beloved, but he did not answer any of my questions. He seemed hardly able to hear me. When I saw the huge effort he was putting into calming himself, I quieted my words and resigned myself to rubbing his arm in what I hope was a comforting fashion.
A brief shiver ran through his body before he finally looked at me. “I’m sorry, Fitz. I’m not backing out, I promise. Call it a passing mania,” He smiled weakly at me.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I offered, but he started shaking his head before I even finished the question.
“I’m afraid this is something for me to fix, not you.”
“I could help.”
“I’ll need your help later, I’m sure. But for now, let me handle this. First, we must finish our breakfast.”
Afterwards, I went to open the window and placed a handful of seeds on the windowsill and waited. After a short time, Prudence’s jay Flit arrived. She was gray with blue wing tips and a white belly and throat, far subtler than the male jays in Buck.
“Hello,” I greeted the jay, a bit awkward.
“He-lo! He-lo!” The jay chirruped back at me, seizing a seed.
“Can you ask Prudence to bring up water for a bath later today? To Tom’s room.” Kettricken assured me that I could just communicate with the bird with words rather than the Wit, but I had never done such a thing. I felt her with my Wit, but did not reach out. She acknowledged my awareness of her and likewise kept her presence to herself.
“Before lunch! Before lunch! You hel-p carry water?” The bird’s strange way of talking was grating to my ears, but her meaning was clear. She seized another seed in her beak, expertly breaking it apart.
“I’ll help carry water. Find me when it’s time? I’ll be outside unless I’m in the steams,” I told her, planning my morning accordingly.
“Flit will find! Flit will find!” The bird agreed, preened a feather, then flew away.
I brought the remaining seeds inside, putting them in the small bowl by the window that I realized had been placed there for that purpose. The day was pleasant, so I left the window open.
The Fool came over, “That’s our servant’s Wit-partner?” He asked, picking up a seed.
“Apparently. Her name is Flit. Does a bath before lunch work for you?”
“That would be marvelous,” He grinned broadly, “I haven’t taken a bath in such a long time.”
Our tenth kiss was short and casual, a peck more than anything. I marveled that we had so easily incorporated this new aspect of our relationship into our interactions. I hoped it would continue to be this simple and easy, and I clutched that hope protectively.
I went to the training yard and was lucky enough to find Wim, the old guard I had whetted my blade with before I had been stabbed last spring. I had regained muscle since that Skill healing, but I had not trained much on our journey through the OutIslands, so he proved a decent match for me. We went a few rounds, and I told him about the trip next to the water barrel. He was pleased to hear that Dutiful’s guards had seen barely any combat, excluding our time on Aslevjal.
“The best role a guard can have is his presence alone preventing combat in the first place. Let the young bucks bemoan a bloodless fight or being bored while standing on watch,” He said while eyeing some of the younger guards in question. There were several who were boasting loudly about a fight they had recently been in, making it seem like a grand battle. “You been transferred to the Queen’s Guard then?”
“I have,” I said cautiously. “She assigned me to Lady Patience Farseer while the Lady is at Buckkeep. The Lady mostly likes that I’m tall enough to hang herbs from the rafters and strong enough I can carry things for her.” I gave an exaggerated grimace, and he grinned at me.
“Good job that, helping little old ladies with carrying and whatnot,” Wim said.
“I expect I’ll accompany the Lady or her maid to town when they go to do shopping, or perhaps she’ll just send me to fetch things. The Queen may reclaim me if she sets out from Buckkeep in the future since things are heating up in the country,” I said casually.
“Aye that. It’s a shame, that is, that the Witted folk are fighting among themselves,” He nodded sagely, and I appreciated his simple statement.
“A shame indeed. Another few rounds?”
“Aye, I expect you’ll outgrow old Wim soon enough, but I think I can still best you two times in three,” His eyes glinted in challenge.
We each won one match with the third ending in a tie with killing blows for both of us. Exhausted and sweaty, we saluted one another and re-racked our practice weapons then headed together for the steams. They were blessedly free of any young bucks, as Wim had called them, and we sat next to one another to continue our conversation. Before I could say a word however, he raised an eyebrow at my shoulder. “So who’s the lucky lady?” He asked idly.
I blushed suddenly as I recalled the love mark the Fool had left on my shoulder. Ironically, I had forgotten the mark but remembered the deeds. “I’d rather not say. It’s a new thing,” I said honestly.
“Well, so long as it’s not the Lady or her maid,” he joked, eyes twinkling.
“Wim, they’re old enough to be my mother!” I was offended. The thought of it was truly disturbing to me, but I could not very well tell him why.
“That wouldn’t stop some of the guardsmen, you know. There’s an infamous lady who cycles through young guardsmen faster than you’d believe. She keeps getting older but her boys stay the same age. In fact, some of the young bucks consider it a rite of passage,” And Wim told me the truly scandalous story of Lady Humility and her series of young men. Apparently the longest she had kept one of them was nine months. I knew the guardsman, Miles. He had two young children with a wife he adored. Wim swore me to secrecy, saying that it had been over a decade now since Miles had been Humility’s boy, and he and his wife were very happy together.
“Good for him.” I was more than a little bewildered by the story. I wondered if I had ever met Lady Humility as a lad, and if she had prepositioned me. If so, I had no doubt I would have completely misunderstood her if she had approached me at the time. The Fool would know.
We finished quickly and parted for the day. I gathered apples from the kitchens to visit Myblack and await Flit. I only had to wait ten minutes or so when the jay found me and led me to the pump to gather water.
Prudence was perhaps twenty summers old, taller than the average Buck woman and thinner besides. Her face was round and smiling, her hair black and falling in glossy waves. I guessed her to be from Bearns originally. We introduced ourselves, and she remarked that it was nice to meet someone who was both Witted and well-placed within Buckkeep, and I told her of Web and the Witted coterie. Flit cawed when someone came close, and we shifted our conversation to complaining about all the water nobles needed for their baths, and why couldn’t they just use the steams?
We lugged the buckets to a heated chamber, trading the cold buckets for warm ones, then carefully carried our burdens to my chambers. We slowed our pace as we approached the door to ensure two servants had turned the corner by the time we reached the door. I used my key to unlock the door, but the door opened before I could push it, the Fool helping us on the other side.
He quickly closed the door behind us, and I extracted the tub from the corner as he introduced himself to Prudence. Unsurprisingly, the two of them seemed immediately comfortable together, and as always I was impressed at how easily he ingratiated himself with everyone he had a mind to befriend. I was briefly jealous of the attention he gave her and rebuked myself for it. I knew where I stood in his heart.
The conversation was over reasonably quickly, with Prudence having greater knowledge of the chores the Fool most wished help with and the frequency at which these would ideally occur. They agreed that discreetness of the task being accomplished outweighed any other aspect of it, including whether it occurred at all. He acknowledged that I was able to help as needed given my duties around the keep, which she accepted with equanimity, and he expressed enthusiasm when she invited him to meet her and Flit for a stroll in the Women’s Gardens in a week.
She gave me a wave and a smile before she left, taking the empty breakfast tray with her. I was pleased to see her pause briefly at the door to check for nearby presences before she opened it.
“I never understand how you do that,” I mused as I filled his bath.
“Do what? Be nice to people?” He jested as he set up the privacy screen.
“It’s more than being nice to people. They genuinely like you at the end of a single conversation, and they like you enough that they want to help you.” I had been trained how to be considered a “clever lad” and gain information out of people, but that was the extent of my social skills. Perhaps the Fool had been right, and I had used the Wit to appeal to people all along. That thought was deeply uncomfortable.
“Oh I don’t know Fitz. I listen to what they say and respond accordingly,” He brought of a little table with several soaps on it and settled a few towels on the rods sticking out from the table. I realized that the entire purpose of that table was to hold towels and soaps. I remembered putting quills on it a few times. He looked at me with his eyebrows raised, and I obligingly went to the other side of the privacy screen to lounge on the couch.
“Maybe I don’t listen well enough? Wim was telling me in the steams about this Lady in the keep who beds a series of young men, and I realized I had no idea who she was. I felt very dense that I had never noticed her. He said Lady Humility was around fifteen or twenty years ago, and he seemed certain she would have propositioned me back then, but I can’t recall her at all,” I fidgeting with my fingers as I complained, trying to distract myself from what he was doing.
When I stopped talking, I heard the rustle of clothes being removed and suddenly wanted very much to be on the other side of the privacy screen. I opted instead to head to the bedroom to change into a fresh uniform, then returned to my place on the couch. When I returned, I heard sounds of water splashing.
“She did proposition you,” He said at last. “You were rowing on the Rurisk at the time. She interrupted you as you were on your way to Molly’s room and tried to convince you to ‘show her your new rowing skills’. Apparently, you bowed so much to get rid of her that she purposefully misunderstood you so that you would keep making excuses and bowing.”
And suddenly I recalled her. She had been perhaps thirty at the time, with dark red hair and lips, a full dress covering intimidating curves. I had tried very hard not to stare and kept my eyes mostly on the floor or a painting behind her, “Oh. I remember now… I thought she wanted help rearranging her bedroom furniture, so I told her that there were probably servants who could help her.”
His astonished laughter shamed me, both in its loudness and in duration. It seemed so obvious in retrospective, but I remember feeling confused and awkward at the time. I groaned aloud in embarrassment.
“Fitz, this is why you are such a delight to tease!” The Fool exclaimed.
“How was I supposed to know what she meant! Show off my rowing skills indeed, like I would be doing pushups,” I grumbled.
That set off another peel of laughter. “Precisely what she hoped for, Fitz! Pushups atop her, perhaps with some hip exercises too.” I could practically hear his eyebrows wiggling. I felt a perverse joy in his delight over my own idiocy and soon found myself chuckling.
“Would you want to join for lunch today with Patience and Lacey?” I asked at last, eyeing the angle of the sun through the window. We still had some time.
I heard more quiet splashing, “I think I would. Can we get there through the walls?”
“We can,” I said slowly. “There are more stairs that way, but it’s private.”
The Fool sighed deeply, “As nice at it was to meet Prudence, I think I prefer privacy today.”
“Then we’ll go through the walls.”
As he finished his bath, I went between the workroom and our bedroom to select and organize my clothes at each location. I suspected that I would be getting dressed in the dark while the Fool slept in, and I wanted to be able to easily find what I needed without waking him.
I heard him stand up in the tub, a cascade of water hitting water, so I rushed back to the couch to give him some privacy. I stared at the fire, not moving my eyes to either side as I heard him rustling behind me. I wanted so desperately to turn and watch him, but I knew he would not want me to.
After a long time of staring at the fire, I felt his gloved hands land on my shoulders, then press into them purposefully to massage me. I released a groan then and relaxed into the motions, flopping forward to give him greater access. I turned into clay in his hands.
“How do guards not get sore every day they train? My muscles were cramping from that walk yesterday alone,” He asked idly, working his thumbs into my back.
“The steams,” I breathed, then groaned as he hit a particularly tense spot along my spine. “Usually, I stay longer, but I didn’t want to miss Flit and delay your bath.”
“Mmmm I would love to visit them at some point, but public nudity isn’t for me.” His fingers dug deeper, working out the spot of tension.
“We could go at night when the guards are asleep?” I was very enthused by the prospect of his nudity.
“Perhaps someday.” That was not quite an agreement. “I would rather it be after this Skill healing that you need to practice for.”
“I’ll prioritize it,” I promised, thinking about the Skill scrolls we had found. Surely some of them would teach me more. I groaned in relief as his hands had finally worked the knot out of my back and his touch switched to soothing me.
His task accomplished, the Fool released me, and it took a few moments for me to regain awareness. I stood and stretched, loosened muscles moving freely. I offered him a hand, “To lunch?” He took it, and we went into the walls.
I had the pleasure to witness my Fool thoroughly charm Patience and Lacey while I merely basked in their conversation and ate more than anyone else. I saw Patience and Lacey glance between the two of us several times, and I hoped we were not being obvious. Friends shared looks and smiled at one another, didn’t they?
He told them stories of Bingtown and Jamaillia and, to my surprise, his role as a White Prophet, which Patience was very interested in. She demanded some example prophecies, and he spoke of a few more shorter ones, like when fat sufficed. He also told them that he had first written the prophesy, “Prophets become warriors, and dragons hunt as wolves,” when he was only twelve years old.
“Is that what convinced you to fly with the stone dragons?” I asked curiously.
“Of course it was. There is nothing more convincing than having your own prophecies spoken to you at the exact right time by your own Catalyst. You’ve done it several times, and each time I feel like you’ve pulled the rug out from under me, and I suddenly know exactly what needs to be done. The fact that you say them without even having read any of them is nothing short of mind-boggling.” His eyes locked onto mine and his affection for me written on his face.
When I realized I was looking back at him the same way, I coughed and returned to my meal. He smiled broadly at the victory. I could feel the complete attention Patience and Lacey had fixed on our behavior, and I thanked them silently for not questioning it.
Patience rerouted the conversation to the Fool’s role as King Shrewd’s jester and his role as Lord Golden, and she asked some particularly sharp questions about his loyalty during that time. The Fool answered these questions honestly, though a few he had to beg off, saying that he could not speak such secrets even to ‘the former Queen-in-Waiting and Fitz’s mother.’ I realized at some point that they were interviewing him, though for what position, I could not guess.
When I realized I needed to leave for my appointment with Nettle, I found a brief break in conversation to announce it. Then I tried to rescue the Fool, “Would you like to stay here, or shall I escort you back to your rooms?” I was anxious either way.
The Fool looked at Patience, who assured him that he was more than welcome to stay, and he agreed that he would rather stay longer as well. Surely such intensive questioning was unpleasant, but I could not say as much without my mothers hearing, so I didn’t. I only touched his shoulder lightly in farewell and gave Patience and Lacey each a hug in their seats.
“Good luck, Fitz,” The Fool whispered to me.
“Do well with my granddaughter, FitzChivalry. Be yourself, and be as honest as you can,” Patience simultaneously encouraged me and warned me.
“I’ll try, Mother,” I said. I think we were all aware of how at odds those two statements could be. I left through the spy tunnels toward Verity’s tower, strengthening my Skill-walls on the way.
Chapter 11: Burrich's Daughter
Notes:
So this is officially the most edited chapter I have written so far. I'm still not terribly satisfied with it, but I post on a schedule to prevent perfection paralysis. I hope you enjoy it!
This chapter is highly retrospective, so as promised you get two chapters today!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
I entered the tower to find Nettle already waiting, hands on her hips as she surveyed the rows of scrolls the Fool and I had laid out on the floor. I silently closed the hidden door behind me and cleared my throat. She jumped nearly a foot into the air though she did not scream.
I smiled apologetically. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Where did you come from? How did you get here?” She demanded.
“That is a secret I can’t tell you,” I explained softly. My desire for honesty was already at odds with the need to keep Farseer secrets.
Her eyes sparked in anger, but she held her tongue. Instead, she gestured towards the floor. “Are these the Skill scrolls you brought back?”
“Yes.” Now this question I could answer, so I did so thoroughly. “There are more on Aslevjal, but Chade and I plan to journey there and bring back another load once the Prince has returned.”
“What I don’t understand is why they were there in the first place. Didn’t you say this was Buckeep’s old Skill library? Why were they on an island?” Nettle glared at the scrolls as though they personally offended her.
“Regal sold the bulk of Buckkeep’s Skill library to fund his parties during the Red Ship War. I don’t know whether he knew he was selling to the enemy, but I doubt he would have cared. He would rather pretend the war was not happening or was irrelevant to the Inland Duchies he preferred.” Verity and I tried our hardest to protect our people in spite of him and his excesses. When our people suffered, so too did we. That was what it meant to be a Farseer. As Chade told me long ago, it comes with the blood. Whether Nettle inherited that from me was yet to be seen.
She looked at me suspiciously, her eyes lingering on my guardsman’s uniform. “How do you know all this?”
Molly had given me permission, I reminded myself, but the reminder did not alleviate my rising terror. So I clasped my hands behind my back to hide their clenching, and I valiantly looked my daughter in the eyes and spoke the truth. “I was not born Tom Badgerlock. I adopted that name later. I am most infamously known as FitzChivalry Farseer, illegitimate son of King-in-Waiting Chivalry and grandson to King Shrewd.” I bowed, short and simple as I had been taught, though a part of me madly considered a more flamboyant bow like what the Fool would do. Honesty was heady stuff, but the rope I had to walk for it was narrow.
Her eyes widened as she considered the full ramifications of my name, status, and what she knew of my history. “Oh,” She concluded quietly. She swept into the deepest, most awkward curtsy I have ever seen.
“Nettle, there’s really no need for that.” I hurried to take her arm, tried to help her stand back up. “I’m not a prince or even royalty. You Skill with Dutiful just fine.”
“He’s just a boy.” Her wide eyes were fixed on my hands, so I released her and awkwardly dusted off my trousers. “You’re a living legend. A legend I’ve spoken like he’s a nobody guardsman.” She sounded so lost and overwhelmed by this information, and I hurried to provide her a measure of solid ground.
“That you thought as much means my disguise works. Tom Badgerlock is a nobody guardsman.”
Nettle’s jaw flexed as she tried to fit what I told her into her understanding of who I was, but that did not make her words gentle. “So you are the Witted Bastard?”
I could not stop it. My entire body recoiled from her, nearly knocking me to the ground. Nothing like your own bastard daughter calling you a bastard, my mind kindly informed me. I panicked only a moment before I remembered to check my walls. They were still as strong as I could make them.
“I am so sorry.” The regret in her voice allowed me to believe it.
“It’s fine.” I lied. “You surprised me. I didn’t expect you to call me that.” I looked around hopelessly for a distraction. My eyes found a solution, and I gestured towards the table. “Come. Sit. We should talk.”
As Nettle hesitantly chose a chair, I ransacked the supplies we had left behind. I combined lemon balm, elderberry, and ginger into a calming tea and prepared a small bowl of nuts, seeds, and dried fruit. After a moment’s consideration, I grabbed the bottle of brandy as well. I set water to heat over the fire and brought my assembled provisions over to the table, and when I sat down, I tried not to feel self-conscious at the way she openly stared at me.
“But why did my mother want me to know you?” She asked at last, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. Despite her fidgeting, her eyes steadily bored into mine, and I had to remind myself that she was a girl still. I refused to be intimidated by her.
I answered as best I could. “She and I were friends when we were young. Burrich raised me. And you and I have been communicating via the Skill for a very long time. She would rather be the one to tell you about our shared past, Nettle, but I can speak to you of those things, if you want to know them. You can ask.”
She nodded, accepting my requirements, and I thought she was still a bit dazzled. “So why did my Papa raise you?”
“Well, you remember how I told you Burrich was King’s Man to Chivalry?” She nodded. “Burrich was intensely loyal to him. He injured his knee protecting Chivalry from a boar, and he was recovering when I first met him. When my… maternal grandfather,” I stumbled, my memory of that night so clear and new and old that I could not focus on it without a deep sense of sadness. So I pushed it away. “When he brought me to Moonseye and handed me off to the guard there, I was brought to Verity. My uncle had no idea what to do with me, so I was passed to Burrich. Burrich was responsible for Chivalry’s horses, hounds, and birds, so why not his bastard too?” I smiled as I remembered. “Your Papa was magnificent that night. The guards joked about Chivalry doing something so common as producing a bastard, and Burrich silenced the entire room with a word and a look.”
“But why did he raise you? Why didn’t he bring you to Chivalry? To your own father?” Nettle asked this as though she was walking through a room full of traps, but she did not know where they were. I resolved to be as kind as I could if she stepped on any.
“For many reasons. Namely, if Chivalry recognized me at all, I would surely have been killed.” My expression turned sickly as I said it.
“What? Why?” At her flash of anger, I could not help but feel rising fear for the impending moment when she learned that I too abandoned her. I tamped down on it hard, buried it deep. Not now.
“Old politics,” I said simply, then let out an exasperated sigh. “Old, but still relevant, politics.” At Nettle’s questioning gaze, I proceeded. “King Shrewd’s second wife Desire believed her bloodlines were more royal than those of his first wife. She argued that her son Regal should inherit over Chivalry and Verity. It was nonsensical, but she thoroughly embodied her name: she desired her son to be king. She schemed to achieve this and convinced Regal of his greater claim as well.”
“She would have killed you?” She sounded so surprised. I had long since accepted that those who might be able to call me family would be willing to kill me for my unwelcome intrusion. Still, I was grateful that Kettricken’s court was far safer for her than Shrewd’s had been for me that my daughter could be surprised in that moment.
“Arranged for me to be killed, yes. According to Burrich and Patience, Chivalry abdicated his position as King-in-Waiting to protect me.” It disturbed me that my mere existence had had led to my father’s downfall, but the Fool told me that this was the best Path for not only the Kingdom, but also the world. That did not make it hurt any less.
“Your own father didn’t tell you that’s why he did it?”
“I never met the man.”
“Are you serious?” She was scandalized.
“Very. He left me to Burrich to raise, and I lived with him in the stables until I was nine or ten, at which point I was moved into the keep for lessons. When I was thirteen, Chivalry, despite being an excellent rider, was thrown by his own horse and died.” I glided over the words as though they were irrelevant to me. “Patience chose to return to Buckkeep and contribute to my upbringing as best she could. You can imagine how well that went.” She silently considered my words, so I took the moment to fill the teapot with hot water. I set it between us to brew and laid out teacups and honey as well.
“So… my Papa is your Papa too?” Confusion and longing tangled in her expression as she tried to wrap her mind around how we two could relate to one another.
I shook my head, “Not… exactly. Burrich raised you as his daughter, whereas he raised me to be his Lord’s son. You have the Skill, which is considered a noble magic, whereas I have both the Skill and the Wit. Your Papa hated seeing his Lord’s son practice what he considered to be a lowly form of magic. Since he had the magic himself, he could tell whenever I used it and cuffed me every time.”
“Then why did you use it?”
Can you stop yourself from breathing and still be alive, I wanted to ask, but that was perhaps overly dramatic. But I did not know how else to answer her, so I poured tea for the both of us and sipped it. She silently spooned honey into her cup, and I eventually found an answer. “Nettle, could you stop yourself from Dreaming?”
She looked doubtful. “I don’t think it would be possible. Now that I know what the Skill is, I could probably find a way, but it was as natural to me as breathing when I was young.”
I nodded. “It was the same with me and the Wit. Burrich hated it, but the thought of giving it up seemed impossible.” I tapped my fingernail on the teacup and tried to decide if I should expand on that. Her face screwed together as she watched me, and I admitted that this was perhaps a thing she ought to know, for she too was a royal bastard. “Nettle, so much of my life was difficult. There were so many people who hated me for things I had no control over. When I was younger, the closest people in my life loved me, I think. But that love had... expectations and limitations. With the Wit, I found connection to the world around me and friends regardless of who I was. Dogs don’t care if you’re a bastard. Wolves don’t have kings. Yet Burrich thought if I didn’t have the Wit, I would’ve been able to learn the Skill magic more easily.”
“That makes sense,” She said speculatively. “Swift loves being Witted. Papa hated it, but he never explained why.” I nodded agreeably. I wanted to tell her what I knew, but I did not know if I had the right or if that was Molly’s task. Nettle interrupted me before I could decide. “How did you learn to Skill, then? I assume the Skillmaster taught you.”
I barked in laughter. “It would be generous to call what he did ‘teaching.’” She raised her eyebrows at this admission. I sighed. She ought to know. “Skillmaster Galen had not completed his own training. Solicity died before he could. He was granted his position only because Desire wanted it, because Galen was her own bastard.” My daughter’s face froze in recognition of this secret’s importance.
I sipped my tea. “Galen hated me in part because I was a bastard as well. Learning the Skill requires trust between student and teacher, but every time he and I connected via the Skill, he tried to plunder my mind for secrets. What Burrich never understood is that I had far more secrets than just my Wit to hide. As a Farseer bastard, I had so many things I needed to hide. So while I learned the Skill, I played cat-and-mouse with my teacher.”
I saw her turn over my words in her mind until at last she spoke. “You never tried to root out my secrets.”
“Nor Dutiful’s nor Chade’s. But once I used the Skill to learn more about Thick’s secrets.” I said guiltily. “When I first met him, he was being forced to spy on us. So, I asked him in indirect ways about his spying, and I listened to his Skill music as he answered.”
“Thick is always Skilling his music. That’s not quite the same as rifling through his head.” She smiled as she said it, and I lowered my walls. Based on his music, I suspected he was drawing in his room. I smiled too.
“Not the same, no. But I’m not proud of it.” I poured more tea for both of us and a small glass of brandy for myself, choosing to sip the latter. She stirred honey into her tea. She then reached for the brandy and poured herself a small amount, holding it to the light and inspecting it with narrowed eyes.
“Galen was a very harsh teacher even if you did everything perfectly, but he was brutal if you made the slightest mistake. Any student who was distracted by the Skill stream was removed from class. In my case, Galen nearly beat me to death.” I took a sip of brandy, then held my glass to the light as well, admiring the tawny color of it. It was the same color as my Fool had been only a month ago. “It was the Wit that saved me.”
I looked down to find her lips thinned in anger. “And everyone was just fine with the Skillmaster almost killing you?”
“Not exactly. But the Crown could do nothing or perhaps refused to. But after your Papa patched me up, he went and dragged Galen all the way to the Witness stones and beat him soundly for it.” That memory of Burrich was, I think, one of my favorites. So often I had disappointed him, but in that moment, he was the defender of the boy he cared for when no one else would.
I looked at my daughter and was struck by how vicious her expression was and how her face matched mine in our satisfaction. “Good.”
“Good,” I agreed. “Unfortunately, it did not matter very much. While Galen beat me, he planted a Skill-suggestion on me that I was deeply incompetent at using the Skill. It made progress almost impossible. I had been the best in the class, but afterwards Skilling gave me blinding headaches, and I struggled with my walls. My mind was either wide open or completely closed. I did not pass the final test to join the coterie, and I could not tell you if it’s because my walls were too tight or if Galen did not Skill to me at all.”
She frowned. “That seems an unfair test.”
I shrugged. “It was better in the end. Regal had Galen’s coterie undermine Verity’s efforts. He wanted Verity to seem incompetent so that people would support him instead. So you see, I would not have been allowed on Galen’s coterie anyway, because I was loyal to Shrewd and to Verity.” She nodded, and I saw the depth of understanding in her eyes. I wondered what Burrich had taught her about loyalty.
“Instead, I was assigned to support Verity as best I could. My job was mainly to ensure he ate as he Skilled and to help him defend the Duchies against raiders. He also taught me more of the Skill, and I learned how to control my walls again.” I did not flinch as I remembered why such lessons became necessary.
She nodded her head, and silence settled between us. She picked up her brandy glass once more. With intense caution, she took the smallest sip of her brandy and choked, coughing repeatedly. I hurriedly handed her a handkerchief and moved her teacup closer. When her breathing settle, she downed her tea. I refilled her cup and added honey, and she sipped it gratefully.
“Was that your first time trying brandy?” I could not help asking.
“Yes,” She admitted, glaring at the glass. “Mama doesn’t like alcohol and refuses to keep it in the house. I’ve had wine and beer since getting to Buckkeep but never brandy. How do you like it? It burns.”
“It’s fortifying!” She rolled her eyes at me. “Perhaps it’s a learned appreciation,” I admitted. “But the Fool has some apricot brandy that you may enjoy.” I was certain he would not mind sharing. I lifted her glass and raised an eyebrow. At her nod, I dumped its contents into mine.
“So... your Skill training is also incomplete?” Nettle asked doubtfully.
“Oh yes, it’s very incomplete,” I smiled slightly at the statement.
“But Dutiful has named you Skillmaster.”
“He has. I disagree with the designation, but I have agreed to fulfill the role as best I can.”
“What about the rest of Galen’s coterie? Why isn’t one of them Skillmaster?”
“Oh.” I took another sip of brandy. This thin rope of honesty was difficult while sober, but I did not want to get drunk for my first real conversation with my daughter.
“Oh?”
“Well. They’re all dead,” She looked skeptical. I downed the rest of my brandy, poured more. “We killed everyone in Galen’s coterie, and the dragons or the Skill-road took out the rest.”
“You killed them all?” She sounded aghast, and I could not blame her.
“They were trying to kill us,” I pointed out. “Burl, Carrod, and Will were hunting for us in the Skill, and Regal sent three barely trained coteries to follow me on the Skill Road. They were sent to kill my King.” I tapped my finger on the table. “And I foolishly killed the Justin and Serene in full view of the entire damn court.” I winced. That memory always shamed me.
“I heard about that... Why did you do it? It sounds so stupid.” She sounded indignant at the idea, as though I hadn’t just told her about killing, indirectly or directly, over a dozen people. Public murders are always the ones people remember.
I sighed and found my brandy glass empty once again. I switched to tea. “After Verity left, it became clear that Regal was going to abandon the coastal Duchies to be Forged. He even tried to arrange for Kettricken to miscarry. So we arranged for the King and Kettricken to flee to the Mountain Kingdom, with Burrich and the Fool to aid them. Meanwhile, Chade, Patience, and I would remain behind and try to protect the coast until they returned.” I hesitated, not wanting to relive what happened next. Perhaps she did not need to know this. It was not relevant to her live as my student in the Skill, and she did not know she was my daughter yet. The only reason to tell her was because she asked.
“Then what?” She startled me from my unease. I resigned myself to the telling.
“I went to fetch Shrewd, but he refused to join. He commanded me to help him Skill Verity once last time. I tried but I did not know how, and my King died like a bubble popping. With him gone, I found Serene and Justin leeching away his strength. I suspect they had been for months. My King was dead, and I had a blinding headache and couldn’t find elfbark to numb it. I was given carris seed. I was so upset that I… I lost it. I killed the ones who killed my King, and I was thrown in the dungeon for it. I found out later that our entire plan had been undermined. Thankfully, Burrich had hidden our horses, his Ruddy and my Sooty, so that Regal couldn’t sell them off as well. He brought them to my Queen and the Fool so they could escape.”
“Ruddy and Sooty? Those are our horses.” Nettle was most certainly Burrich’s daughter if that was what she asked about after I told her about one of the worst nights of my life. “Ruddy’s old, and Sooty died ten years ago, but Papa taught me to ride on Sooty. He cried when he did it, and I don’t know why. He didn’t cry teaching my brothers.”
“He did?” I could hardly get the words out around the painful swelling in my throat. I turned away from her, wiping tears from my eyes. Of course he taught Nettle to ride on my horse. Of course he did.
“He did,” She said suspiciously. “Do you know why he cried?”
I cleared my throat multiple times. “I… have my suspicions. But that is something your mother should tell you.” I still faced away from her, trying desperately to control my emotions. I could not tell if our conversation was easier or harder than I expected, but I had not anticipated crying over my old horse.
“Did you… not know she died?” She asked at last.
“No.”
“She was old when he taught me.” She said kindly.
“I know, I just… haven’t thought of her in some time.” I rubbed my eyes and turned back to her, trying not to imagine my steady horse teaching my little girl how to ride. “Sooty was a good horse. She carried me safely and well for many years.”
Nettle smiled sadly at my impromptu memorial. “She was patient when I learned to ride her. Even though I kicked her far too much, she never so much as nipped me.” We both shared a moment of grief for a horse long since dead, and I appreciated Nettle’s patience with me. I wondered if Sooty taught her that as well.
After a time, I cleared my throat once more. “Where were we?”
“You were imprisoned for murdering two kingkillers,” Her voice was apologetic, but she was inexorable in the return to our story.
“Oh,” Was all I could say. How to explain something so painful to her? “Well. Regal tortured me in hopes I would give up my secrets. He was gathering evidence to hang and burn me for having the Wit. Burrich worked with Nighteyes to house my mind. After my body died, Patience cleaned and bound my wounds before burying it. Then Burrich dug it up and called Nighteyes back. Then he shoved my mind back into my recently-dead body.” I refilled my brandy glass.
This is the third glass already, I thought ruefully. Careful, or she’ll wish you never had this conversation.
Hush. We’re getting through this. We can be honest and tipsy or sober and lying. Pick one. I did not like either option, and the narrow rope of honesty wavered under me.
I looked at Nettle and saw she did not know what to think about such a story.
“It was a very unpleasant experience,” I explained.
She gulped. “I can imagine.”
I sipped my brandy. “I… Forgive me for saying, Nettle, but I don’t think you can imagine it. Nor would I want you to.”
She nodded jerkily. “I can respect that,” She said slowly.
“Thank you. It’s not the most pleasant thing to remember and the details are not terribly relevant right now.” I took a deep breath and set the memory aside. “Suffice to say after a long recovery period, Nighteyes and I made our way to Jhaampe to meet with Kettricken and the Fool, and we were joined by the minstrel Starling and an old woman named Kettle. We five went to Verity.” I remembered that I was speaking to Nettle the Skill-user and not simply my daughter. “Kettle was a Skill-user who used the Skill to slow her aging, but her magic was locked away two hundred years ago. I managed to unlock her, and the two of them finished carving the dragon, and they flew off to save the Six Duchies. Nighteyes and I figured out how to wake up the rest of the dragons, and they took out many of Regal’s Skill-users, then the Fool led the dragons into battle against the Red Ship Raiders.”
Nettle’s face looked as though I told her grass was blue. I found my glass of brandy empty once more and placed it to the side. I stoppered the bottle as well and switched firmly to tea.
Nettle shook her head as though to clear it. “This is all true?”
“As true as I can make it.”
“But why are you skipping over so many details? What’s a Skill-road? Where are King Verity and this Kettle now? How did you and Nighteyes wake the dragons?” I opened my mouth and closed it.
“Because the telling would take a very long time, and I don’t think the details are relevant right now. And you should learn the details as part of your Skill training. But if you’d like to know before then, I can give you some scrolls I wrote on the topic.” I saw her glance out the window to check the time. She scrunched her nose.
“Fine. Tomorrow?”
“Or perhaps the day after.” After she talks to Molly, I promised myself.
Her jaw flexed, and I saw that she was torn. She wanted to reject me, to insist on me telling her now, but propriety wouldn’t allow her to do so. “Alright, Prince FitzChivalry. I accept.” I flinched at the naming. “But why didn’t you come home after, like Papa wanted you to?”
My mind froze at the question. I should have known she would ask, but I had not thought what I might say. I had been doing so well. I had hardly lied at all, the rope of honesty still somehow beneath my feet. “That’s… complicated.” I reconsidered my decision to switch to tea.
“More complicated than you dying and my Papa bringing you back to life?” Nettle challenged me.
“Yes, actually. To most everyone, I had died in the dungeons. To everyone else, I had surely died on my way to the mountains. Only Kettricken, Chade, Starling, and the Fool knew I was alive afterwards. I… well. I…” I stumbled here, limited both by Molly’s requirements but also my unwillingness to seem a coward in front of my daughter.
The decision was complex, so I opted for a partial truth. I told her the simpler reasons. “In part I stayed away because I had almost been informally chosen as an interim king by the coastal duchies. Many said that the Witted Bastard might be a better ruler than the Mountain Queen and her infant son, and I did not want to undermine Dutiful’s eventual inheritance by coming back as myself. Nor did I want to be hung and quartered for being Witted.” Still she seemed doubtful. I took the Fool’s advice and deflected the responsibility. “I told Molly more of my reasons last night, and she seemed to accept them. You are welcome to ask her yourself.”
She frowned at me but did not question me further. I continued without prompting. “Instead, Nighteyes and I traveled for six years or so. When he got older, we settled down into a cabin and raised a foundling boy. We lived close enough that I could be called back to Buckkeep or even to your family if need arose. I only returned to Buckkeep last fall.” I felt disrespectful towards Nighteyes for claiming his age to be the reason we stopped, but I did not want to discuss the decision.
“What did they need you for?”
“Not my secret.” I admitted it freely.
She snorted and leaned back in her chair, sipping her tea and claiming some nuts from the bowl. I took a handful as well. We both looked out the window and enjoyed the view of the sea.
“Why did you Skill to me, when I was younger?” She asked, her voice breaking the silence that had grown thick between us.
“It wasn’t on purpose. I would sit on a bench by my cabin overlooking the sea, and I would Skill out, trying to find someone who could listen. I thought no one heard me. I thought no one was listening. But I think I connected with you and Dutiful when you were young children. You both had dreams of wolves, I understand.” Burrich had called Nettle’s wolf dreams nightmares, though Dutiful had viewed them as his own secret life.
“I remember those,” She said quietly. “And then when I started to Dream, I reached back to you.”
“I think so. You and Dutiful are both naturals with the Skill, and I wonder if I have been teaching you your entire lives. When I started formally teaching Dutiful last fall, he was so open that he almost lost himself in the Skill river. I had to rescue him as Verity had frequently done for me.” I disliked remembering it. I had almost lost Verity’s son because of my own ineptitude. If I had agreed to teach him earlier, perhaps that never would have happened.
“I also find it easy to be open to the Skill.” Her voice was quiet.
“I know. But you understand why I don’t really think I’m worthy of being a Skillmaster now.” I tried not to be self-deprecating.
“You did rescue the Prince,” Nettle somehow decided I needed defending. “And you’ve seen what experienced Skill users can do. You are the most experienced one left.”
“True enough.” I did not have the heart to fight her. “And the scrolls should make up where I lack.” I gestured towards them.
“So you will be teaching me the Skill then? What will I learn next?” Nettle looked strangely pleased.
“First, we need to organize these scrolls. I’ll arrange for scroll racks to be brought in tomorrow, but we’ll need to read and sort them.” The ocean of vellum that covered a substantial portion of the tower floor were more than a little intimidating.
“That might take awhile.” She too looked daunted.
“Yes. After that, I think it would be good to start with Skill healing.”
“You can heal with the Skill?”
“Very well. The others all gained experience last spring when I received a major injury, but we all need practice. Chade is quite good at healing himself but not others. Thick overwhelms people and therefore requires refinement, and Dutiful… I think he fears failing and is unwilling to try.” I shrugged. “Healing is something I can do, and something I can teach. It can be a useful tool, and it isn’t too dangerous unless someone is gravely injured.”
Her eyes were hungry as she seized on the opening I had left. “How were you injured last spring?”
I winced at the memory, “Have you heard the story about how the guard Tom Badgerlock killed three men and a horse in town?”
“I did. Supposedly you were retrieving a purse from thieves? It seemed very fanciful once I met you.”
I quirked an eyebrow at her, and she blushed. “That’s reasonable. The purse was a lie to avoid undermining our negotiations with Witted folks called Old Bloods. I was fighting a Witted group called Piebalds, who have some deeply unsavory ethics.” At her questioning look, I explained further, “For Old Bloods, the Wit-bond is a partnership between two equals, but Piebalds view their Wit-companion as lesser. They also blackmail other Old Bloods, threatening to reveal them as Witted if they don’t do whatever the Piebalds ask.”
She grimaced, “So you were in the middle of a feud between two groups?”
“Exactly. I located the Piebalds’ hideout from Thick’s music. I planned to leave and return better prepared, but Dutiful Skilled me that his Old Blood friend was endangered. I heard the boy’s voice inside, and I found him being choked to death. One swung a sword at me, and I could either block it or save the boy. I was stabbed, and he fled. We fought, and I killed the three of them. Their leader tried to escape death by fleeing into the mind of his horse, so I had to kill the horse as well. Then I collapsed in the street. At some point, Chade got me out of jail, and they tried to heal me.”
“But… Why didn’t you call for help?”
I grimaced. “In part I forgot that I could. But I have never been able to Skill out in battle.”
“That seems incredibly inconvenient,” She noted.
I laughed darkly. “In some ways.”
“But why did you kill the horse?” Nettle asked slowly, “Didn’t he simply do what you did when you died? When you joined with Nighteyes?”
I took a sip of tea. “In… broad terms, yes. But in specific, no. When Laudwine merged with his horse, he overwhelmed the horse’s mind. His sister did something similar to her Wit-cat, and the cat begged me to kill her.” I paused, considering how what I did differed, though the Old Bloods might disagree. “Laudwine sought to live as a human in a horse’s body, but I wanted to live as a wolf with Nighteyes.” I tapped my fingers on the table. “Consent matters, Nettle. Less than a year later, I almost died again in the mountains on my way to Verity. Nighteyes rejected me, so I survived instead. A year ago, when Nighteyes was dying, he wanted to do so on his own terms.” I awkwardly brushed my hair out of my eyes. I had tied it back into its usual tail, but the strands in the front frequently broke free, and they were the exact wrong length these days.
“I’m sorry. I had not realized his death was so recent,” Nettle said slowly. “I liked the stories you told me of him, when you were traveling with Thick on that beach.”
“I can tell you more sometime.”
“I would like that.”
“Do you have any other questions for me?” I tried not to beg.
Nettle nodded, and we moved on. “Can we practice the Skill in other ways until the scrolls are organized?”
I leaned back and rubbed my bearded jaw, considering what she should learn next. “Yes,” I said at last, “Until then, it would be good for you to practice locating me during the day and Skilling to me. Not just Skilling when you’re bored, but while trying to maintain a basic conversation without being obvious about it. I’ve never really learned the trick, but it would be worthwhile for you to practice.”
“And you never learned to do this?” She sounded doubtful.
“Not at all,” I said cheerfully. “Last night, your mother said I look bored when I Skilled you. Chade is an expert, and Dutiful is handy enough at it. Perhaps this will help me learn as well.” She nodded doubtfully at that, and I gave her a peace offering that might convince her. “It is also safer to talk to me that way. In person, I’m Tom Badgerlock the guardsman, but you can call me Fitz with the Skill.”
“I can call you Fitz in private?” She asked as though she had not realized the opportunity to do so, now that she knew my name. She sounded excited.
“Sure, if you like.” I, meanwhile, was happy to be on a first name basis with my daughter. I tried not to think how she might treat me once she talked to Molly.
“I would like that. Fitz.” She grinned at the shared secret.
“Of course, Nettle.” Silence settled comfortably between us, and I glanced out the window. We had a little time remaining.
“Do you want to know anything else?” I asked softly, uncertain what else I could possibly discuss.
She considered this for a moment. “Can you tell me more about how you know my mother?”
“You know I can’t.”
She tapped her nail on her teacup, and I sensed that she did not want to end the conversation just yet, though I could not tell why. Surely this was as awkward for her as it was for me.
“You said you raised a foundling? How old is your son?” She asked, and I felt a surge of pride that she recognized Hap so easily as mine. Dutiful was jealous when he found out, but he was less accustomed to sharing than Nettle.
I smiled at her. “Hap is your age, and he’s apprenticed in town to a cabinet-maker. I plan to surprise him with a visit tonight, once he’s finished his duties. He was supposed to visit two nights ago, but I had to go to Aslevjal instead.”
“Can I come with you? Tonight?” She asked casually.
I was taken aback by the very idea. “Maybe another day, after I give the lad some warning.” After I have some more warning. Still, for a girl who was recently concerned with our prior informality, she was once more becoming informal remarkably quickly. I liked that about her.
“Why did you leave for Aslevjal so suddenly, anyway? The Queen told me you were to leave yesterday, not two days ago.” Her mind flitted like a butterfly, so suddenly she switched topics. In this, I saw she was like Dutiful and, perhaps, like me.
“The Fool was there.” I said simply. She raised an eyebrow at me to show me my answer was not enough. “I realized that the person he was staying with may not have had his best intentions in mind. So I went back early to tell him my suspicions, and he agreed and returned with me instead.” I felt my face soften. He was here in Buckkeep with me, and I would see him tonight.
“With the Black Man? Thick made him seem nice.”
I bared my teeth, growled at the table. “His name is Prilkop. He is from the same land as the Fool. They are the same race of people, they speak the same language, and they went to the same school for those who share their magic. But Prilkop tried to convince the Fool to abandon Buckkeep and travel back to their school instead. They would have hurt him there.”
When I looked up, I saw a flicker of fear on Nettle’s face. I quickly erased any emotion that revealed my inner turmoil, adopting an expression of mild irritation instead.
“How did you do that?” She demanded, exasperated.
“Do what?”
“Hide what you’re feeling. Lie so easily.”
I schooled myself so as not to reveal my shock. “According to Chade, lying comes naturally to bastards. And the Buckkeep I grew up in was a viper’s nest. This Buckkeep is filled with gossips and irritants, but I have yet to see anyone nearly beaten to death for walking down the wrong hallway,” While Kettricken’s Buckkeep was not safe from all harm, I had never feared for my life within its walls.
“Did that happen?”
“Yes.” I thought of the Fool’s bruised face.
“To you?”
I glanced at her, “No, not to me. I was trained to fight. I am very good at it.”
“Papa started to teach me how to fight, but it was hard with his knee.”
“He soldiered with Chivalry before his injury. Before he met Chivalry, even.”
“Can you teach me how to fight?” I realized at last what she was doing. She was reaching for a way to connect with me so that the two of us could interact outside of this chamber. Nettle always wanted to befriend Shadow Wolf, and even if I was middle-aged, scarred, and a living legend, she still wanted to.
So I considered the question seriously. I looked at her, not as a father to a daughter, but as a senior guardsman might to a fresh recruit. I took her hand with my own to feel for calluses, then checked her biceps. But then I was forced to consider my schedule. “I think it would be best if you learned from weaponsmaster Cresswell in the training yard, but I could help you practice. While I’m a good fighter, others would be better at teaching you to fight with a sword.”
“Haven’t I heard a famous song written about your fighting? Glinting axe and flaming eyes?” She smiled as she teased me.
I winced, and her eyes glinted in amusement. “Yes. Starling wrote it. Apparently, I saved her brother. I killed whoever was aiming for him and stepped over the lad. I mostly remember everyone clapped me on the back and forced beer into my hands before I could even scrub the blood off, and later I vomited behind a tavern.” The memory alone made me taste bile.
“Well, I always thought it made you sound heroic,” She muttered obstinately. I equated heroism with terror and nausea, but did not tell her so. I hoped she would not learn that lesson.
Still, we were speaking of weapons training. “I usually practice before lunch. You can join me then unless you have a time that works better?” I was shocked by the way I clung to the idea. I could teach my daughter not just the Skill but also how to protect herself. I could continue what Burrich started.
“I can do that. Can I join tomorrow?”
“Of course.”
“Thank you, Fitz.” She grinned. Then we looked out the window and saw that the time for Skill-lessons was over. We cleaned the dishes together, then she left the Skill tower through the front door while I crept away through the walls.
Notes:
I love Sooty. I hate that she just died at some unknown point.
If you’re asking: Smoky, why did this chapter require so much editing? Well, this chapter is about two awkward people having an awkward conversation and trying to find little moments to connect and understand one another along the way. It *is* awkward, but I can’t tell if it’s awkward because I did a good job or I just feel awkward reading what I wrote because it’s not very good. I have stared at it too much by this point to assess it objectively.
Chapter 12: Capability and Clothing
Notes:
I like coming up for titles to my chapters: It's a lot of fun to try to distill 4k-11k words to 1-5. This is by far the lamest title I've created, and I kinda like it for that.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
There were still several hours until Gindast released his apprentices, so I checked my Skill-link with the Fool to see where he was. We had so recently renewed our connection that I easily determined that he had returned to our rooms.
I found him seated on the rug before our hearth, leaning his back against the seat of an armchair. He was carving a block of wood with one of my knives, the shavings landing on a tray placed below for that purpose. He paused his work to greet me, “Hello Fitz.” His face and eyes were aglow from the firelight, his long hair lit up like a fast-moving river reflecting the sunlight. The sight of him entranced me, and I had to shake myself free.
I sat down next to him on the floor and cautiously wrapped my arm around his shoulders. I was delighted when he leaned into my side and put on his glove. “We should get you some new carving tools since you sent your old ones to Jofron.”
He grimaced, “Yes, we should. I really was conducting the most drawn-out, dramatic funeral rites, wasn’t I?” He set down his tools and took my hand into his. I gently threaded my fingers through his crooked ones. A soft warmth kindled within my chest, mirroring the heat from our hearth. I basked in their shared glow.
“I could take some of the blame, but I don’t think I have ever responded to impending death like you did,” I teased him lightly.
He sighed. “No, that was just me. I can’t believe I spent all that money and gave everything away. It all seems so short-sighted now.” He slowly placed his hand on my knee.
“We agreed long ago that neither of us have ever been wise.” He smiled appreciatively at me. “I believe your magical foresight ended sooner rather than later. You can’t blame yourself for refusing to take the long view of things. For once, that was my responsibility.”
“You did a good job of it,” He admitted. “Usually, you’re distracted by the day-to-day activities.”
“It doesn’t help when the day-to-day activities are just so exhausting. Before Aslevjal, I felt simultaneously like I was doing everything I could and nothing at all.” I cautiously ran my thumb over his.
“Did you sleep at all well last winter?”
“Not really. The bed in the servant’s room was uncomfortably firm and the bed in the workroom was uncomfortably Chade’s, and for months Nettle was practically battering my Skill walls every night. I woke up feeling like I slept through a siege, and I had to push against the door all night to keep it closed.” I could only scowl at the memory.
“No wonder you wanted elfbark some mornings,” He murmured quietly. I looked at him curiously, but he only shook his head. “How did it go with Nettle?”
I considered our exchange. “Well, I think. It was awkward at the start, but I think we reached an understanding. She knows I’m Fitz, and she knows the key moments of my life, and she didn’t once run screaming from me.”
“That’s not surprising given her parents. She bullied a dragon, remember?” The Fool’s voice was laden with pride, and I felt the warm glow in my heart swell in response. “So… when do you think Molly will tell her about you?”
I rested my cheek on his head, confident that he would allow me to do so. “Tonight or tomorrow, I expect. I think Molly plans to return home soon. She left her other three boys by themselves.”
“So once she leaves, she’s trusting you with Nettle to an extent.”
“Perhaps. I think she also may be trusting Nettle to herself. She’s sixteen now. You remember what I was doing when I was her age.” I doubted my daughter needed much parenting, and I had promised not to replace Burrich.
“Ah yes,” He said acerbically. “You died and were reborn already, then somehow convinced yourself murdering Regal in Tradeford would be a good idea.”
“I never said I was a smart sixteen-year-old. Or competent,” I grumbled, “Just a somewhat capable one. As you recall, I was crossing the Six Duchies hunted by Regal’s men, dodging Forged Ones and people who hated Witted folk all the while.”
“To collapse at my feet practically bleeding to death,” He teased me mercilessly, and I felt a smile forming on my lips.
“To collapse at the feet of someone I knew would take care of me and nurse me back to health, no matter how monotonously I raved or how many buckets of willowbark tea that needed to be forced down my throat.” I kissed his head in gratitude. “It was the first time I felt completely safe in ages, lying on my belly in your cabin as you stood between me and the world.”
“Jofron’s cabin,” He corrected mildly.
“Jofron’s cabin. I never did thank her for that.”
“I thanked her for you.”
“Thank you for that.”
“You’re welcome, Fitz.” The Fool was practically liquid in my arms. I wrapped my other arm around him so he did not slide down to the ground. “So do you have anything else to do this evening?”
“I was thinking about going down to Buckkeep town. It’s early enough that I can run a few errands, and I was hoping to meet up with Hap for dinner.”
He pulled away from me so he could look me in the eyes, and I loosened my grip immediately to let him. He placed his hands on my cheeks and looked at me very seriously. “Fitz. Can I give you instructions to bring to a seamstress?”
I gave him a dubious look. “I don’t know if I should go back to Molly’s old chandlery.”
“No no no, there’s another place that better fits a less ostentatious role.” He was ecstatic as he proceeded to tell me all about this other shop, how desperately he wished to purchase clothes there but how it would have been beneath Lord Golden. Then he started on fabrics and patterns. I tried to follow, but I was lost early on.
He eventually noticed my glazed look and took pity on me, though I suspected it had more to do with the angle of the sun and my limited time. He freed himself from my grasp and went to the desk, spurning the chair to lean over and scribble instructions on a sheet of paper.
“How am I supposed to pay for this?” I asked helplessly.
He shot me an exasperated look and removed a coin purse from the desk drawer. “Kettricken still gives you a salary. Patience told me where the coins were earlier today. Apparently, our Queen told you several times and you never directly responded, so she asked Patience to pass the information to me. There are other purses in wooden puzzle box upstairs as well.” At my clear confusion, his face softened. “Honestly, Fitz. Did you think you wouldn’t be paid for your work?”
I had never felt so casually outmaneuvered by my family before and blushed deeply. “I never really considered it.”
“Well, that much is obvious. I don’t know if it helps, but Patience said Chivalry was the same way,” He said with feigned casualness, still focused on writing instructions on the papers in front of him.
Ah yes, forgetting how money works and abandoning your child. You two have so much in common. I pushed all thoughts of my father from my mind. Instead, I stood and walked to my Fool. I lightly brushed my hand across his shoulders then laid it bravely on his waist.
He scrawled the last of his requests on the papers and straightened up to face me. He placed his arms on either side of my neck, while I instinctively brought my other hand up to mirror the first, bracketing his waist and looking into his hazel eyes. I wondered if he was considered tall for his people, as I was considered tall for a Buckman. He was only a handsbreadth shorter than me. He leaned forward and lightly brushed his nose on my cheek, a spot of cold above my beard.
Our eleventh kiss was perhaps the gentlest one thus far. The Fool began by taking my face with both hands and kissing the corner of my mouth as light as a butterfly, and I turned my head to welcome him. Curious to learn what he wanted, I let him lead us through this careful temptation. Instead of deepening the kiss, we continued slowly and softly, sharing air between us. I found it to be quite heady and deeply seductive, and the slow warmth in my chest unfurled within me. I closed my eyes to relax the sensation. The warm coals of my desire waited for permission to roar, but he did not ask for it, so I kept myself restrained until the kiss came to gradual and tantalizing end.
I rested my brow on his, my breath shaky, my reaction disproportionate to the chastity of our kiss. I felt like a boy after his first kiss, overwhelmed, intimidated, and deeply fortunate.
“I like kissing you.” Eyes still closed, I spoke into the comfortable darkness that made honesty so much easier.
“I like kissing you too, Fitz.” I heard the smile in his voice. I wondered if his eyes were closed as well. I doubted he needed the same crutch. I opened my eyes and was pleased he looked nearly as overwhelmed as I was. I wrapped my arms tighter around him, and he fell into them and dropped his head onto my shoulder.
With some reticence, I released him. As much as I longed to stay in the Fool’s arms, I needed to check on Hap. I had met him for dinner the week before, but my son had not been able to talk long and seemed distracted.
The Fool lightly trailed his hands down my arms to eventually grip my hands. “I’ll see you tonight?” I was both saddened and grateful he did not ask me to stay, but I allowed his tone to soothe me.
“Yes, after I see Hap. I should have time to stop by your seamstress before Hap’s available.”
“If you need to put it off, please do. Hap has priority over new clothes,” He said graciously.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I responded dryly. He squeezed my hands once then released them. I pocketed his clothes order and put the purse into my shirt.
“Stay safe, Fitz.”
“Of course.” I strapped on my belt and guardsman’s sword. “Do you want me to fetch your dinner before I leave? Or do you have plans?”
The Fool thought for a moment, “No, I think I might put on one of your servant uniforms and go to the kitchens myself in an hour or two.”
“If you’re sure. Don’t wait up for me. Sometimes Hap is difficult to find.”
He nodded jerkily, eyes avoiding mine and his voice crackling and weak. “Of course.”
I rushed back to him, cupped his face and lifted it up so that he would meet my eyes. His eyes were wet, wide, and more than a little scared. “Should I not go?”
“No, Fitz. You should check on Hap. I’ll be fine. I’m just concerned I won’t be able to sleep until you return,” He confessed, sucking in his lips.
“I’ll return soon,” I promised. “If I can’t find the boy, I’ll look another day.”
“Thank you. I am so tired of being weak all the time. I know that to heal and get stronger, I need sleep, but I have so many nightmares when I sleep.” The Fool’s voice was laden with frustration more than exhaustion.
“I will be back soon,” I repeated. “Do you want me to Skill feelings of excitement when I’m on my way back?”
His face relaxed with sudden relief, “That would be lovely. I wish we could use words but knowing that you will be back soon would help quite a bit.”
“We can practice. I’m sure we can learn how to Skill with words eventually.”
“For now, a feeling of excitement or anticipation would be enough. Now go before I keep you here past sundown.” He shooed me out.
I had enough time to drop off the Fool’s clothing order at his newly preferred seamstress, including a deposit and a promise to return in four days for pick up. I considered having the shop deliver the clothing to Patience’s rooms, but I did not want to impose more on my mother, though I resolved to ask if such a thing would bother her.
I went to Gindast’s shop to ask after my boy and was unsettled to hear that Hap had left his apprenticeship after Svanja’s father complained to Gindast about his character. His master had apparently given the boy an option to stay, but he had chosen to leave.
Apparently, this had all happened just before I had last met Hap for dinner, and he had told me nothing of it. I remembered mostly that he came late, left early, and barely engaged me in conversation. He walked away with a determined set to his shoulders, and I had assumed he was experiencing some hardship at his apprenticeship.
I visited the Stuck Pig to ask after him, and they laughed me out of the bar. I checked on Svanja’s house and saw her inside with her parents, sharing a couch with a well-dressed man a few years older than me. It seemed the girl had left my boy once more, but I did not knock to confirm. I walked passed Jinna’s and saw no sign of him. At a loss, I wandered into some nearby taverns to find he was not at any of them.
Well past sundown, I resigned myself to returning to Buckkeep, sending the Fool a feeling of excitement, but it was not genuine. The feeling he returned was laden with concern. He could feel the falseness in my message.
Hap had never lied to me before, but he had very purposefully told me nothing when we had met. Why did he ask me for help? Why did he not at least tell me where to find him? I did not think he would wind up dead in an alley, but that was not impossible in Buckkeep town. For all I knew, he was on a ship to Bingtown, convinced he would return to tell me about his adventures. I had not taught him enough of the world, not enough for him to leave without telling me where he was going. Molly and Burrich would not have had this problem.
They lost Swift, and our queen lost Dutiful. Our cub is older and more capable than their cubs were.
My brother! I chased after Nighteyes, but the place he used to be was still vacant.
I was let through the gates and stopped by the kitchen, loading enough food for the both of us onto a tray and adding more that we could keep in our rooms for emergencies. I entered the spy corridors through the larder and returned rapidly to our rooms.
“What’s wrong?” My Fool was waiting for me.
“I couldn’t find him. Apparently before I last saw him, he had already lost his apprenticeship.” I set my tray down with a clatter and threw myself onto the couch, my arm over my eyes.
“Before you last saw him?”
“Yes. Nine days ago, he lost his apprenticeship. We saw each other five days ago for dinner, and he barely said a word to me. He said nothing of this. Not a damn word.” I wanted to rip the town apart but instead I laid on the couch, impotent. My boy was gone, and I had no idea where he went.
“So… he’s probably fine then,” He said blandly.
Anger bubbled up inside me. He did not have any children. He could not know how I felt. I tried not to shout at him. “He could be murdered in an alley or on a ship to Bingtown or captured by slavers or joined up with some mercenary group even though I never taught him to fight or –”
“Whoa Fitz,” He interrupted me, and I closed my mouth with a snap. “Do you believe any of that?” The Fool’s voice was calm and reasonable, and it did not suit my mood.
“Maybe. I don’t know,” I said, feeling churlish. “But I don’t know where he is or if he’s safe. Or if he needs me.”
“He’s sixteen, isn’t he?” I nodded. “You raised him as best you could, and you were very capable at that age, remember? I am certain he is fine.”
I lifted my arm from my eyes so I could look dourly at him. He leaned against an armchair, his arms crossed with an attentive expression. “I was trained to fight and kill and lie. I raised Hap to be kind. He’s going to get killed because I taught him kindness over survival.”
“You raised him to be good, Fitz. And intelligent, capable, and, most importantly, independent. But he can’t exercise his independence with you digging him out of every mess he gets himself into, and he needs to learn how to get out of those messes. He had the opportunity to ask for help, and he decided he did not need or want your help, that he could figure out a solution on his own. If he realizes he made a mistake, he knows where you live and how to contact you.” His eyes were kind, and I felt my terror leaking away. Instinctively I reached after it, holding on. My boy was lost, and it was wrong that I not worry about him.
The Fool sighed. “Patience said he’s coming over for dinner in five days? So you will see him in five days at the latest.” I growled in response. I still felt like a poor father, but I had to agree with him. Hap would not be on a ship to Bingtown, Chalcedean slavers have not raided so far north in centuries, and my boy would not try to employ himself to fight when he did not know how. But he was still lost to me.
“Nettle asked to join me tonight to meet him,” I said at last.
“It’s a very good thing you said no then,” He said affably.
“What do I tell her if she asks how it went?”
“Say he was too busy to meet with you.” I glared at him. “What? It’s not a lie. You didn’t arrange a meeting with him tonight, so he could not have known you would look for him, and he was very much not available.”
“Still feels like a lie,” I grumbled.
“Well, you can also tell her that you lost your boy and that you have some very irrational fears about where he is, if that makes you feel better. But I suspect neither of you would benefit from a repeat of this conversation.” He smiled as he teased me.
I sighed and sat up, my sulk thoroughly ruined. I looked closer at the Fool and saw his shoulders sagged with weariness. I felt a stab of guilt at the self-indulgence I had engaged in. “I’m sorry, Fool. I was so worried. But you’re exhausted. I brought food, see?” He sat down next to me and flung an arm around my shoulder. I prepared him a plate for dinner, setting it on the table before him, then I assembled a second one.
“How about instead of ‘I’m sorry,’ you say ‘thank you,’” The Fool suggested. “The first implies you were at fault for being scared that you could not find your boy, which is a very, very reasonable and fatherly thing for you to feel, but the second acknowledges how I helped you with this fear and that you appreciate my help.” He kept his arm slung around me rather than reach for his plate.
Thus corrected, I felt a moment of chagrin before I recognized the self-indulgence in apologizing profusely as well. “Thank you Fool, for listening to a scared father tell you all the unreasonable things he feared and reminding him to respect his boy’s decisions. Even if the boy has been an idiot lately.” He kissed my cheek then reclaimed his shoulder and reached for his plate. I finally took a bite from mine as well.
“All adolescents are idiots, and he learned from the best. He’s far less stupid than you were when you were at his age.” The Fool teased me, smiling fondly at the memory of my boyhood foolishness. I scowled at him, but he simpered back. “Do you deny it?”
I could not deny it, so I did not try. Instead, I focused my attention on my meal and ignored his pleased chuckling. It was good to make him laugh, even if it was at my expense.
When we finished eating, I gathered the dirty dishes and ran them back to the kitchen. While I was gone, the Fool had retreated into our bedroom and closed the door, and I hoped after a time that this was not his subtle way of asking me to sleep elsewhere.
As I waited for the door to open, I checked the couch for crumbs or spills to find it thankfully clean. I blended a tea to calm my nerves and settled at the desk to write a reminder to myself about Hap. When the door stayed closed, I sent a questioning feeling to the Fool through the Skill. He responded with a sense of hesitation, and a few seconds later he opened the door.
He wore a dark blue nightshirt that just reached mid-thigh, the hems delicately embroidered with vines, leaves, and dainty flowers. His matching leggings were cut off at the knee. I tried not to stare at his narrow calves, but it was like asking a boy not to stare at a particularly majestic horse. I concentrated on his face and fixed any drifting that I felt, determined not to make him uncomfortable.
He fidgeted with the colorful hem of his shirt but did not say anything, eyes fixed on the floor between us. “What’s wrong?” I turned in the chair to face him, leaning forward to rest my arms on my knees. I gave him the whole of my attention.
He glanced at me, then looked rapidly away, blushing. “I realized this would be the first time we slept together after we kissed while in a… a romantic relationship.”
“We slept together last night after we kissed,” I pointed out slowly, not understanding his concern.
“Yes, but you might recall that I did not quite believe you.” He flapped his hand towards his shoulder, mirroring the location where he had marked me last night.
“Oh. Right. And that makes a difference…” I said uncertainly. Then it hit me. “Oh. I see.”
“You see?” He blurted out, his wide eyes finally latching on to mine.
“Yes. I… Fool, I love you. And I am very, very aware of how much pain you are in and how…” I waved my hand towards my head, at a loss for how to talk about the mental and emotion struggles and agony resulting from his new post-death life. “Complicated things are for you right now.” I sucked a breath, hoping he would not feel rejected. “I would prefer it if we stick to kissing until you are feeling better. If that’s fine with you.”
The Fool’s face lit up, “You would? But you’ve been so… enthusiastic.”
“I’m certain.” I stood and approached him slowly, cautiously, as one approaches a doe in the woods. “I am trying very hard to be honest about my feelings regarding you, so I would rather not hide my enthusiasm. But I can wait. I am happy to wait. Your recovery is more important than anything else.” I reached him at last, and he had not backed up at any point during my speech. In fact, it seemed like my speech had pulled him forward.
I offered him my hand, and he took it immediately. “Thank you, Fitz,” He said with a soft smile.
I leaned in, and his mouth parted, eyes closed in anticipation. A handsbreadth from his lips, I stopped to tease him. “Would you like to dress me for bed?”
His eyelids sprung open immediately. “Yes.” He closed the gap and quickly claimed our twelfth kiss, then he spun to my clothes chest and began to sort through the contents.
“We’ll need to get you more clothes,” He said in dissatisfaction.
“For some reason, I assumed that the order I brought to the seamstress included some clothes for me. Was I wrong?” I was suddenly worried by my presumptuousness.
He glanced sharply at me. “You would be correct. But I didn’t order you more clothes for sleeping. We need to amend that.”
“How many clothes can a man need for sleeping?” I blundered.
He glared at me then but did not answer. More clothes than I had, apparently. “Do you overheat at night?”
“I don’t think I can wear both shirt and trousers in this heat. It would need to be one or the other.” If I tried wearing both, I would take off one or even both in my sleep, and while he might appreciate that, I worried I might startle him at night.
The Fool selected a loose sleeveless shirt that went to my midthigh, and I stripped to put it on. He then had me on the edge of the bed, and he was kneeled behind me. He combed my bushy hair and applied some sort of oil to it, then he braided it against my scalp in rows.
“What’s this for?” I asked, patting it curiously.
“It should keep it from getting tangled while you sleep. When your hair is longer, I suspect it will curl rather than be as fluffy as it usually is.”
“Like how it sometimes looks when I airdry it after using the steams?” Usually when I woke up, my hair sprang from my head in every direction except the one I laid on. When it was longer, it sometimes formed a triangular shape, and I had to tame it into a warrior’s tail.
“Exactly like that. In an ideal situation, you would comb your hair after the steams, but I suspect that is too large a request.”
“Why would I comb it after the steams?” He scowled at me, and I laughed that he believed me. “I usually do if when I’m not in a rush.”
“Well, I have made you as ready for bed as I can, considering how few options I had. Seriously Fitz, you ask if I want to dress you for bed and present me with practically no choices.” His words held no barbs. He sat down on the edge of the bed next to me, our thighs pressing together. He claimed my hand and threaded our fingers together.
“Would you rather I not have asked?” I stroked his knobby thumb with mine, my voice soft.
“No. But I will get you more clothes for sleeping.”
“As long as everything I own can fit in the chest. I can leave some things in the workroom, but not an entire wardrobe.”
“We could literally get you a wardrobe, Fitz.” The Fool looked at the walls in our room as though trying to estimate the space it would require.
“I am not hanging all my clothes up. That is insane.” This was not up for debate.
“Insane?” He sounded insulted.
“Fine, not insane. But it would be futile. I would shove the clothes in, and they would just fall to the bottom. Whenever I try to use the hangers, I would just break them on accident.”
“Break them on… Fitz, in Eda’s name, how do you break a hanger by accident?”
I rolled my eyes at him and released our hands. I claimed a guard jacket from my chest then took an empty hanger from his wardrobe. I maintained eye contact as I tried to put the damn thing on it without stretching the neck of the jacket. It was not going well, and the hanger broke.
The Fool’s mouth hung open as I handed him the shattered remains of the hanger. I roughly folded my jacket to put it back in my chest.
“How do you not know how to use a hanger? How,” He demanded, trying in vain to fit the pieces back together in his hands.
“Clothes with any rigidity just won’t open enough without stretching the neck. So, I try to put it on the hanger without stretching the out the neck, and it just breaks. I hate a stretched collar; they itch.” I scratched my neck at the thought of it, then opened the covers to get into bed. On my side. The right side. The one closer to the door. I grinned foolishly that we had respective sides of the bed.
“What about looser clothes?” He sounded deeply confused, as though I had never told him something he understood less. Considering my role as his Catalyst who recently brought him back from the dead, I did not know if I should be insulted or pleased that I could still surprise him.
“They fall off the stupid things. Or you have to button them all the way so that they don’t fall and then you have to unbutton the shirt to put it on and then rebutton it so you can actually wear it. It is completely ridiculous.” I could not believe that this is a conversation we actually needed to have.
“Maybe we should get you a chest with drawers.” He admitted defeat at last. He got into bed and clasped my outstretched hand, using it to bring himself closer.
“That would be fine,” I agreed begrudgingly.
“I can make you one, once I feel better. The drawers would slide smoothly, and the handles would work well. We could even make a false bottom in the bottom drawer.” His voice warmed to the idea, and I similarly found myself enamored with the prospect of the Fool carving me a piece of furniture of my very own.
“I would like that. As long as it is not too large,” I agreed slowly.
“That’s settled, then,” He sounded satisfied. “Good night Fitz.”
“Good night Fool,” I whispered into the dark.
Notes:
I can't recall any time that Fitz has ever successfully used a hangar, even as Tom Badgerlock the Servant. If he ever has, I bet he's forgotten. Blocked it, yaknow. From the trauma.
Chapter 13: An Echo in a Dream
Chapter Text
I walked on a beach, and each step was the hardest one I had ever taken. The sand was slick and treacherous and each slow movement threatened to topple me over. I carried Nighteyes, and my arms were in such pain that they had gone practically numb unless I shifted them in any way. That was when they blazed with fury at me.
With each step, our shared weight parted the sand, and the soles of my boots sizzled and burned in the water beneath. My wolf’s paws were raw from trying to walk on the shore, but at his insistence, I once more lowered him to the beach, just to check. Even with his toes spread, his weight was enough to sink through, the acid eating away his flesh. His yelp of pain was scarcely a moan. I picked him up again, adjusting my grip to engage different muscles, and my entire body shrieked at the treatment.
I don’t think we can go much further.
We’re almost there.
The boots won’t last then neither of us will be able to walk.
Then we will try the jungle.
The jungle to the side was dense and looming, and somehow it seemed even more dangerous than the beach. Neither of us had the strength even to shiver at the thought of venturing into its dark depths. Pinned between an acid river and that foreboding darkness, we trudged through the slippery sand.
A voice rang out across the water. “So you are my father, FitzChivalry Farseer.”
Without pausing, I turned my head to see Nettle standing at the railing of a ship, its figurehead gesturing while sailors trimmed the lines. My daughter was dressed as a pirate, wearing loose colorful clothes and many weapons, and her face scalded me with its rage. Between her and the acid beach, I expected I would soon melt away.
“Molly told you,” I said by way of greeting. I did not know what else to say, but I could not stop moving. The longer I stood in place, the deeper I would sink, and the acid would burn through my boots.
I kept walking.
“You abandoned me as your father abandoned you.” Her voice flung daggers as it accused me, and I had no ability to dodge. The dark jungle to my side seemed ever more appealing, but somehow I knew I could not escape her anger. I would never be able to escape it.
“I left you with the two people I trusted most. If I returned, you would have been brought to Buckkeep to be raised as a potential heir. So, I did not return.” Each word was labored and breathless, and I do not know how I got them out. My legs protested, and my feet could do no more than shuffle across the sand. My boots sizzled almost continuously now.
“That is what my mother told me. You truly believe that?” Nettle asked skeptically.
“Yes,” I puffed out the word. I owed her an explanation, though my lungs could barely work. Still, the words came out somehow. “When I returned to Buckkeep, I had to keep bargaining so you could stay with them. When it became known that you had the Skill, it became a question of when, not if, you would come to Buckkeep.”
An inevitable step sent Nighteyes and I toppling sideways. I landed on my hip and gasped in pain, the water feasting on my leg and arm. Nighteyes’ fur instantly began to burn. He thrashed in his attempts to keep off the sand, but it was in his fur and his ears, between his toe pads. He could not stand up, as his paws were unable to support him. We would be eaten alive, devoured until not even bones were left.
“Where are you anyway?” Nettle asked, curiosity drawing the question from her as she watched our struggle.
“Cursed Shores,” I cried out. I finally managed to twist myself enough to stand, scalding the rest of my body in the process. I bent to lift Nighteyes once more, my boots crackling as they sank under his weight. My legs quivered with exhaustion, and we slid deeper.
I continued walking.
“Why don’t you make the dream less painful? Why are you choosing to suffer?” She asked as though this entire thing was my fault. I suppose in some ways it was.
“This is not a dream, but a memory. You were six and sick with a fever. Nighteyes and I were trying to make our way home to you. There is a town past the bend, and we catch a ship to Chalced. We walked back from there.” As the words leapt from me without any interruption to my breathing, I realized I was Skilling to her. It was better than using my voice so my lungs could focus only on breathing. I tried to move faster, but the sand was so slick, we barely made any forward progress at all.
“Well, I don’t think you should suffer for trying to go home,” She said at last, and suddenly I was standing on the boat next to her.
I carefully lowered Nighteyes to the deck, then collapsed next to him. “Thank you.” I accepted the waterskin she offered. I took a few sips then carefully poured some onto Nighteyes’ mouth. He was too tired to even lap at it.
Hello cub, he greeted her wearily. Nettle flew into the air, so great was her astonishment. She hovered there as she stared at him.
“Hello Nighteyes, it’s good to hear you,” I responded cautiously. After he died, it seemed as though any acknowledgement I made of his presence caused him to disappear.
Changer, it is good to be heard. He twitched his tail weakly in greeting. Then he quirked his head thoughtfully, and his whole body rippled, a great wave traveling across his fur. Then he was standing, healthy and whole, his tongue dangling from his mouth. This is much better.
After feeling him change, I suddenly understood how to do so as well. I flexed my Skill, then I too was standing in clean clothes and comfortable boots, no longer covered in welts and sores. My hair had its old badger lock, and it was long and tied back into its usual tail.
“You have never been able to do that before.” Nettle’s eyes narrowed as her eyes darted between my wolf and me. She still floated above the deck of the ship.
“Nighteyes showed me how,” I told her.
“The wolf is real?” She turned to him. “You’re real? Not some trick of his?”
As real as the echo of a dead wolf in a dream can be, The amusement was rich in his voice. It’s good to meet you at last, cub.
“It’s good to meet you too,” She said cautiously. “Fitz told me about you.” She drifted down to the deck and offered the back of her hand to him. He snuffed once, then ducked his head under her palm in greeting. She sank her fingers into the fur of his ruff and began to pet him. So easily did my wolf win over my daughter, whereas I still had much work to do. I made myself unobtrusive, trusting my wolf more than myself as I always had.
I am his better half. My little brother can be stupid sometimes, but I think he was right. We knew your mother and Heart-of-the-Pack would protect you and raise you well. And they did. He spoke fondly of her parents, and I think that did much to soften Nettle’s anger against me. Once stripped of her rage, her eyes grew shiny with unshed tears.
“They did. I loved my family and my home.” Nettle sat onto the deck next to Nighteyes. He laid down on his belly in front of her, and her hand scratched his ears.
This is good. They are still your family, and it is still your home. We sacrificed much to ensure you had both, Nighteyes told her. I am glad you did not grow up in Buckkeep. That place was not kind to us, and I would not have been welcome to lay in front of the fire as I grew old.
“You really think I would have been taken away? If you had come home?” She turned towards me, tears forming channels down her face. I consciously unfroze myself, trying to be a father rather than afraid.
“I do. I was told repeatedly that I was being short-sighted by letting an heir to the throne be raised away from court. It is only when the strength of your Skill ability became known to others that I could no longer stop it from happening. That’s why I avoided Dreaming with you last winter.” I sat down next to them, draping my arms over my knees, my head hung low.
Nettle’s voice was small. “I thought you were being cruel and didn’t care about me.” I wondered if she heard the word ‘heir’ at all.
“Of course I cared about you Nettle. I wanted to keep you safe. But I needed to hide how strong you were. And every time we spoke, I would reveal more information about myself, and that closeness made it harder to hide you from my family. I did not want to be cruel, but I needed to push you away. I am sorry I hurt you.” The sound of her sobbing outside my Skill walls still echoed in my worst nightmares. I never wished to be the cause of her tears again, but already that was impossible.
As though triggered by my memory, she started bawling on the deck of the boat. “Why would they want to take me away from my home? Why would they be so cruel?” The way she was trapped between her family and her blood was deeply familiar to me. I cautiously lifted a hand and placed it on her arm, not knowing if or how I could comfort my daughter. She leaned into my gesture, and I wrapped my arm around her shoulder as she hugged Nighteyes to her. He accepted the treatment as limply as a doll might.
I let her cry for a time, waited until her shoulders stilled before I answered her question. “Kettricken, Chade, and Dutiful are good people, but their greatest priority is the Six Duchies. My actions seventeen years ago ensured the Dutiful existed and the Duchies would survive as a kingdom, so I was granted some leeway regarding you.” I said the words as gently as I could. “Unfortunately, Nettle, you are an heir to the throne. We both are. If Dutiful were to die, you or I are next in line.” The next heads for the noose, I did not say. I could not imagine being King in truth, nor could I imagine putting Nettle forth as Queen I helped her while in the shadows. Unfortunately, both options were very possible impossibilities.
Nettle continued cried into Nighteyes’ fur, and I felt tears prickle the corners of my eyes. LNighteyes was stalwart in the face of such sorrow and terror. It was so good to have him back with me, even if it was a dream.
I am here, Changer. I am the part of you that became me while we bonded. I am always here. He spoke the words softly, in my head alone. Remember what the healer said to the boy when Cat died? A part of you is with me still, running with wolves. I will always be with you, and you with me.
And like that, the floodgates of my heart opened, and I sobbed alongside Nettle. I mourned the life we did not have and could not have, an impossible life in which my entire pack was safe and happy and together.
When my tears stilled, we were no longer on the rolling deck of a ship. Instead, we huddled together on the rug before my fireplace. I looked around and saw my old cabin as it had been when I had left it a year ago. The Fool’s carvings decorated every wooden surface, and bread and jam was laid out on the table. The door to my study was open, scrolls overflowing the shelves, with herbs and paper scattered on the desk, a plate with half eaten toast in the corner. It was as though I had been interrupted during my experiments to create a colored ink.
My cabin still felt too small for my future, but it felt just right for our dream. It felt safe.
“Where are we?” Nettle asked wetly.
Home, Nighteyes said. Where we lived while you grew up. It was not always this way. The Scentless One carved it before we were called back to Buckkeep. But look, here is the fireplace that warmed my old bones. There is the den my brother passed the nights, writing endlessly. That is the boy’s pallet. And look at the table. There is the symbol of our pack. A buck’s head with his rack lowered to charge graced the surface of it, the Fool’s parting gift.
I stood first and ran my fingers over the smoothed edges of the antlers. Nettle soon followed, bumping into me in her eagerness. She ran one finger along the nose. “This is yours?”
My head jerked in the facsimile of a nod. “Verity designed it. Before, all I had was the Farseer buck with a red slash across it.” I ran my finger repeatedly over one of the antler points. “Chade used as his crest for a while as well.”
“But why would he use it if it is yours?” She sounded too weary to be insulted, but I caught the rounded barb.
“It’s his as well, I suppose. He’s a Farseer bastard too. King Bounty’s. He raised me as much as Burrich did.” I ran my hands down the antlers to the well-shaped nose, enjoying the smoothness of the Fool’s carving. I wished I had not needed to burn it, but perhaps one day he would carve another one for me.
“I didn’t realize he was that old.” Of the things I revealed to her, Chade’s age seemed the least remarkable, but I understood.
“He must be around eighty now. He had an accident in his youth that dotted his skin with pocked scars, so he lived in the walls of Buckkeep plying his trade as a spymaster. After I died, he claimed the charging buck as his own and emerged from the walls.” I smiled at the memory. He had seemed so old when I had first met him as a boy, and so much younger when he emerged from the walls to fight in the closest thing to light a man like him could achieve.
“But how would you know each other if he lived in the walls?” She asked at last.
My finger continued to trace the antlers as I continued how to respond. She bumped my shoulder, prompting me. I sighed. My daughter ought to know. “One of the traditions of Farseer bastards that you will never experience because you were raised outside of Buckkeep. Chade is a master assassin and trained me from the age of nine. But you will never be an assassin.” I was deeply proud that my bargaining had at least achieved that much.
“Oh.” Her voice was quiet as she considered an even darker path her life might have taken. Selfishly I hoped she saw that I had done the best I could for her. I chose the least terrible path I could find.
“Is that how you killed so many people so young? Why you’re so… casual about it?” She asked at last, her finger tracing the long snout of the buck.
“To an extent,” I agreed uncomfortably. The partial truth was so uncomfortable it made me want to scratch my skin off. I embraced defeat. “I fought those who tried to kill me. I fought Forged Ones to keep the Duchies as safe as possible. I fought Raiders in the War. And, yes, I killed people who were inconvenient to the crown, though I often managed to find an alternative solution. I would rather not be casual about it, but it is a fact of my life. But I have killed far fewer people in the past decade of my life than I did between the ages of thirteen and eighteen.” And I felt great relief in that fact.
We agreed to no longer hunt meat that cannot feed us. We broke that promise in the past year, but we needed to protect our pack from who would harm us, Nighteyes told her.
I looked at my hands with their blunt fingers, the thick calluses on the pads. My palms with their truncated and winding lines. Scars coated them. They were free of blood, but in this dream world, I would not have been surprised. My wolf butted his head against my hip, so I scratched his ears. This comfort, at least, my hands could provide.
Nettle wandered through the small confines of my cabin, lifting various items to inspect them, and we two watched her examine the ghost of our old life. She went into my den last and stared at the overflowing scroll rack. “These are all yours?”
“Nearly all of them.” I went to stand with her, Nighteyes following behind me. There was not quite enough room for all three of us in my little den. “I think best while talking to Nighteyes and the Fool, but the Fool was gone and Nighteyes tired of how my thoughts focused on the past again and again. So I wrote. I told myself I was writing a history of the Six Duchies, but I would find myself writing my own history instead. These are just the writings that survived the flames.” I picked up one and unrolled it, finding a detailed illustration of a plant and a brief description of key attributes and its medicinal properties. I put it back.
“The… flames?”
“I burned most of what I wrote.” I opened another scroll to find a rambling diatribe comparing the Skill and the Wit and discussing the different cultural considerations of the two. I had included my own findings on their utility and moral value. I offered it to her.
“You wrote more than this?” She sounded both intimidated and impressed. She took the scroll and skimmed it, eyebrows rising.
Many times more. The trees mourn their ancestors, pounded into a pulp and covered in Changer’s scrawl then fed to the flames. Even the bark was not safe. Nighteyes nosed her hip.
“Better the trees than you, as you so often reminded me.” I thumped his side.
The bones died long ago, their meat gone, and still you wanted to roll in them. He teased me. Come, let us leave these bones and go to the sea.
At his request, we three left my cabin and walked the path to my bench. On the way Nighteyes showed Nettle places on interest along the trail. This was the best spot to lay in the morning sun in summer. Here is where I first taught the boy how to hunt rabbit. The flowers here always made me sneeze, but Changer liked how they looked and used them for ink. This tree lost a branch in a thunderstorm, the cracking sound woke us all up. The boy joined us in bed, afraid another branch would fall and hit him. And so on. My wolf invited my daughter into our cabin, into our old life, and I was witness to her rising appreciation for him.
When we reached the bench, I went to my usual spot, the wolf laying at my feet. Nettle sat cautiously next to me. A strange sense of rightness fell over me. We were when we needed to be and where we needed to be. Even better, we were who we needed to be.
“This is where I would go to Skill, trying to find anyone who could hear me.” My voice was scarcely louder than the sounds of waves crashing into the cliff face far below us. The ocean stretched before us, an island just barely visible in the distance. The wind ruffled my hair, and in this dream, it was loose and curly, reaching past my shoulders. I tucked the white lock behind my ear.
“This is where I first heard you then,” Nettle wondered aloud. At my questioning look, she continued. “I remember hearing a voice asking if anyone was listening, the sound of the ocean in the background. I tried to respond, but the ocean was too loud, and my voice too quiet.”
It seems your efforts worked then, Changer. I worried it only harmed you. You were so lonely when I was right there. Nighteyes yawned mightily and placed his great head onto his paws.
I remembered. Skilling here had felt like scratching off the scab on a deep wound, allowing it to bleed fresh once more. Sometimes I could not help myself; the scab itched abominably. If that scab had healed, would I have lost my ability to Skill, like Chade had? Perhaps my pain had purpose after all. Perhaps rolling in the bones of my pain kept my magic from dying completely.
“I’m glad you could hear me,” I said at last. “My heart wanted so badly to be there for you, but my mind warned me back.”
“I’m glad I heard you too,” She agreed. She hesitated, and I waited. We watched the waves as she did so. When at last she turned towards me, her eyes sparked. “You still can’t replace my Papa, you know.”
“Of course not,” I said agreeably. “I wouldn’t want to. Burrich was always there for me. Chade never replaced him, nor did Verity.” For a man without a father, I had a remarkable number of people who cared for me in their own way.
Fortunately for me, there is no wolf father for me to replace. Alas, I am dead and cannot fill the role to the best of my abilities. Nighteyes broke the tension, rolling onto his back and paddling his feet in the air for a few seconds, then fell dramatically to the side, mimicking a dog playing dead. His tongue even laid on the dirt.
Nettle laughed at his mummery, then knelt next to him to rub his belly. He rolled over to grant her greater access, his tail thumping few times.
“Hound,” I accused him.
Nose-blind human.
“Wolf father,” Nettle said in response. It silenced the three of us with how right it felt. She continued scratching his side while we all enjoyed the moment.
Then the wolf stiffened, and Nettle backed away. He stood and shook himself. I am afraid we must go now. The Scentless One dreams of cold.
“The Fool is having a nightmare?” I stood immediately.
His nose twitched. Yes. He shivers and whimpers. This dream will only harm him.
“The Fool has nightmares? Of what?” Nettle asked.
“He died on Aslevjal, and I brought him back. He has nightmares of it.” Even Thick knew that much, so it was safe to tell her.
“Should I fix it like I did for Thick?” She offered, and I was deeply grateful she glossed over the details of his death. Perhaps my own life story numbed her to such impossibilities.
Nevertheless, I shook my head. “No. He wouldn’t want you to. He had a bad experience with the Skill when we were young. You can ask him yourself tomorrow, if you would like.” That was the most I could promise.
We must leave, Changer!
A sharp scream punctured our dream and ripped me from it. I came to wakefulness like a drowning man, desperate to pull myself free from sleep, but feeling too weak to do more than flail helplessly.
The Fool’s voice alternated variably between screaming, whimpering, and begging, and it gave me something to cling to, a rope I could use to drag myself awake. He had bundled himself into a ball and entirely beneath the covers, and he had somehow managed to tangle himself in them. Our bedchamber reeked of his terror, and when I placed a hand on his arm, it was cold and clammy.
I started speaking in a soothing rhythmic manner as Burrich has taught me, in which the meaning of the words mattered less than the tone, “You’re alive and we’re in Buckkeep. We’re safe. I love you. I just had the most pleasant conversation with Nighteyes and Nettle. I’m here. You’re in bed with me. I will protect you.” My litany ranged from simple statements to ramblings about my day to what was surely pure nonsense. All the while, I began to gently disentangle his limbs from the blankets, certain that they worsened his fear, constrained as he was.
Once freed, he started shivering in earnest, but his screaming quieted and begging ceased. I brought my body towards his, as close I could without holding him. I did not want to trade one set of proverbial shackles in for a warmer set. Instead, I placed a hand on his shoulder and made small circles with my thumb as he had asked me to.
He eventually stopped shaking; his body warmed at last. Finally, he opened his eyes and looked at me. “That one was worse,” He whispered.
Now that he was awake, I enveloped him in my arms, and he tucked himself comfortably within them. His cool arms wrapped around my torso, and one leg slotted between mine. “I know. I woke up too late. I was Skilling with Nettle,” I said apologetically. Then, with sudden realization, I reached out to Nettle to tell her all was well, and she responded in sleepy gratitude. I kissed the Fool on the head when I returned so he knew I had not abandoned him once again.
“Distract me?” The Fool asked after a time. And so I told him of my dream with Nettle and Nighteyes.
“I had not realized how alive Nighteyes was in your mind. I have heard his voice through you, but this is much more than just his voice,” The Fool said ponderously, his head against my chest and rotated just enough so that he could speak.
“I had not either.” The part of me that was running with my wolf in death must be large for such a large part of Nighteyes to remain with me in life. With that thought, I strained my Wit, for if he were truly alive, he would surely have said something sarcastic. My mind was silent of any thoughts save my own.
“She took it well, I think. Nighteyes must have helped quite a bit.”
“I think Molly also helped. Nettle did not speak of her mother at all, but I am sure Molly’s opinion had an impact.” I wondered idly if Molly wanted to meet for a meal before she returned. I knew she would need to leave soon, but I wanted to talk to her again if I could. Silence settled between us once more, and I felt myself begin to drift to sleep once more.
The Fool’s voice pulled me back. “Fitz, do the nightmares ever go away?”
I considered offering false comfort, but I had been the one to bring him back from the dead. He deserved honesty. “I have them less often, and sometimes they’re less powerful. But no, they never go away entirely.” I squeezed him tighter in apology.
“So will I always dream of Aslevjal?”
I hesitated, uncertain how to answer. “Fool… I mean no harm for this, but do you dream still of being tattooed?” I asked gently. I could not imagine that experience passed without nightmares.
I felt his grimace against my chest. “Rarely. But it’s gotten worse now that my back is in pain again. The skin is healed, but it is tight and pulls with every movement.”
“Well, when you have a bit more strength and more flesh on you, we can do a Skill healing. It will weaken you in the short term, but the relief will be worth it.” I considered my lack of Skill-headaches, how my back no longer spasmed in cold or with a stray movement, and how I no longer had seizures. My body was my own again, and I felt younger today than I had at eighteen.
“That does sound appealing. I stretch and apply lotion, but my back just hurts.” He sighed.
“You still have a few weeks until your body is fully healed, I think. I dare not begin until then, otherwise it will pull from reserves you don’t have.”
“I can be patient.”
“And you must eat and sleep.”
“Yes healer,” He sounded tired.
“Are you ready to sleep again?” I asked casually, hoping that he was. If we stayed awake for much longer, we would be awake for the rest of the day.
He untangled us and stretched his neck to claim our thirteenth kiss. Our teeth clattered and noses bumped each other awkwardly, but then we corrected it, and it was lovely.
“Now I
Notes:
I'd love to hear what y'all think about the little dream scene! I think honesty is easier in darkness, and I suspect it's easier in dreams as well.
Chapter 14: Scars
Notes:
Great news: we're officially past the busiest days of the fic I've written thus far (the past two in-fic days have spanned 4 chapters each, whew!). Fitz can definitely use a breather. He's earned it.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
I returned to work the next morning with a shocking degree of impatience. We had been working with the Dukes and Duchesses to establish protections for Old Blood people throughout the Six Duchies, but the skirmishes between Old Blood and Piebalds, let alone non-Witted people, had been getting worse all the while. There had been several small council meetings where someone proposed to let them ‘govern themselves, and hopefully they will kill one another in the process and save us the effort,’ and if I had been in the room rather than in the walls, it would have taken all my self-preservation to not react. Kettricken had done well to remind the gentry that killing people was not tolerated even if they had the Wit magic, and it was the responsibility of lawmakers to determine what people are not allowed to do, not mobs. Sadly, the nuances of the differences between the two groups still confused them. In those meetings, I missed Web far more than I expected, but Dutiful still had a week or more of sailing before he returned.
The other issue I had been hip-deep in was the trade agreement with Bingtown. We had exchanged several proposals, and every single one they returned to us included a military alliance as part of the economic agreement. Chade advised that Bingtowners viewed everything as an economic agreement, but it was deeply frustrating to find and excise any implication of military support. Kettricken and I thought it best to keep this agreement short-term, to be revisited in a few years once someone could be spared to visit Bingtown and Trehaug, preferably after Dutiful was crowned King or at least King-in-Waiting.
The third issue was one that I wished wholeheartedly not to be involved with. Apparently, there had been a particularly seedy trade deal focused on key materials for cold weather clothes. Someone had managed to buy up something called shares to claim a sizable portion of felted wool sales, and then they used their power to drive prices up now, just before winter. My head ached whenever I thought about it.
Kettricken and I took breakfast to strategize, then Chade and I worked together for several more hours while Kettricken dealt with water rights in Tilth of all things. I managed to escape an hour or so before lunch and went down to the training yard, intent on finding someone willing to practice the axe with me. The sword was satisfying, but the axe was better for bashing and releasing my frustrations. Now that I was no longer a bag of bones as I had been before leaving for the OutIslands, I hoped I would be able to reacquire my skill. Weaponsmasteter Cresswell found a guardsman Blaine who was rusty as well. The two of us were well matched in skill, and his youthful strength balanced well against my craftiness. We stopped after only a few bouts, our long unused muscles tiring quickly.
I went to get water and cool off, and Nettle approached me while I did so.
“Hello Guard Badgerlock. Weaponsmaster Cresswell taught me some sword forms, and Lady Patience recommended I ask you to help me practice. Do you have the time?” She said too-formally, but I supposed too-formal was better than the opposite.
“Of course, Lady Nettle. Let me switch weapons.” I nodded a farewell to Blaine then traded axe for sword and rejoined her.
Nettle demonstrated the forms Cresswell had taught her against the pells, and her form was exacting and her attacks brutal in their ferocity. I thought it would be easy to practice with her, but when we faced off, she overreached and tried for speed she did not have. Her eyes were too focused on the sword in my hand to remember what to do.
“No, Nettle. Stop staring at the blade, it’s making you panic. Watch my body instead.” I repeated the words for at least the third time.
“But it’s your blade that’s going to hit me.” She spoke between gritted teeth
“But I’m the one wielding it. If you watch my sword, you leaving yourself wide open, see?” And I tapped her rapidly in two different locations during the time it took her to swing her blade once.
“How? How are you so much faster? I’m doing the same thing. How do I hit you first?” Her voice was laden with frustration, and I sensed she was near to throwing the sword on the ground and leaving the field. I tried for patience.
“Your form is perfect against the pells, but against me, your movement is too large and that makes it slow. You need the smaller movements.” What would it take to get my words into her skull?
“But I’m doing it the same with you as with the pells!” She repeated, and I felt increasingly certain this was a terrible idea. I was a useless instructor, and she panicked at the sight of me. What basis did I have to teach her the sword? Our entire relationship was founded on the Skill, not weapons.
Oh.
I Skilled to her, and, confused, she let me past her walls. “Do it again,” I told her. She did, and after she finished, I Skilled to her what was wrong, like a mirror that could give guided directions. I pointed out her elbow again, and a spark of realization flashed through her.
“Oh, that’s what I look like? I look like I’m trying to chop down a tree or something.” Rather than sounding discouraged, she was excited. We repeated the move until she had done it properly ten times in a row. She had wanted to stop after three, but I insisted.
We racked our weapons, and when we emerged, Molly was waiting for us, her arms clasped behind her back. I dropped into a short, jerky bow. “Lady Molly.” Nettle stopped by my side, clearly uncertain how she was supposed to react to her parents meeting in public.
“Guardsman Tom,” Molly said neutrally. “I see you were training my daughter with the sword. I always thought you were more of an axeman.”
I still considered myself as such, but I could not lie to her. “I have barely used an axe in combat in seventeen years, but I have used a sword many times since. Swords are more socially acceptable, and you can walk around with one in almost any place without comment. Everyone notices a battleaxe.”
“Well, as long as you know what you’re doing, Badgerlock,” Molly said magnanimously.
“I do. I will never be a master swordsman, but I can hold my own. I can help teach your daughter how to defend herself.” I held Molly’s eyes, and I saw her weighing me. I hoped I would not be found wanting.
“Good. See that you do.” She gave a sharp nod, and much of the tension left my body if only for a brief instant. She turned to her daughter at last. “Nettle, I planned to lunch with Lady Patience. You are welcome to join. She is eager to meet with you again.” And like that, I was not invited.
I tried not to take it personally. Molly and Patience were friends, and I had already made plans with the Fool, but I would have liked to have been invited. I told myself it was better. I do not need to be there when my daughter truly met her grandmother for the first time. Everything will surely go well, and I will see Nettle after lunch for Skill lessons anyway.
I pretended that I convinced myself.
“Yes Mother. I will need to visit the steams first, then I’ll join you in Lady Patience’s rooms,” Nettle agreed, though she looked at me in concern. She Skilled to me, Is that alright?
Of course. Patience is your grandmother and deeply excited to meet you as such. I Skilled the words with conviction I did not feel, but she seemed to believe me.
But she’s not, though. You’re a bastard. Isn’t Patience not being your mother a substantial part of the problem? She said this with all the tactlessness of youth.
I winced at her insight. Patience does not care. She would have claimed and raised me in a heartbeat if she could have. She is my mother, or near enough to it.
Though our mental conversation was rapid, faster than spoken words would have been, I saw Molly’s hands ball into fists and her face go still. So, I bowed to them both in farewell and left for the steams, Skilling back to Nettle, I’ll see you in Verity’s tower after lunch. I promise you it is fine.
If you’re sure.
With that in mind, I Skilled Thick to remind him of lessons after lunch, and he grumbled his assent. I quickly cleansed myself in the steams, then fetched lunch from the kitchens.
When I opened the servant’s door, my Fool took the tray from my hands and claimed our seventeenth kiss from my dumbstruck mouth. I doubt it was a very good kiss, but he seemed pleased nonetheless.
“How do you know when I’m coming?” I asked the question that had bothered me over dinner last night. In anticipation of our meal, the Fool had laid out the plates and silverware I had filched previously on our small table, and he had already made tea and poured wine. He added our meal to our little dining table and stashed the tray.
“How do you know to scratch where it itches?” He asked, sounding so much like Nighteyes that I almost looked around for the wolf. He laughed at my confusion. “I can feel you.” He wiggled his fingers at me and claimed a seat.
“I can’t feel you unless I try,” I said, looking at my numb wrist. I shook it, willing it to pay more attention, but I only learned about the dyes that made up my uniform. The Fool was only visible through our thin connection that sent nothing without effort.
“Perhaps because I use mine more than you. I carve with my fingers all the time, but you only use your wrist to touch me.” He grinned at me salaciously, and I scowled back.
“But I am trained with the Skill. I use it all the time.” I seated myself into the chair in front of the plate he had laid out for me, taking a sip of wine.
“Ah, perhaps that is the problem. You are endlessly swimming in the Skill, while I have one deep well to partake from. I return again and again to my well since it’s the only source of Skill, but you are a fish who cannot find a well in the ocean.” He was in remarkably good humor.
“Because why would a fish look for a well when they already have water all around?” I asked slowly.
“Precisely!” He gestured with a fork.
“But it’s my favorite source of water,” I grumbled at him, and he beamed at me.
“We can practice! Now tell me, how was ruling the kingdom this morning?” I complained about felted wool fraud. While I had been away that morning, he had begun an indoor fitness routine to stretch and exercise more effectively.
“But you’re healing!” I reminded him. “You need rest!”
“What I need is for my back to heal and be mobile. If I don’t, I will heal with a hunched back.” He jested but still I worried. He claimed my hand with his and rubbed my knuckles. “I am well enough Fitz. I promise you that I’m not over-exerting myself. Your Wit-healing did much to help my body, but I cannot laze about here all day and hope that my mind will keep pace.”
I accepted this with reticence and revealed to him that Molly and Nettle were having lunch with Patience that very moment. “Well, that’s potentially a good thing. Patience loves you and knows you very well, and their little table is too small to have more than two visitors anyway.”
Then he presented to me his carving in progress. He laughed when I could not guess what a blob of wood was going to become, then refused to tell me.
I left for Verity’s tower in much higher spirits, and through our Skill bond I could tell the same was true of him.
I approached the tower through the hallways, pleased to see several scroll racks waiting outside the door. Another guard helped me carry them upstairs, and the narrow staircase was as awful to lug furniture up as I expected it to be. We managed to get all four in the round room just as Nettle and Thick showed up, and I found my way back through the walls.
We three surveyed the scrolls on the floor, the task ahead seeming nearly insurmountable. I had brought a slew of colored ribbons and paper tags that we could use to label the scrolls and shelves, which I hoped would help with the process.
I took a deep breath and tried to step into the role as the teacher, choosing to emulate Fedwren rather than Galen or Patience. “To start, I need to figure out a system for the scrolls. Meanwhile, you two will work together, but you must choose between two tasks.” They perked up at being presented options, as I had hoped they would. Both tasks were boring, but perhaps having a choice would help. “You can either help me organize the scrolls, or you can practice setting and maintaining your Skill walls, then try and push past each other’s walls.”
Nettle frowned at me, but it was Thick who spoke first. “Walls are easy! Why do we need to practice something so easy?”
“It’s not just setting walls, but maintaining them against an onslaught,” I said patiently. “And perhaps learning how to break down walls is a useful lesson as well.”
“But I would never try to break down Nettle’s walls!” Thick’s lower lip jutted out petulantly.
“The goal is to hold your walls against the other. You two are the strongest Skill users in the coterie, but neither of you can compare to the strength of a dragon. Remember, Thick, how you lost in the dragon’s song on Aslevjal?” His face twisted as he tried to remember. I decided remembering was not worth the effort. “Well, if you face another dragon in person, you will need to have your walls as strong as they can be. So, you will practice building your walls, and then you will pretend to be a dragon trying to tear down each other’s walls. That way if you meet a dragon in the future, you can better hold your walls against them.”
Nettle nodded slowly, understanding the reasoning. Thick took a bit longer, but I gave him the time he needed. “But I don’t want to fight a dragon. The last dragon was awful.”
“I also don’t want to fight a dragon. But that doesn’t mean a dragon won’t try to fight you.” In truth, I hoped that we would never need to test either of them against a dragon. The secret goal of this exercise was to make Thick more comfortable having his walls up at all times so any future Skill trainees would not be perpetually battered by his music.
“How about you try working on your walls for a little while, then see if you want to help me with the scrolls?” I asked at last. Thick nodded his agreement, and the two of them situated themselves at the table to begin practicing.
I took a few sheets of paper, a quill, and ink and sat on the floor next to the scrolls. I planned to start with a rough sorting of them, identifying scrolls with specific lessons in Skill use and practices, general Skillmaster recommendations, and other groupings as they emerged. Ideally, I would be able to separate the Skill-use scrolls into different categories, but for now I only separated out any scrolls focused on healing since I intended that to be our next lesson. Chade would certainly want a full inventory at some point, but currently we needed them off the floor and vaguely organized.
It was slow going, but once I became accustomed to the layout of information, I was able to move far quicker. Unsurprisingly, each Skillmaster seemed to have a specific area of interest. Skillmaster Solicity, for example, wrote quite a lot on Skill-dreaming, and I had Skillmaster Treeknee to thank for the defacement of the Witness stones, which I put in the ‘relevant information for Skill-users to know’ section of the Skill rack. Skillmaster Highwind wrote the most on Skill-healing, and I eagerly read these before racking them.
After a time, Nettle and Thick joined me, and we agreed that organizing by Skillmaster name was the quickest option as all scrolls were signed by name. I wanted to organize the rack temporally, but we had yet to find a scroll listing such, so we arranged them alphabetically within each broad category, and hung temporary tags with letters on them to make finding a given Skillmaster easier. I kept notes of what each Skillmaster generally covered and sketched out a diagram showing how it was organized.
At the end of our two-hour lesson, we had managed to complete perhaps a tenth of the scrolls.
“It should go faster now that we know what we’re doing,” My voice was full of false optimism and fooled nobody.
“If I did not hate Regal before, I hate him now. He sold this entire library to fund parties?” Nettle had collapsed backward and gestured toward to ceiling, her hands as straight as knives and energetic with anger.
“During the middle of a war where four of the Six Duchies were decimated by raids.” I was not holding my own frustration from my voice.
Thick mimicked Nettle; he flopped back and gestured to the ceiling. “I went to a party once, and it was boring. Everyone was talking and dancing, and there were no puppet shows. Did any of the parties have puppet shows?” He said this as though a good puppet show might make up for our suffering today.
Inspired, I laid on the floor as well, though I placed my hands on my belly, “Not on purpose, but they were always happening. Regal’s parties were attended almost entirely by self-important Inlanders who would rather dance than protect the coasts. They were also full of Smoke, and I never had a head for the stuff, so I could not even attend to spy on people.”
“Could not even spy on people? How dreadful to imagine such a fate.” Nettle teased me then giggled at her joke. Thick joined in enthusiastically.
“What can I say, a man needs hobbies,” I joked awkwardly and was pleased when they laughed harder.
“Do you ever go to parties? Just for fun?” Nettle asked eventually.
“I went as a servant while working for Lord Golden. As a boy, my primary duty was to avoid being noticed, so it was mostly as a spy.”
“Why didn’t you just tell them not to see you?” Thick asked as though the answer was obvious.
“You know, I wasn’t as clever as you when I was a boy, Thick. If I had thought of it, maybe it would have helped.” I considered the potential ethical ramifications for using the Skill for spywork in such a way, which seemed much less extreme than extracting knowledge from people’s heads directly. Then I realized the bigger issue. “It doesn’t always work. Some people still see you, and it would be hard to know before the party who it would work on and who it wouldn’t. You’d be found out.”
“Maybe you should look more boring then, Tom,” Thick suggested.
I sighed, “I’m afraid that isn’t an option for me. It’s either scars or a face that looks suspiciously like Dutiful’s.”
Thick thought about this seriously, mumbling to himself for a time. “I remember when we made your scars go away. You shrunk.” He remembered that but not being entranced by a dragon?
Nettle burst out in laughter once more, “He shrunk?”
“Ya. We healed everything, and there wasn’t enough Tom to fill in his scars. It was gross, like his body melted out his back.” Thick made gagging sounds at the memory.
The sensation had not felt much better, but I held in my disgust. Nettle’s interest was piqued, however. “Fitz, why did your body melt out of your back?”
“My worst scar was there. Someone shot an arrow into my back, and Nighteyes had to guide me for several days before I collapsed at the Fool’s feet in Jhaampe. Then it took longer to get rid of the infection and pull the arrowhead out.” Now that smell I could recall, and the memory of it sent me near to gagging.
“Oh. And after this magical all-encompassing healing, you put your scars back?”
“I look like a Farseer without them. Everyone always said I look like my father when I was growing up." I realized in that moment that I was a year older than my father was when he died, though I still had a couple more years until I surpassed Verity. Did he feel as old as I felt at thirty-four? As young as I felt? The Skill-healing ensure I felt younger and healthier at thirty-four than at I had at eighteen.
“Can you show me?” Nettle startled me.
“What, my face without scars? Or the scars I put back?”
“Either? Both.”
“If you like.” I tapped my fingers on my belly and reached for her with the Skill. I was pleased to find she and Thick had built and maintained strong walls, and I brushed against hers to request access.
Nettle let me in, and we built between us something akin a waking dream from one of my memories. I was seated at the workroom table, face shaved as I waited for Chade to come help me put my scars back on. I looked into a mirror, inspecting my own face with concern. In this dream, Nettle leaned against the table, and I turned towards her, not shying back from the light.
That’s you? Nettle reached tentatively down to touch my face, and I let her. She touched my nose first and my cheek and jaw second, hand lingering where the scars usually were.
Just last spring. I probably wore this face for a week while I healed before Chade and I fixed it.
Damaged it, more like. We have the same browline. The same nose. The same cheekbones. I could sense her touching the matching parts on her face while she inspected mine.
You have the Farseer gaze as well. The same glare and scowl too, I understand.
You and Dutiful are practically identical. He almost looks more like your son than I look like your daughter. I somehow kept my absolute terror at that statement well contained.
Dutiful and I both have Mountain mothers and Farseer fathers, I suggested a suitable reason. I always thought you look like Molly’s father, but I doubt she would appreciate me saying so. I kept my voice carefully neutral and hoped she would think it was because of Molly’s father and not her half-brother.
Mama doesn’t talk of him much. I know he’s why she does not allow alcohol in the house.
She spent her childhood taking care of an alcoholic. Is it any wonder? I did not want to speak ill of Molly’s father, but I had not liked the man, and the feeling was mutual. Nettle continued her inspections, tracing my eyebrows, and I let her. Her hand dropped at last.
I prefer your face this way. She sounded guilty.
You would not be the only one. But I cannot wear it in Buckkeep unless I return as myself, and I will not make Dutiful’s succession more difficult than it needs to be. I wished never to return as myself.
Perhaps one day. If you returned, would I be acknowledged? She asked, her voice controlled. I was surprised by the question.
Would you like to be?
I don’t know. Her face held both hope and fear. Oh, how she looked like me in that moment. I had worn that expression so many times when I was her age.
Then we will deal with that when we must and not sooner. Come, let us return to the tower. I suggested, and the image dissipated.
Thick was snoring lightly on the floor, and I did not envy him when he eventually awoke. I stretched and rose, then I went to drink water from a skin on the shelf. Nettle eventually stood up and joined me, drinking from the same skin.
Where was that room we were just in? She asked silently, allowing Thick to slumber.
A Farseer bastard’s workroom. I can show you, if you like.
I would. It looked much cleaner than I expected of an assassin’s lair. I glared at her, and she quirked an eyebrow at me. I rolled my eyes.
Come, this way. It is time to reveal to you a Farseer secret. If Chade complains, I know Dutiful and Kettricken would approve.
I lit a candle from the fireplace and handed it to her, then lit one for myself. She followed me to the secret entrance, and I showed her how to open the hidden catch. The panel peeled back to reveal the narrow spy ways, and I led my daughter into the dark.
Careful. It’s steep and there are cobwebs.
I’m not afraid of spiders. My daughter said bravely.
That’s good. The cobwebs are prolific. Someday I’m going to bully Chade into dusting the most heavily used corridors.
We descended the stairs carefully and eventually emerged into the secret workroom at the heart of the castle. We were immediately harassed by Gilly.
“Who’s this?” Nettle asked, laughing at his antics. I gave her a raisin, and she knelt to offer it to him.
“This is Gilly. He defends the walls from rodents, hides raisins, and steals the pillow.” I terrorized him with my hand, and he bravely dodged past my defense to claim Nettle’s raisin, then scampered onto the workbench to hid it behind a jar.
“He’s not your Wit-partner, is he?” I heard the skepticism in her voice.
“No, just a friend. But on the rare occasion that I sleep up here, he does claim the entire pillow.”
She took a moment to view the workroom now that we were no longer accosted. “It’s bigger than I expected.”
“Keep in mind that Chade lived here for almost twenty years, managing his spy empire and only emerging under heavy disguise. I imagine it seemed much smaller to him.” I wondered at how isolated he had been, with only a dying old king and a young bastard for company. Perhaps he met with Verity or even Patience on occasion.
“That sounds like such a lonely life,” She said sympathetically, “I’m glad he’s out of the shadows now.”
I considered the way Chade was pulling power away from Kettricken and the crown, so certain he was that his actions were for the good of the kingdom. I recalled how he and the Fool engaged in a deeply uncomfortable battle over both my heart and loyalty. I thought of an excitable old man, experimenting with explosives and poison, so eager to show a boy his newest creation and teach him how to pick pockets despite clumsy fingers. I recalled his patience when teaching me all the places one could insert a blade to kill a man quickly or slowly and his frustration that in battle, I instead would brawl with fists and teeth. I remembered that first night in this room how he chattered away at me like we were both young boys or old men, then he had guided me downstairs and tucked me into bed. My heart ached for that old man who raised me.
“I’m glad too,” I said at last.
Then I walked to the sword over the fireplace and picked it up, handing it to her carefully. “This is Chivalry’s sword, from when he was King-in-Waiting. Dutiful traded me for Verity’s before we left for the OutIslands.” She gripped the blade in both hands and managed to hold it upright when I released it.
“It’s lighter than I expected.”
“The weaponsmaster at the time, Hod, made both blades. She was an excellent blacksmith as well as a good teacher. She’s the one who taught me the sword. She died in the mountains with Verity.”
“So in a way, when I learn from you, I learn from her.” She said speculatively. Then she made a practice swing and would have lost balance had I not seized her shoulders to stabilize her. I carefully took the blade back, setting it in its place. She reached out and gently touched the fruit knife impaled on the mantle. “What’s this?”
“A reminder.” I touched it as well. “To Chade and me.”
“A reminder of what?”
“Would you like to hear the story?” I asked softly. I suspected the reminder would be necessary for her as well, one day.
“Yes,” She settled onto one of the chairs by the fire while I claimed the other.
“When I was twelve or so, Chade assigned me a task to demonstrate my abilities. This was standard for us, and I had always been eager to please him. I thought I would do anything for him. But the task he gave me was to go to King Shrewd’s chamber, steal something, and bring it back to him. He made it sound like a simple prank, but I could not do it. I had given Shrewd my oath, and I could not break it,” I held her eyes and she nodded slowly. I saw that she understood that loyalty in a way Molly never had, but Burrich knew with every fiber of his being. I thanked her Papa for teaching her.
“When I refused, Chade turned me out and threatened never to call on me again. I reacted as you might expect.” She frowned at that, confused. I explained without embarrassment. “I was unable to do anything for days. Unable to eat. Unable to believe life was worth living. Burrich was so concerned that he had me take care of a puppy as he had not allowed me to do since he discovered my Wit. Chade eventually came to me to apologize, and I cried in his arms until I was hoarse. Three days later, Shrewd summoned me to share breakfast, he revealed that it had been his idea to test my loyalty to the crown against my love for Chade. So in full view of the King, I put that fruit knife up my sleeve. When Chade summoned me next, I stabbed it into the mantle.” It was dark above the mantle, but the blade flickered with reflected light.
“That is not a very subtle reminder,” She said blandly.
“It was not meant to be,” I said. “But sometimes, even Chade and I forget, and we both know what it means to look at or speak of the fruit knife. So there it stays.”
“Will I be tested like that?” She clearly dreaded such an experience.
“You are in Buckkeep rather than with your mother and brothers at home. I would say you already are being tested.” I looked at her through the corner of my eye, and she nodded. I sighed. “But... Kettricken and Dutiful do not view me as a tool, not like Shrewd did. And I have made a new bargain with Kettricken that grants me greater control over my life. That said… Nettle, we are bastards,” I said as gently as I could. She grimaced at the naming, but I saw no understanding in her eyes. She did not know yet what that meant, and it was up to me to explain it. “Our existence is both a threat and a boon for the crown. If we show a whit of ambition, we are overstepping our illegitimate birth. But we are also representatives of the crown. A meeting too dangerous for a legitimate child is a fine risk for the illegitimate one, and if he dies in the process… well, he was only a bastard.” She flinched and placed her face onto her hands, considering the ramifications. I gave her the time she needed.
“But Kettricken and Dutiful wouldn’t do that!” She whispered.
“No, they would not. But Nettle, when Kettricken’s first baby was born blue before they believed Verity was alive, Kettricken and Chade decided that they would claim you in his stead, and she would raise you as her own. They would have, had I not stepped in. And since they cannot claim you as legitimate, any offspring you have could be a threat to the crown if you view your children as having a greater claim than Dutiful’s.” Tears started to leak from her eyes then, dripping down her fingers to splatter across the floor of the workroom.
“I am sorry Nettle. Truly, I am.” I knew that an apology was not enough. It was not enough to undo the pain of her blood, illegitimate as my own. I set my hand on her shoulder, hoping she felt comforted by such a gesture.
“I wouldn’t want my children to rule,” She said quietly.
“I know. I don’t either. But in the realm of politics, what you want has little bearing. Dutiful is a good lad, Nettle, and I believe he will be a good King. I think he will understand he need not fear you, especially if you befriend him in truth. He has granted me far more control over my life than any Farseer before him.” I did not want to build a wedge between my daughter and her King, so I tried to soften the blow. “Kettricken is also Mountain-born, and in her eyes, I should be King. That I am not proves my loyalty to the crown, whereas Shrewd would have viewed it as lack of disloyalty. In fact, she has asked me to act as a hidden co-ruler until Dutiful is crowned King, and I have accepted. I hope my agreement will grant you greater control of your life.”
She raised her head to look at me through wet lashes, “So you’re a Shadow King?”
“Yes,” My voice was blessedly strong. “Though you should never speak of it again, unless I speak of it first. The same is true of the tenuous existence of being a bastard. Chade will insist you should be happy with the constraints that are placed on you, then in the same breath claim you are not ambitious enough.” His attitude irked me, and her grimace felt oddly vindicating.
“It’s all so convoluted. You’re a bastard, so you can’t rule or even publicly be yourself because that would be a threat to them, but they are happy to have you as king from the shadows if it makes their lives easier!”
I smiled at her defense of me. “I am happy enough in my current position, in fact. I never liked attention, and my current role is temporary rather than a life sentence. Though I could do less with wool trade fraud.” I scowled at my desk in the corner, where I had been drafting a law to decrease monopolization of key trade goods this morning. The papers on the other issues I had been addressing were shoved in rough stacks in opposite corners.
She followed my look and walked to my desk, picking the papers up and carefully replacing them exactly as they were. “This is where you work?”
“It’s a secret room in the walls of a castle. It’s relatively private, though I will likely need to find a desk elsewhere when Chade starts bringing his apprentice up here again.”
I let her peruse my desk while I next went to the scroll racks by the table. I selected eight scrolls and set them on the workbench and organized them chronologically. “You should read these,” I said at last. She came over to look. “I wrote them in my cabin. They detail my journey to Verity and include information about the Skill. They answer all those questions you asked yesterday. There are some ramblings in the middle, but they were meant to help me understand my life and the decisions I have made.”
Her eyes were greedy as she viewed them, but when she reached out to gather them, I stilled her hands.
“Want another secret?” I asked her.
“I suppose. Will this one hurt?”
“No.”
I pulled the hidden lever, and we descended the stairway to my old room, her current room. Her eyes rounded when she realized where we were. I showed her how to open and close the secret entrance.
While she learned the mechanism, I looked at her room through a father’s eyes and was pleased to see it was both tidy and decorated as her own. There was a crudely carved wooden horse on the mantle, some feathers and dried flowers in a cup on the desk, and she had found matching rug and chairs for the front of the fireplace. She had made this room more her own in a few months than I had made it in the seven years I had lived here. It pleased me greatly to see her claim the space.
Once she had worked out the mechanism, we ascended back to the workroom. “Right now, Thick, the Fool, and I are the only people likely to use these routes. Kettricken may, but it is very unlikely. Once Chade and Dutiful return, it will be much busier. Obviously, you should not discuss these hidden paths to anyone I did not name, and that includes your mother.” I eyed her, and I saw her gulp in dismay. I was not surprised, and I tried not to be disappointed. She was not raised for intrigue as I had been. “You should also not discuss them aloud at all unless we are in Verity’s tower, your room, or my room. This is a Farseer secret.”
“Right. Farseer secret. Of course,” She said rapidly.
“One last secret?”
She nodded cautiously. I Skilled ahead to the Fool, excitement with a hint of warning. He sent back an affirmative.
I showed my daughter the way to the rooms I shared with the Fool. We emerged into the little servant’s room, and I opened the door. He was seated at our small table but stood to greet us.
“Showing Nettle all the Farseer secrets then?” He asked as he approached.
“Just the useful ones. The useless ones come later.” I jested weakly.
When he reached us, he bowed in greeting. “Welcome to our chambers, Nettle. It’s good that you can visit us without anyone knowing.”
“You share these rooms?” She looked between us with only curiosity in her eyes.
“I have horrid nightmares almost every night, and my dearest friend who dragged me back to life is of great help with the recovery process,” He said smoothly, glossing over our budding romantic relationship in a way I appreciated. While I hoped I could tell Nettle at some point, it seemed early to reveal something barely two-days-old. Our friendship, however, had done the impossible many times over.
“Oh! Right!” She bit her lip awkwardly. “I am apparently an expert in managing dreams with the Skill. I could try to help if you like?”
“While that is very kind, I will decline for now. I would rather not expose you to the contents of my nightmares.” He grimaced delicately. “Besides, Fitz and I get along very well after decades of scheming and surviving hardships together, and both of us need easy access to the walls to disguise our comings and goings. And I can have Fitz fetch meals for me like he’s Tom Badgerlock the Servant once again.”
I scowled at him, and he only laughed in response. Nettle glanced between us as though trying to understand our relationship.
“In truth, I wanted to discuss my offer of lessons the other day. Are you still interested?” The Fool changed the subject neatly.
“Oh! I forgot. I thought you were offering to be kind. I did not realize it was a genuine offer.”
His eyes twinkled, “No, I was being perfectly honest. Since you now know how to get here out of sight, I was thinking we could meet over breakfast. Fitz frequently breaks his fast with Kettricken, so it would just be the two of us.”
She rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “I could do that most mornings, I think. I could Skill Fitz to let you know beforehand when I can’t.”
“I’m sure Fitz would love to be our messenger boy,” the Fool drawled, slinging an arm around my shoulder. I could feel my face heating and tried to think of the most unattractive, least embarrassing things that I could while looking anywhere but his face or Nettle’s. Small buttons and dangling sleeves. Too-small fish bones that get easily lodged in throats. Easily bent silverware.
The Fool continued, blatantly ignoring my struggle. “We could start tomorrow, if you like.”
“That would be wonderful!” Nettle began, and my stomach growled audibly to interrupt her.
The two of them peered at me while my blush rose in full force. I shrugged myself free of the Fool’s arm and made my way to the dried foodstuffs on the shelf to graze as they discussed their plans. Why was I so much hungrier these days? I tried to blame the weapons training, but I was eating practically as much as I had as a boy, yet I was not growing up or, thankfully, out.
“Fitz offered to show me his scars.” I was shaken from my musing by Nettle saying my name. “Or the scars he put back on. Were you there? Thick said his back melted?”
The Fool’s eyebrows raised in at the image. “That is not an… inaccurate way of putting it. To me it seemed more like paste being squeezed from a tube. Or viscous vomit. All his damaged tissue was fleeing his body through the center of the scar.” We all bore looks of disgust.
“Thank you for that delightful image, Fool,” I said sarcastically.
“Well, I had the best view in the room,” He said.
“But… you don’t have the Skill,” She said slowly.
“Not in the traditional sense, no,” He started to wiggle his fingers but realized that it was a useless gesture. Instead, he removed the glove to display his gray fingertips. “Raw Skill. I accidentally touched Verity’s Skill-covered skin in the mountains. Fitz has matching marks on his wrist from when I was experimenting with what I could do.”
She leaned forward to look, but when she reached out to touch his fingertips, he snatched his hand back and rapidly replaced his glove. “I can promise you don’t want that,” He said firmly.
“But Fitz has marks from them?” She asked, and I pulled up my sleeve to show her.
“When his fingers meet my wrist, it forms a… very complete Skill-bond. If you look at us with the Skill, you can see the connection, but it only works well when we touch.” I covered the marks once more with my sleeve.
Her eyes unfocused as she looked, “Oh! There it is! It’s so much different than the rest of them,” She said, and I felt uncomfortable with being viewed in that way. I reset my walls as Verity had taught me to ensure a good fit. The Fool grasped his hands together, his only obvious sign of nervousness. At my look, he put his hands behind his back, and I looked for a distraction.
“Do you still want to view my scars? They are not very exciting. Chade and I put them back on my skin only.” I could not imagine why she wanted to see them, but it seemed an easier topic than the Fool and I’s unique Skill bond.
“I would, if you’re willing? That is, if it’s acceptable to you, Fool?” Nettle’s eyes darted towards him nervously, suddenly aware of how she was imposing on us.
“It is fine by me. Eda knows, I have seen Fitz shirtless more times than I can count, and I was there for when he received the worst of them.” The Fool’s hands were still hidden. I did not miss the interest in his eyes, however. As many times as he had seen my body, I was pleased that he was enthusiastic to see it once more, damaged though it was.
With his blessing, I removed my jerkin and shirt without ceremony and turned around. Nettle gasped audibly, and I heard her footsteps approach. I felt her warm finger touch the center of the starfish-shaped scar in the center of my back, and I tried not to jump.
“You survived this?” She said in awe.
“Not without a lot of complaining,” The Fool said acerbically. “It was an awful wound from the start, and by the time I found him, it was horribly infected. He was delirious with fever. I have never been so grateful to Nighteyes, that he led you to me…”
“This was the arrow wound in the mountains then?”
“Soon after you were born,” The Fool responded. I expected it to be uncomfortable to have my lover and my daughter in the same room while I was shirtless, but instead I was deeply grateful for his presence. It allowed me to focus on breathing and staying still.
“What about this one?” Her fingers ghosted over the scar on my side.
“Ah, that is the one that would have killed him without the Skill-healing last spring. The sword sliced his guts. I don’t think I have ever smelled anything worse in my life.” His tone was light, but I sensed the dread in his statement. He had nearly lost me. I Skilled him reassurance and love, and he returned a sense of admiration.
“What was that?” Nettle asked suddenly, and we stood as still as two boys caught breaking a rule.
“We were Skilling.” I said.
“Oh,” She said at last, and I felt a rush of gratitude. Nettle continued to prod my old scars. “What about this one?” She touched my shoulder lightly.
I felt a moment of panic when I recalled the Fool’s love bite, and hoped I would not need to explain that to my daughter. The Fool Skilled calm and mild confusion to me. “I believe that one is where a Forged one tried to eat you. Right, Fitz?” As he said this, his cool finger traced the large mark where my shoulder joined my neck. He paused where the love mark had been, and I sensed his confusion increase through our bond.
“Yes, that would be it. That’s the day Nighteyes and I formed a true Wit-bond. Molly might remember it. I saw her after but told her a dog bit me.” I hoped Nettle did not think less of me for admitting how I had lied to her mother.
“I remember. No one was to know King Shrewd sent you to kill the Forged Ones converging on Buckkeep,” The Fool murmured.
“So many secrets,” Nettle said softly, then her finger released me. The Fool removed his as well. I went to the mirror quickly to inspect the bite mark. His love bite next to it was only the slightest discoloration of my skin, rather than the deep purple bruise it had been the previous day. It had been some time since I had hosted such a mark, but I remembered them lasting much longer. Perhaps that was another side effect of getting older? It seemed unlikely, but I had no other explanation.
“Chade and I did a good job recreating that one,” I said belatedly, trying to explain my inspection to Nettle. “It did not heal well the first time. I went to the healer to treat it rather than Burrich to keep the wolf a secret from him. When Regal’s men caught me, I managed to convince some of them that I was not the Bastard, only to have one strip my shirt? He recognized it immediately.”
“It’s probably the only scar you have that can connect Tom Badgerlock to FitzChivalry before he entered the dungeons. Blade has not recognized it?” The Fool asked idly.
Having determined that his mark was almost entirely gone, I put my shirt back on. “No. I saw him once in the steams last year, and I left quickly. I think he feels responsible for my being thrown in the dungeon, and he defended the Witted Bastard to the newer guards last spring.” I wanted to talk to him as myself, alleviate his guilt, but I felt the chill rush of fear settle in my belly at the very thought.
“Blade can keep a secret,” The Fool agreed, handing me my jerkin.
“He’s in the Queen’s guard now, and I suspect if we ever ride out, he will recognize me immediately.”
“Maybe it would better to reveal yourself on purpose than be discovered on accident then try to pick up the pieces. So many Old Bloods and Piebalds already know who you are, after all.” He said it nonchalantly, but I could hear how much he wanted me to.
“One problem at a time.” I adjusted my jerkin and shirt. “Ready, Nettle? I can escort you back to Verity’s Tower.”
My daughter had wandered to the mantle while he spoke and held the carved statue of Nighteyes in her hands, stroking his back slowly. She set it down. “Can’t I just go back to my rooms?”
I looked flatly at her. “You visibly entered the tower, so you need to visibly leave it. Even if it means twice as many stairs.”
She sighed heavily and let me guide her into the servant’s room. I shot the Fool a look over her shoulder, and he just shrugged.
When we returned to the workroom, Nettle stopped to play with Gilly once more, while I self-consciously organized the piles of paper on my work desk. Perhaps I could set up an office in my old cell. No, I needed a fire nearby, even if I was no longer writing to burn. Perhaps the Fool would be amenable to me getting my own desk for our sitting room. In fact, I expected he would be delighted at the request. He had expressed to me over breakfast that he wanted to make sure our shared rooms were truly ours, and I was not ‘living like a ghost in our space’ as he put it.
“Fitz, I want to thank you.” Nettle as seated on the edge of the bed. I turned to face her.
“Hm? For what?”
She tormented Gilly a moment longer before she responded. “For telling me about yourself and… what our relationship means to me. And for being honest. Mama said that you were naturally a very secretive person, and that getting answers from you would be like ‘squeezing water from a stone.’ I can tell it makes you uncomfortable to be so honest with me, but you do it anyway. And you haven’t tried to replace my Papa. So, thank you.”
She did not turn away from Gilly as she said the words, so she did not see the tears that threatened to fall from my eyes. I turned back to the desk and wiped them away, idly moving papers around to hide my motions. I do not think I fooled her, but she did not comment. When my lungs steadied, I responded. “Thank you for listening. It would have been easy for you to hate me for the decisions I made. Or fear me. But instead, you’re curious about my life, but you don’t push when I stumble or need more time. Thank you for that.”
I snuck a look over my shoulder and saw her wipe her eyes as well. I chose to give her the same courtesy she gave me. I shuffled the papers uselessly.
The sharp sound of a sob broke my heart and demolished my resolve. I rushed towards her, but when I sat down next to her on the bed, I had no idea how I could comfort her. Nettle kindly made the decision for me by flinging herself at me. I caught my daughter and held her as she wept, her tears soaking into my shirt. Instinctually, I opened my Skill to her and for a kindness she allowed me to hold her there as well, and I let my love for her spill over. She sank into my embrace, both in my arms and in my Skill, and I could sense how safe she felt in that moment. The tears I had hidden earlier spilled over then, and I cried silently with her.
When her sobs became hiccups and she began to pull away from me, body and mind, I released her. I found a handkerchief in my pocket and offered it to her. I dried my own face on the cuffs of my shirt and rebuilt my walls while she blew her nose noisily. She looked shyly up at me, and I smiled weakly down at her.
“Thank you. I promise I don’t normally cry this often.” She looked down at the sodden handkerchief and pocketed it. “I’ll get this back to you,” She said, looking anywhere but at me.
“If you like. It’s just a handkerchief.” We both put ourselves back together, and I tried in vain to dry my shoulder. At last I gave up, removed my sodden shirt, and put on a fresh one from the chest at the foot of the bed. It was a little more worn around the edges, a work shirt more than anything, but it was serviceable. I tossed my wet shirt onto the rack near the stairs to my chambers. It would dry soon and still be good for a visit to the training field, I reasoned.
Wearing arguably better clothing, I led Nettle back to Verity’s tower, comfortable silence between us. There, we found Thick happily using one of my spare sheets of paper to draw in front of the hearth. Thick greeted us cheerfully and very precisely set his drawing on the shelf to return to later. Then we parted to see each other on the training fields tomorrow, and I found myself very much looking forward to it.
Notes:
And now we close the triplet of chapters I call "Fitz tells Nettle things she ought to hear from him" (Burrich's daughter, Echo in a Dream, and now Scars). Of course I had to end it with tears. But now the foundation is built for them to have an actual relationship <3
Do y'all think Fitz is running out of honesty yet? What do you think about the hickey o' doom (as its called in my notes)?
I recently wrote a Chade POV fic that covers some of his backstory and his experience of the Fruit Knife story! Check it out here, but mind the tags: https://archiveofourown.org/works/63645733
Chapter 15: Bastards, Wanted or Otherwise
Notes:
Sorry for the delay! Was exhausted and busy all weekend through today, but it's still Monday where I'm at!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
I rode Myblack through the woods near Buckkeep, my mind inundated with half-thoughts that refused to turn into anything that made sense. My horse had been so enthused by the prospect of running that she did not even try to bite me or stomp on my foot. When we trotted through the gate, I gave Myblack her head. She leapt forward, and we chased the wind.
Chade had the audacity to Skill me at this time, wanting to talk to Kettricken. When I informed him that I was riding, he insisted it could not wait.
I can pass on a message when I’m back, Chade. What is it?
Your idea worked all too well, boy. Skyrene Island is full of Duchies merchants and nobles trying to build connections with the Outislanders. We need to make sure we don’t have first-born nobles marrying into the islands to find themselves in temporary relationships with no clear-cut rules for inheritance, then suddenly we will have a civil war of OutIslander bastards unable to inherit because they are legitimate in one society and not legitimate in the other! Chade’s words practically ran into one another in his rush to get them out.
I asked Myblack to move faster, rage blossoming in my belly. Chade, let me get this straight. You are worried about establishing inheritance rules to prevent some fantastical civil war you imagine happening sixteen years from now. And you are demanding to talk to the Queen this instant to deal with this civil war. I could not have moderated my tone if I tried, so I did not.
This problem must be dealt with as soon as possible! He was aghast by my lack of urgency.
Are any of these maybe-bastards born yet? Have their parents even married yet? Are they even conceived? I could not imagine a more ridiculous reason to interrupt my time.
No, but—
Chade, this request is absurd. I agree we need to establish inheritance guidelines to accommodate OutIslander sensibilities, but there is no reason we cannot talk about this in the morning at our usual time. I cut the connection between us, leaving him no room for argument. I had no desire to fight with him about something so trivial.
After a few minutes of hard riding, I felt Dutiful at my walls. I begrudgingly let him in.
I’m sorry, Fitz. I told him it was a stray concern, and I thought he understood. I did not realize he would bother you with it. My anger cooled in the face of his sincerity. I slowed Myblack to give my words the thought he deserved.
It’s not your fault, Dutiful. You are not responsible for what he does. He’s just used to getting what he wants and learning the hard way that this is no longer the case. I stood up in my stirrups as Myblack picked her way across a streambed.
Are you riding? Dutiful asked wistfully.
I am. I have barely had time for Myblack since I returned, and I’m trying to make it up to her.
You’re doing well, then? He sounded interested, and I realized he and I rarely spoke just the two of us lately. Always four of us met in the morning, then I worked with Kettricken or Chade.
Well enough. Molly and I told Nettle of her heritage over the past few days, and she is taking it far better than I expected. The Fool is doing well, all things considered. Patience is Patience, of course. I tried to think of what else I could say.
That’s all well for them, but what about you?
How is it that a simple question of my wellbeing so thoroughly surprised me? I did not want to burden the boy, but he had asked twice. I sighed. I feel like everything is going well, but I keep thinking that I am missing something important. Right now, I feel like I am so close to understanding something or maybe even several somethings, but I could not say what those things are or what the understanding is. It is deeply unnerving.
I hate that feeling. I get it all the time. I think it is because of all the things I need to juggle, and I fear that if I’m not clever enough, it will all come tumbling down. Dutiful told me. To be honest, it’s a relief to hear that you feel the same way. With his Skilled words came an underlying insecurity he held, that it was I who should wear the crown next, not him.
I have been shadow king less than a month, and already I look forward to you taking over. I would hate to do this for more than a few years.
Thank you for doing this even now. I know it is not what you would want to do. He said earnestly. I smiled and sent back a wave of appreciation towards him.
How are you, lad? I asked.
Bored. Frustrated. Anxious to be home. The Hetgurd are dragging this out, and I have no patience for it. It is well Chade is here. I think he delights in running circles around them, whereas I could be convinced to give them half of Bearns if they would just let me leave. He sighed wearily, and I sensed his jealousy at my simple joy of riding Myblack through the woods.
I welcomed Dutiful into my mind then, to ride with me as his father once did. I showed him how, and soon he settled atop my mind. Once secure, I directed Myblack to speed up once more. She tossed her head. We three rode for some time before the setting sun sent us back. We made it back to the Keep without incident. I stabled Myblack in her stall, waving off the groom who usually took care of her.
Dutiful enjoyed grooming Myblack as much as I did, and we settled into the rhythm. Periodically I gave Myblack an apple to reward her for good behavior, and I groomed her until she gleamed, her eyes half-lidded in pleasure.
Can we go see my horse, Moonshadow?
Moonshadow? I tried not to laugh.
I was nine!
I went to Moonshadow’s stall and greeted the gray gelding. I ceded control to Dutiful so he could direct my motions. The horse seemed pleased by the visit but confused by the familiar gestures from an unfamiliar person.
Thank you, Fitz, he said as he pulled away from my mind.
I’m glad I could help. It was good to spend time together. I miss you. I was surprised by how much I longed for him to be home. I hid the strength of feeling, but the shape of it seeped through. I felt his astonishment, but he immediately sent back the same. He missed me too.
Will we be able to spend time together outside of Skill-lessons?
We can make the time, lad. I promised him.
We will. He sounded satisfied. I better go now. We have an early morning. Talk to you tomorrow, Fitz.
Tomorrow, I agreed, then he cut the connection.
Alone again, I fetched dinner. After four straight days of tumult, I needed a relaxing evening with my Fool. I told him as much when I entered our chambers.
He simpered in response and took the tray from my hands. He claimed our seventeenth kiss in the process, and I hummed with appreciation. “I suppose I could make time tonight for such an evening,” he jested lightly. He laid out our meal at our little table while I darted into our room for a change of clothing.
I returned and sat down in a chair. He had poured apricot brandy for us both, and I took an appreciative sip. Then my belly rumbled, and I dove into the hearty shepherd’s pie that Cook had prepared.
As we ate, the Fool told me a farcical tale about a miscommunication between him, Flit, and Prudence today. I could not help laughing as I imagined the Fool hiding only partially clothed behind the door that Prudence had opened to ask if he needed water for his bath now or later.
“In all our time together, I have never once walked in on you in partial dress. How did you manage it today?” I wished I had been there to witness it.
“Oh, sheer laziness I suppose. Only you and Prudence come to our rooms, and you were at Skill-lessons. I thought I was in the clear, but I had not been clear enough with Flit about how late in the afternoon I wanted the bath. If you and Nettle had visited my chambers only a little sooner, we would have had a repeat performance.” He gave a short awkward laugh. Impulsively I leaned over to kiss the unease from him, and he was stiff only for a moment before his lips softened beneath mine. I kept kissing him until I was certain it would not return. Eighteen.
“I wish we could figure out how to communicate with words through our Skill link,” I said. “Nighteyes said it was almost like a Wit-bond, but it doesn’t feel the same to me.” I was frustrated at our inability, though I knew he was relieved that we had any link at all.
“Why don’t we try tonight?” the Fool asked, his eyes sparkling. “I would love to talk to you as easily as you talk with Chade, Beloved. That is, if it would be a relaxing enough evening for you,” he amended hastily.
“Perhaps for a time,” I agreed.
“Let me try first. I’ll try sending you a word.” He closed his eyes, and a thin line formed between his brows as he concentrated.
When I closed my eyes to focus, I sensed a tumult of playful delight and excitement from him. I opened them. “Fool, I can’t hear a damn word, but I would guess that you’re trying to Skill your own name to me.” Beloved reddened prettily at having been called out.
How could I not kiss him? I brought my lips to his for our nineteenth kiss, he deepened it as best he could with the table between us. When we parted, he took my hand and guided me to sit not on the couch but on the rug before the hearth. He placed his hands on my shoulders to press me to the floor. He kissed me so gently there, his mouth tasting of apricots, and my eager tongue longed for more. He pulled away to draped himself along my body, resting his head on his elbow to look down at me. His eyes were wide, and he wore the faintest of smiles.
I thought back to a time in my cabin when we laid in a similar position, but our bodies and lips did not touch. I claimed our twenty-first kiss without thinking, sinking my fingers into his hair and pulling his head down to mine, my belly braced as I lifted myself to meet him. I wanted to tumble him over and ravish him, but I held myself back. What if he did not want me to? I freed him and laid back down.
Twenty-one kisses. I marveled at the number. Nineteen in the past two days. All of them exchanged with love and only a few with a drop of insecurity. I had pressed each of them into my heart like flowers in a book to preserve them.
How many more would I get before he realized I was not worth it? Ten? Twenty? Would he deposit me at Molly’s door or at Chade’s feet or in Kettricken’s privy? Would he leave me to find something or someone more worthy of his time?
“Beloved?” he asked, concern written on his face.
“Just thinking.” I was unable to shake myself free from my sense of inadequacy even as he was draped along me, his face flushed from kissing me.
He bit his lip, and I waited for a rebuke. “Do you want to keep trying to Skill together?”
I latched onto the idea, abandoning my ocean of insecurity when he offered me a raft of connection. I clutched it and refused to look around. I paid no attention to the tumult underneath. “Let me try?”
The Fool nodded, and I reached for the tether connecting our minds as I so often did with the Skill. When I held him as close as possible, I thought the word pastry at him repeatedly, trying to mentally enunciate.
His head tilted as though he listened with his ears. He knocked a hand against his head several times. “It sounds like when you and Nighteyes talked to each other. Like you are on the other side of a thick wall. The words are too muffled.”
“Can you try to focus on it? Like putting a cup against a wall when you need to hear what’s on the other side,” I offered. He looked at me incredulously then shook his head, closing his eyes to concentrate.
“Paisley?” he asked at last.
“What’s paisley?”
“It’s a fabric pattern with little curved drops on it! Quite the rage in Jamaillia lately.” He described the design with much enthusiasm, and I tried to pay attention, but I was soon lost. When at last he looked at me, he stopped mid-sentence. “You don’t care about paisley, do you,” he said blandly. I would have felt guilty, but he kissed me with great intensity. Perhaps he enjoyed that not all our interests aligned.
“You were close. I was thinking ‘pastry’,” I said when he released me.
“Well, that makes far more sense than a fabric pattern you’ve never heard of. Why pastry?”
“Because it was the least obvious think I could think of.” I glared at him, and he grinned in response. “Want to try again?”
We continued like that for a time. I enjoyed myself far more than I would have expected. We kissed with every word we tried, and it became a game to pick the most obscure word we could think of. We were correct rarely, but we were close far more often than I expected. It was a long way from speaking in sentences to each other, but it was still progress.
I gave up when he sent me the word ‘fellatio,’ and he cackled when I asked what it meant. When he described it, all I said was that it sounded like a complicated term for such a simple act. He looked at me intently then, and I was unable to hold his gaze for long.
I tried to dispel the tension.
“What, is it rare when are you from? Here I expected it to be common in a place with such… sexual freedoms,” I said awkwardly.
“It’s quite common, I believe, though I left as a child. I did not expect it to be a thing you experienced very frequently, given the sexual repression of the Six Duchies.” The calculating look did not leave his face.
“Do you want to have this conversation?” I asked, my voice sharp. I could have it. I would not enjoy it, and it did not seem necessary. But if he wanted to have it, we could. We could share all the sordid details of our past experiences. Surely that would not be uncomfortable in the least.
A small part of me wanted to hear him tell his side. He knew almost everything of my past experiences, and I knew nearly nothing of his.
He thought about my question for quite some time, but he finally shook his head. “No, I think not. But it is good to know you aren’t a complete barbarian.” His eyes scanned me salaciously, and his gaze settled on my lips.
I did not want to pretend to have more experience than I had, but I was more than capable of using my mouth, and I informed him as such. He laughed, and I did not know how to respond, so I opted to get more brandy and placed the bottle on the floor by our heads.
“Teach me Mercen?” I handed him a small glass, hoping it would distract him. He smiled as he took a sip, and we began.
I still could not hear the tonal differences that he insisted were there. Eventually he acknowledged that I did not need to be perfect to be understood, and he began to teach me more vocabulary. After a time, I was able to say some very basic sentences, and I thanked my assassin’s training for my quick memory. He kissed me on the rare occasion that I said a word perfectly. We somehow reached sixty kisses, and I pressed each one into memory.
“What’s your name in your own language?” I asked, keeping my tone as casual as I could manage.
“What do you mean?”
“Your mother called you ‘beloved’ in Mercen, and I assume the Mercen word is not the same word as ours. I was wondering if I could call you your Mercen name, if you wanted.” I wanted it desperately, but I wanted more for him not to re-live his torture.
“That’s a good idea,” Beloved said after a time. “The name my family called me has no negative affiliation beyond… beyond my own distance from it.” He gave a crooked smile. “I have not used it since I left my school, you see.” He combed his crooked fingers through his hair.
“Well, maybe you can teach me and then we’ll see how you feel?” I sank a hand into his hair to still his frantic motions. He seized my hand and moved them to rest between us.
“Fitz what… what would you like to be called in Mercen?” He asked. “If we are to have a language just our own in Buckkeep, it would be better if your Duchy name is not mixed with Mercen. But calling you Fitz in Mercen would be even more off putting than calling me Fool in yours.”
Silence stretched between us, and I stared at our joined hands. “Because my name means bastard.”
“Yes.”
“What’s the word for it?”
“For bastard?” The Fool said it. For such a musical language, the word was uniquely harsh.
I flinched. “And what’s your name?”
And of course it sounded beautiful.
“Well, that does put it into perspective,” I said sourly.
“What did your mother call you?” His voice broke the silence.
“You know she calls me Tom. Thomas or Fitz rarely.”
“Not Patience. Your mountain mother. Perhaps whatever she called you has a meaning we can translate into Mercen. Tom has no good translation, but we can make it work if you like.” He carefully concealed any irritation he may have felt at my denseness, and I wondered what else he hid.
“Right. Don’t you remember from giving me my memories back?” I shifted awkwardly, trying to deflect the responsibility of saying the name out loud first. I had long since abandoned the name, and I felt I had no right to reclaim it.
“Of course not. Fitz, your memories burned in me. I did not linger, nor did I pry.” He ran his thumb along mine. “You don’t have to answer this question if you don’t want to. I understand.”
“It just doesn’t feel like my name.”
“I understand. We can make Thomas work,” and he smiled at me so kindly that I could not stop myself.
“It’s Keppet.”
“Keppet?”
“It’s Chyurda,” I reminded him.
A strange chuckle bubbled up out of him, and it ramped up into almost hysterical laughter. I rolled away from him, curling up at the sound. I had expected this to be his reaction to my childhood name. I wanted to leave and take my terrible abandoned name with me. Toss it in the ocean and burn it and leave it to die bleeding out in the sun.
At my movement, he went instantly silent. He placed his hand on my arm and tried to rotate me towards him. I resisted. “Fitz, I’m sorry. I did not expect it, that’s all. Did you ever learn what your name means?” He asked so kindly, but I refused to budge from the ball I was in. I shook my head. “It means wanted, desired, wished for. It’s Chyurda for Beloved.”
I unwound myself a bit. “Don’t tease me. Not about this,” I warned him.
“I promise I’m not. We can ask Kettricken if you wish or look through a dictionary somewhere. But Fitz, our mothers gave us the same name.” He was silent for a time as I uncurled myself to give him an incredulous look.
The Fool reached out a finger to stroke the length of my crooked nose. “Fitz, do you see? Your mother must have wanted you so badly. It must have hurt her so much when your grandfather took you to Moonseye.” He mourned for this mother I scarcely remembered, but I was not ready to remember her or think of her as someone who loved me. Twenty-eight years after my mother abandoned me, and still I was not ready for it.
“Can we talk about anything else?” I begged, my eyes darting around, my fingers clamped on his knees. “Anything else. Please.”
“Of course, Fitz,” He said gently. “can I tell you about the cat I had as a child?” I did not care about cats, but I did care about him, so I nodded. I scarcely heard a word he said, though he must have spent over an hour praising this cat. During that time, I drank far more brandy than was good for me, but he kept pouring and matched me glass-for-glass.
When we finished the bottle, we switched to water, which he drank with enthusiasm. He somehow still had more things to say about this cat, a tiny fluffy white thing named Phoenix, who was named after some mythical bird that did not die easily or, potentially, ever. If his stories were to be believed, the name was somehow fitting for a cat named for a bird.
It was late when he ran out of things to tell me about her. He was on his back, his arm slung over his eyes, while his other hand swirled his glass of brandy fille with water. I was lying on my side and not quite touching him. “Can I still call you Beloved?” he asked hesitantly.
“Of course you can. It’s your name.”
“Thank you, Beloved.” He removed his arm from his eyes and gave me a sodden smile.
I decided to do the next best thing for both of us. I gathered him in my arms and carried him, step by wobbly step, to our bed. I knew the depth of his exhaustion and inebriation when he did not protest in the least. I laid him down carefully, then I threw myself onto the bed and slept like a drunk.
I awoke in darkness aching and sweaty, my head pounding. The water at the end of the evening did not offset the excess before it. I hung off the edge of the bed, the Fool curled like a kitten against me, drooling onto my pillow with a serene expression on his face. I tried to sit up and misjudged entirely, tumbling onto the floor with a crash and a yelp.
The Fool mumbled in his sleep but did not wake.
I cautiously stood and went to drink yet more water. I poked hopefully at the remains of our meal, desperate for salt. With a beleaguered sigh, I realized I needed to make a trip to the kitchens.
I cleaned myself as best I could in the washbasin, then changed into clothes that did not reek of alcohol and sweat. I tried not to wobble on my way through the halls. There was not point using the spy ways in the dead of night. The kitchen staff tittered at me, and I ignored them entirely. I assembled a meal: sandwiches with thick rashers of bacon and eggs, a large bowl of oatmeal laden with dried fruits and nuts, and a plate of the blandest crackers I could find. I begged for ginger biscuits. I claimed a pitcher of broth and, after a moment of consideration, another of coffee. I took my tray and tottered back to our suite.
I began to reintroduce food into my stomach, though I considered visiting the privy to speed up what seemed inevitable. I was surprised when the Fool emerged from our bedroom. He looked at the meal with little enthusiasm but began to feed himself as well. We ate in companionable misery. I worried greatly that we would be struck by the need to vomit at the same time, and I could not imagine that our relationship was comfortable enough to share the experience.
My stomach settled, though the Fool did wind up visiting the privy. He returned, and I passed him a cup of water and a sprig of mint, which he chewed wearily. At last, he broke our silence. “In Jamaillia, they make a paste that cleans teeth very effectively. They use small brushes to apply it and do it each day. It is the thing I miss the most, I think.”
I chewed my own mint. “You could send for some.”
“I just might.” He tried the crackers, and I passed over the pitcher of coffee. He poured himself a small cup and dipped a ginger biscuit in. “What time is it?”
“Perhaps two hours before dawn. I want to go back to sleep, but I cannot stand the smell I left in the bed.” The thought of it almost emptied my stomach.
“I awoke to it. It was not pleasant,” he agreed.
“You were on my side of the bed.” I did not have the energy for indignation.
“I started on my side,” he explained. “I awoke partway during the night, and it smelled worse than yours.” I could not imagine that to be true, scentless as he often was.
“Is it worth it to change the bedding?” I asked. I wished it to simply be changed and dreaded the effort to make it so. Doing anything other than sitting and moaning seemed beyond my abilities.
He sipped his coffee and shook his head. “I won’t be able to fall back asleep, and you can use the couch. I’ll have Prudence come by later and take a bath then.”
“Is Nettle joining you for breakfast today?” I asked suddenly. It seemed that was what they agreed to yesterday afternoon, but perhaps that had changed.
“Yes,” he groaned and laid his head on the table. “A fine first breakfast with your daughter this will be.” I pushed the broth to him, and he alternated between sips of broth and bites of cracker. I did not envy him.
“I’ll change the bedding,” I said. “You might not be able to sleep before she visits, but perhaps resting will help.” He nodded wearily and betrayed his exhaustion by lack of argument. I stood and did my task.
I did not care about the corners as much as Prudence might, but I did an admirable job considering the state I was in. Then I stripped and sponged myself more thoroughly so that I was actually, and the Fool did not even stare at my nudity on brazen display. I put on a clean nightshirt and went to him. “The bed is made. Do you want me to carry you?” I asked seriously.
“No. That would only upset my stomach more,” he looked like he might visit the privy a second time. I hovered until he shooed me away. I went to bed and somehow fell asleep before he joined me.
I woke feeling far better than I had any right to, though I was once again famished despite the late-night meal. I kissed the Fool’s head and went to finish the rest of the tray, even having a cup of coffee despite my usual indifference to the taste. I craved its bitterness more than I expected. I organized the dirty dishes onto the tray and put it on the table by the door.
I went back to the Fool and shook his shoulder lightly. His eyes opened blearily, and they slowly focused on me. “It’s almost time for breakfast. Are you feeling better? I can cancel with Nettle if you need me to.”
He sat up and stretched, yawning mightily. “I should be fine. The meal last night was inspired.”
“I finished the rest of it, but Nettle will be bringing more.”
“Oh that’s fine. I could use some fruit, and I think I could even manage a pastry. Do you have any idea what she takes for breakfast?”
“No idea, but I imagine she’ll bring options as she does not know what you prefer either.” My daughter seemed to me to be conscientious in that way.
“Well, it will be food, and I could use some more.” He swung his legs around to stand, and surprisingly he did not wobble. “Go, Fitz. I’m fine. I would like to clean myself a bit before teaching your daughter how to comport herself properly. I won’t be convincing if I smell like a drunken sot when I do so.” I did not argue that he smelled of nothing even now. Instead, I kissed his cheek and took myself to Kettricken’s rooms.
After wrapping up both the wool debacle and the Bingtown trade agreement, we were able to refocus on the Old Blood and Piebald struggles. Late last night, there had been an altercation between the groups scarcely a two-day ride from Buckkeep, and my Queen wanted to go herself. I wanted to as well, and somehow despite both of us wanting it, we managed to talk ourselves out of going. We could do nothing now, and the trip would take time away from drafting a solution.
When at last Chade and Dutiful Skilled us, my old mentor immediately raised his concern about legitimacy in Duchy-Outislander marriages. As we worked, I allowed Chade and Dutiful to drape themselves over my mind so that I could contribute more easily. None of us missed the irony that two royal bastards and a Mountain Queen were the ones drafting the this legislation. We tried overmuch to include Dutiful in the decision-making process, in an attempt to correct our biases. He tried to speak toward the cultural norm of legitimacy in the Six Duchies, but it was not in his heart.
“I think we might need to turn this over to the Dukes.” I looked at the pages we had drafted with so many crossed out words and arrows that it was barely legible. Chade encouraged me to lay out them out next to one another so we could view them all.
“This is terrible,” Dutiful said as he looked through my eyes. I repeated his words for Kettricken. I had picked up various vocal inflections to differentiate between Chade and Dutiful’s voice, so I did not have to say ‘Chade says’ or ‘Dutiful says’ every time. I spoke with three different voices, and Kettricken spoke with one. It was strange, but far more efficient than otherwise.
“This is terrible,” she agreed.
“Why can’t we just allow bastards to inherit?” Dutiful asked.
“You know why,” I said the same time as Chade and Kettricken. We all flinched.
“I agree, Dutiful,” Kettricken said soothingly. “But now is not the time to change the laws of inheritance so drastically. Every house has at least one bastard in its past. We cannot have infighting each time inheritance is distributed.”
“The people care about it, my Prince. Marriage oaths are a longstanding custom that all take part in. How can the common people trust the duke or duchess to fulfill their oaths to his people if they breaks their marriage oaths without recourse? To allow bastards to inherit without difficulty would undermine trust between the people and the nobles. In this instance, bastards must suffer in the name of peace in the kingdom,” Chade explained it patiently, though his tone was sharp. I had sudden insight then as to why he sought stability so strongly, while Kettricken and I were more concerned with justice. I did not enjoy the realization.
“And so the bastard suffers from his parent’s mistake, and he builds laws that ensure future bastards suffer as well.” My words were bitter.
“Oaths bind us all, my boy. Even nobles. Even Farseers,” Chade said, and I did not know a way to respond to that that would be neither childish nor dishonest.
“Well,” Kettricken broke the silence. She stacked the pages and straightened them. “This is a fine start at least. I will have a scribe rewrite it for legibility, then bring it to the Dukes for their review.”
“Elliana should review it too when she comes,” Dutiful pointed out. “She would know best what would work for her people and what would not.”
“As long as she gets to Buckkeep soon. We will need this to be instated before Winterfest. Ideally sooner,” Chade said. The Skill link between us thrummed with his upset that the girl stayed in Wuislington instead of returning with them. He was even more upset that Dutiful granted her request behind his back.
“Yes, you made your opinion clear. She will come, Chade. I trust her, and she will not go back on her oaths,” Dutiful said with confidence with which I did not agree but would not undermine.
“We’ll speak on the morrow then?” I wished the conversation to be over. They assented and broke contact.
“I hate doing it.” Kettricken picked up the stack of papers and walked them over to her desk. “By putting forth these limitations on legitimacy, I feel I am setting aside my beliefs to ensure my son will inherit. It will seem self-serving to those who do not know us.”
“You spoke for me when you returned with Verity, and I think the people will remember that too.” Still she frowned. “Perhaps they will finally see you embracing Duchy customs instead of that ‘damnable mountain upbringing,’” I joked using Chade’s voice.
She let loose a full-throated laugh, and I grinned at my success. “Well, at least we know what is true, even if we must hide it in public.” I nodded awkwardly, chilled by the way her words echoed what the Fool often said about our own relationship.
She hugged me before we parted, and she held on far longer than I would expect. Perhaps she needed comfort at being forced to pass forth legislation that so opposed to her beliefs. I took myself to training yard to take out my own frustrations on the matter.
I was improving in the axe far slower than I preferred, but faster than I expected after only a few days. I took myself to the steams and nursed my bruises, then ate in the guardsmen’s hall before rushing to Verity’s tower.
Thick, Nettle, and I continued to organize the scrolls, but our progress was slowed dramatically when we found that many were covered with lamp oil. It coated our hands and arms no matter how cautious we were, and we went through many towels. Thick agreed to see them to the laundry so they could be cleaned by tomorrow, but he complained about it, calling it servants’ work.
“The scrolls are our responsibility as Skill-users. It’s students’ work, not servants’ work, even if the tasks do seem similar,” I reminded him. Still, he grumbled, but I was certain he would do it.
I was surprised when Nettle rushed out of the tower, not staying to talk as I had expected. I tried not to let it bother me. Instead, I went back to my chambers, looking forward to seeing Beloved.
He kissed me deeply and with great enthusiasm when I entered. He pushed me back, his hips pinning me against the door frame, his tongue exploring my mouth, and his hands roving my clothed body. It seemed he might climb me like a tree. I grabbed him eagerly in support of such an endeavor, boldly moving my hands downward.
He groaned into my mouth when I reached the swell of his ass. I massaged my hands into him, my desire flaring within me. He moaned into my mouth and sucked my tongue into him, and I tasted the sweetness his sharp tongue fiercely protected. I bent to lift him, but as I did so, he released me suddenly, both his feet firmly on the ground.
I wanted to spin us and put him against the wall, to rip off his leggings and mine. I wanted to lift him up and--
I was so dizzy with desire that I swayed with it. My hands rose to rest on his narrow waist, gripping his covered flesh as I struggled to contain myself. He pulled back to look at my face, and whatever he saw there delighted him greatly.
“Miss me?” He pressed his thigh against the arousal in my trousers. My eyelids fluttered closed, and I groaned.
“As much as you missed me,” I responded breathlessly. I felt his own arousal against my thigh, and I had the sudden desire to drop to my knees and rub my face against it, to use my mouth on him and demonstrate my willingness to do so. Would he allow me to remove his leggings or would he ask me to work through his clothing? It did not matter. I would kiss and lick up and down his length until I had saturated his leggings. I would use my lips, tongue, hands, anything to bring him release. Would he spill through the fabric? Would he push me back or let me coat my cheeks with his spend? Would he kiss me then?
I could only wonder.
Lovesick, I scolded myself. Lustful and lecherous, whispered my darker thoughts. I shook my head and reprioritized. I had to do this before it faded even a little. I pressed this kiss into my book of kisses, so shockingly thick now. Sixty-one.
“Welcome back,” the Fool smiled at me. I wondered which of my thoughts had played out on my face. Did he know the depths of depravity I had plunged to?
“I never left,” I lied, kissing his mouth once more. Sixty-two. I pressed it greedily.
“Of course you didn’t,” he agreed easily. “Do you have dinner plans? Evening plans?” I shook my head. “Wonderful. Do you trust me?”
“Of course,” I said impulsively. A second later I was suspicious. “Why?”
He grinned broadly at my response, “Nettle and I were thinking of having dinner in Patience’s chambers tonight, all of us.”
That did not seem so great an ask. “That sounds fine.” Why would such a dinner require trust?
“Good,” He purred. I tried to hide how his voice made me shiver, but I was too close to my lewd dreams that I could not contain it. His eyes widened, and I saw him bite back a comment. His grin turned lecherous, and I kneaded his sides to keep myself from slipping back into lustful wishing.
“Well, I am going to help her set up now. Will you meet us there in a few hours?” he asked innocently.
“I can do that.” I would visit the training fields again to alleviate my new source of frustration.
“Thank you. I’ll have Nettle Skill you when its time. Be sure to shave without cutting yourself, and wear the clothes I bought you last year, you know the outfit.” He made his demands with Lord Golden’s clipped voice, and I shivered once more.
So he kissed me goodbye and left through the walls, and I visited Myblack, the training fields, and the steams once more. I was calm so long as I did not think about the ominously cheery tone he had spoken with as he instructed me how to ready myself for the evening. My concern did not prevent me from following his words to the letter, however, and I dressed myself in the striped Buck blue leggings, the white shirt, and the blue doublet that he had so admired. I put on my cleanest, least worn boots. I brushed my hair as best I could, smoothing it with the oil he had used on it before, and tying the bulk of it back. In the mirror, I looked like my father’s son, I realized with trepidation. Perhaps not to those who did not know me, but certainly to those who do.
My unease arose as dinner approached, and I reminded myself uneasily that I could trust them. Whatever he and Nettle and Patience had concocted, it could not possibly be something that would harm me.
My foot tapped impatiently as I waited until Nettled Skilled to me. When she did, I shot upright and went through the walls to emerge in the unused servant’s room in Patience’s chambers.
I opened the door cautiously, uncertain what I would find. On the other side of the door, I saw my mother wearing the laciest gown I had ever seen, while Lacey herself was in a plain burgundy dress with a fetching short blue cape. My Fool wore a lavender frippery he had found of Lord Golden’s that accentuated his supple waist and hid his thinness, while Nettle dressed in a well-made but simple light blue gown with dark blue accents.
To my surprise, Molly was also there, dressed in a loose black blouse and scarlet skirts. Kettricken wore her customary white and purple.
My entire family in residence at Buckkeep was in the room tonight.
Notes:
Does anyone else read medieval fantasy and worry about character’s dental hygiene?
Just me?
OK
Chapter 16: Dancing without Music
Chapter Text
I froze at the sight of them all. I think it was expected of me given how Patience immediately seized my arm with hers and pulled me into the room, somehow managing to close the door behind me and chattering all the while. Lacey, Molly, and Nettle were already inn their own little group, while the Fool and Kettricken spoke animatedly by the hearth. I wondered whether the two of them had met since he returned to Buckkeep and, knowing both their schedules quite well, thought it unlikely.
The small round table that usually resided in my mothers’ rooms had been replaced with a larger one. Seven identical chairs surrounded it. Patience deposited me on one and sat down next to me. I finally came to myself when she asked, “Have you been hearing a word I’ve been saying, Tom?”
From my look of guilt, she had her answer. “I’m sorry, Mother. I was distracted. What were you saying?” I adopted such a poor look of attentiveness that she only sighed at me.
“Well, I was saying how delightful it was to have my entire family in one room for once. I can’t recall when it happened last. There used to be so many more of us, so it was hard. Shrewd never liked me you know, and Desire and Regal hated me, and Chade only recently emerged from the woodwork. I wanted Dutiful and Chade here as well, but Molly leaves tomorrow, and that old rascal needs a good whacking besides before I allow him into my rooms.” I could not help but smile at the image of Patience taking her fan to Chade’s hide, the old assassin protesting but unable to dodge without making a fool of himself.
“Molly is leaving tomorrow?” I asked at last, looking over to her. She heard me speak her name and glanced over her shoulder at me. The set of her shoulders betrayed her nerves.
“Do you hear nothing, Tom? Yes, her three oldest boys are home alone, and her two youngest need more room to run than they’re getting in this old castle, and everyone in this room is more than willing to look after Nettle for her. She’ll be back come Harvestfest for Swift’s return, and I reckon I can find two more chairs by then!”
“You would need another if you want to host Molly and all her children at the same time,” I jested awkwardly.
“Well do I know it, Fitz. Imagine, our little Molly with such a large brood of her own, and most of them with Burrich’s dark eyes to glare at us all!” Her voice held a touch of dismay and trepidation. My mother and I exchanged a look of understanding, that her first love and my first love would marry. What a strange spiral we have danced, yet we were still standing. We were still together.
My heart surged with sudden affection for her. This small woman stayed herself despite all the pressures and voices telling her she was inadequate. I wished I had her courage and strength, and I hoped I had her quiet capability in spite of myself. If I had even an ounce of it, I was certain I could handle whatever the next few years had in store for me.
“I love you, Mother.” I put my arm around her shoulders, hugging her from the side. She rested her head against my shoulder.
“Don’t you go making an old woman cry, Tom. It’s unseemly,” she whispered. I found her a handkerchief and looked around me as she dabbed her eyes. The Fool had brought Kettricken over to Molly, Nettle, and Lacey, and he worked his magic to smooth any awkwardness in the conversation. Soon Kettricken and Molly smiled at each other, and I wondered what they spoke of.
Once my mother’s eyes dried, Lacey and Nettle joined us at the table first. Nettle chose to sit on my other side much to my delight. Lacey took her place next to Patience, patting my mother’s arm as she did so.
Patience lifted her head from my shoulder and dabbed her eyes once more. She glanced briefly toward Lacey, then spoke as though she had not just been in tears. “Nettle, how lovely to see you! And in such a dress, so much more attractive than those Jamaillian fripperies! How lovely of you and our Fool to arrange this dinner with all of us together. I was just telling Tom how wonderful it is to have most of my family in the same room after so long.”
Nettle reddened at the compliment. She demurred shyly, “It was the Fool’s idea, I only had the best ability to gather everyone. You graciously provide the room, grandmother.” Having named her thus, Patience burst out into tears once again, clinging bodily to me as she sobbed. Nettle’s eyes widened at such a reaction.
I shook my head firmly at my daughter as my mother soaked my nice clothes, and Lacey rubbed Patience’s back. “Oh, to be named such after waiting so long. You truly gave her the best gift possible, Nettle,” she told my daughter. The Fool looked over at us then to inspect the commotion, and I saw him decide to grant my mother as much privacy as possible. He distracted Molly and Kettricken by with a dramatic telling of some story I could not hear over my mother’s wailing in my ear, his hands gesturing enthusiastically to the tale. I rubbed her back soothingly and reached out with my Wit to soothe her as well.
Patience eventually pulled away from me and used her sodden handkerchief to dab first her eyes then at the wreckage of my doublet. I thought she made it worse but did not bother saying as much.
“Now I’ve gone and ruined your clothing, Fitz. You looked so much like my Chiv when you came in. Oh, how he would turn heads, but he had eyes only for me, you know,” She said wistfully, and I had no good response for that.
The Fool unfortunately chose that moment to bring his little group to the table. “Fitz turned the heads of nearly every woman and not a small number of the men when he was younger, but he was too dense to notice.” The Fool teased me, as he sat down next to Nettle. Molly claimed the seat on the other side of Lacey, and Kettricken sat between them nearly opposite of me. My Queen smiled conspiratorially at me.
Lacey chimed in, seizing the opportunity for light-hearted conversation even if it was at my expense. “Oh I remember that. Patience, dear, remember how much you worried about all the attention he received? It was practically a relief to learn he had eyes only for our Molly. And then we had an entirely different problem of course.” I was not looking forward to where the conversation was going.
As we ate, Patience bemoaned Molly and I’s youthful relationship as only she could, and somehow she succeeded in making all around the table laugh at our antics. Lacey, the Fool, and even Kettricken chimed in with their own experience of our doomed courting. I did not think that topic would be so well received given that Molly and I were discussed so candidly. Nettle was given a very complete view of how foolishly in love we were, and somehow we three managed to laugh most of all by the end of it. I experienced a peculiar delight of seeing how my mother and Molly related to one another when I was not fixated on romancing Molly and outmaneuvering my mother.
“Surely it was not so bad as that,” Molly protested.
“Oh, my dear, it was like laying a trap for a mouse and returning to find not only the bait gone, but the entire wheel of cheese as well!” Patience wagged her finger at Molly.
“Are you planning similar tactics with Chivalry and Thrift?” Nettle asked curiously.
“Oh Chivalry does not have to worry about the crown’s opinion in his marriage.” Molly eyed Kettricken as she said it, who inclined her head gracefully in agreement. “They will wed soon enough, though I don’t know how we can fit more people in our house, let alone a married couple.”
Patience pounced on the topic shift. “Speaking of. Molly, I transferred Withywoods to you on purpose. It’s large enough for your entire family. Plenty of room for children and babies in that old estate.” She introduced the solution very effectively, somehow managing not to stir Molly’s anger.
“I know, Patience, but it feels wrong to accept it. I want to earn what I own. I can’t accept such a large gift,” Molly said forcefully.
“Bah, with all you and Burrich did for the Crown and me, you have more than earned it. You two gave my granddaughter a safe home filled with other children and love and happiness to grow up in rather than this dour old castle. And your husband kept Fitz here alive with great difficulty. We all know that if my son had died in that dungeon, we would not have a Six Duchies to live in! I was the Lady of Buckkeep during the war, you know, and I promise you we would not have made it another year if Verity and his dragons hadn’t shown up.” And like that, Patience had very neatly presented Withywoods not as a gift, but as a much-delayed payment for services rendered.
Molly was silent, and her stubbornness lingered in the set of her shoulders. Kettricken glanced briefly towards me, then turned entirely towards Molly. “Lady Molly, without your husband’s loyalty, everyone in this chamber would be dead, and the Six Duchies would be overrun. This is the very least I can do to thank your family for my kingdom. Please allow me to recognize Burrich as the hero he is and has always been. He refused me while he was alive, but well do I know the difficulty of living on and taking care of a family after the husband has passed. I would see Burrich’s family taken care of and his service recognized.” And like that, Kettricken had made the acceptance of Withywoods a favor to the queen.
Molly could find no way to reject Withywoods without rejecting Burrich, Patience, and Kettricken, so she finally accepted as gracefully as she could. Kettricken offered to send Molly back with a couple of guards to help around the homestead and assist the moving process. Molly deferred until spring, insisting that her family had experienced far too many changes in the past year to leave their home as well. They agreed to meet during Harvestfest to arrange the details, however. My Queen also made it clear that Molly was free to request anything of her and, if it were within her power, she would see it accomplished.
I was pleased to see Molly taken care of. I intended to remind her later that night that I too would help as much as I was able, though I was thoroughly outdone by Patience and Kettricken’s efforts. Did the two of of them conspired together, or if they came to the decision independently? Both seemed equally likely, and I decided it did not matter as I was greatly pleased to see Chivalry’s widow and Verity’s widow were allied as closely as they were tonight.
Once that task was accomplished, our conversation wandered and roamed. We touched on Nettle’s education by myself, Kettricken, and the Fool, while Patience reminisced over her difficulty teaching me. I protested heartily and my tales about Patience’s distinct impatience while she tried to find anything I was naturally talented in were well-received by all. Lacey corroborated with me, describing the way Patience would hand me an instrument and expect me to learn it in the span of an hour, only to whisk it away because I had not mastered it immediately.
We also spoke of herbs in great detail as all of us had an appreciation and varied expertise. I tried to keep my own knowledge vague, saying this or that would cause illness if taken in certain ways, but I did not fool anyone. Molly eventually declared that she knew how I was trained and was I quite positive that if powdered, a particular herb would stop the lungs if breathed in, as it smelled quite lovely when whole, but she did not want to asphyxiate while trying to turn it into a candle. The horror in my face was enough to convince her. I thankfully did not have to tell her that I had used it twice in my youth to great effect.
Once I had been revealed, Kettricken sheepishly relayed the story of how we two met, describing how she tried to poison me because of Regal’s loose tongue. Patience thwacked me with her fan for consuming strange herbs from strange women in a place I barely spoke the language. I petulantly switched to Chyurda, and Kettricken and I had a brief discussion about how well I did understand the language at the time, and Patience thwacked me again for speaking a language not understood by everyone at the table.
My mother did not thwack the queen.
At some point, the Fool brought out his bottle of apricot brandy and poured little glasses for everyone, which everyone enjoyed greatly, even Nettle and Molly. Once we were all a little tipsy, he declared if this was a true party, there would be a minstrel and dancing. Since there were no minstrels in the family, we would all have to use our imaginations and dance anyway.
The Fool made quite the show of asking Nettle to dance, and Patience pulled me up as well. Kettricken, Lacey, and Molly conversed as we four made fools of ourselves dancing without any music at all. Eventually the Fool claimed my hand and declared that “Dancers have a right and a left foot, and some need to be taught which is which.” Such a statement encouraged the women to dance together. I could not help but blush and stumble around awkwardly while the Fool took the woman’s role and tried very patiently to teach me.
“Fitz, I promise if you look into my eyes rather than your feet, you will do much better,” he said with exasperation.
“But I don’t want to step on your feet!”
“You’re more likely to step on them if you keep going as you are. Now come, look at me.”
So I looked at him and blushed deeply at how close our faces and bodies were to one another. I longed to kiss him, but it was impossible, so I did not. Instead, I tried to keep the interest from my face. Distracted by desire and a powerful need to hide my emotions, I stepped on his foot, and he yelped in pain. I stopped, anxious to see how badly I had harmed him in my clumsiness, but he waved me away as he leaned against the mantle and drummed out a simple beat.
I joined Lacey back at the table, and she passed me a glass of brandy, eyes twinkling at me. The others switched to some sort of group dance that worked well with five, and I delighted in watching them. Somehow, they all managed to find a shared beat, though Patience was often half a beat too late or too early compared to everyone else. She stepped on a few toes, but she enjoyed dancing so much and weighed so little that no one was bothered. The Fool was by far the best dancer, and he matched well with Kettricken’s grace, Nettle’s caution, Patience’s enthusiasm, and Molly’s precision. His motions were less flamboyant than usual, and I saw that he was careful of twisting his back, but he made up for his limitations with the lightness of his feet. My eyes followed him across the floor. I was deeply content with my place on the sidelines.
“Oh, they are such bright creatures, our loves are,” Lacey sighed next to me. I saw her eyes watching the dancers much like mine, but her gaze was set on Patience.
“They are,” I said cautiously.
“It’s such an astounding thing that they chose quiet ones as we two,” she commented idly, and I looked at her without comprehension. “My Patience and your Fool. They love parties and dancing and talking with any who will listen, and they love us too. They love us so well,” she said it with such longing that not even I could misunderstand her meaning.
Of course the two of them were lovers. It was not the bounds between lady and maid that eroded overtime, but more likely an unwillingness to hide themselves alongside a trust that others would believe their excuse as I did. Perhaps there was a lady in Buckkeep who would share her own bed with her elderly maid because the one provided was too narrow and firm, but it seemed far more likely that eventhe kindliest lady would support her maid’s retirement and hire a maid better able to do the job.
With my sudden realization, I nodded slowly. “They do,” I said with great satisfaction. The Fool would not begrudge me this honesty. Indeed, I expected he would happily shout our relationship from the highest tower if doing such a thing would not cause me to die of shock.
“Good,” she said with satisfaction. We watched our lovers spin each other around the floor.
After a time, Molly came over and asked me to dance, and I was forced to remind her that my feet could not be trusted. “Then we will sway to the music we cannot hear, and even your clumsy feet cannot fail at that. Please, Fitz?”
How could I say no? I took Molly’s hand and marveled briefly that the mother of my child and the once-wife of my heart would allow me to dance with her. We swayed at first, then I began to lead our way through simple steps that I knew well enough.
“Thank you for speaking to Nettle,” I whispered into her ear. “It could not have been enjoyable, and you could have easily made me into a villain, but you didn’t. Thank you.”
“Oh, you were never a villain, Fitz. Only a clueless boy I loved with loyalties I did not understand,” She took a few steps. “Thank you for speaking to her of yourself first. It made my time far easier. I did not have to explain the whole of you, but only the parts of you I knew. It was easy to speak of Newboy and the Fitz, but much harder to speak of FitzChivalry, and this Tom Badgerlock that I know not at all. You saved me quite a bit of effort and guesswork.”
I remembered how the Fool and I quarreled over him playing roles, and at her naming of mine, I realized I had done the same. Molly had accepted it with far more grace than I had, though she had been far more harmed by the existence of my own aspects, as he would have termed them.
My instinct was to stop dancing and hug Molly instead in gratitude. I doubted she would accept, and I did not want to make more of a spectacle of ourselves than we already were. “Thank you,” was all I managed to say before my throat closed. We danced longer in silence for a time before I found my voice. “I meant what I said earlier this week: I do want to help you with the boys as best I can. I promised Burrich, and while I can’t fulfill his request as he expected, I will help you. You can lean on me.” I stopped speaking then, certain if I continued, I would sound like a boy again, making promises I had no ability to fulfill.
As though to test my words, Molly leaned bodily against me, and I supported her weight easily. We returned to swaying. “I know you will, Fitz. And I will take you up on that. You just be sure you don’t disappoint Nettle or my boys.”
“I won’t.” I hoped I could keep that promise.
She pulled away from me and pursed her lips. She looked me full in the eyes. “Then, FitzChivalry Farseer, will you write to me when I leave?”
Her request was so simple, yet I felt oddly incapable. I had never successfully maintained a correspondence with anyone. But then I recalled Web’s words about how we choose our time, and I was determined to succeed. “I will,” and she smiled slowly at me.
“Good. I look forward to it.”
We separated at last, our conversation concluded. I was quickly claimed by Kettricken, who spoke to me in Chyurda as we danced. She also, to both my dismay and appreciation, claimed the man’s role in leading the dance, while I was relegated to the position of follower. It suited my skillset in dancing, and I did not consider the other ways it suited me as well.
I tried to ask her subtly what the word Keppet meant, and she gave me an odd look. She spoke cautiously, “It is used as a pet-name, like darling or dear. It means ‘one who is loved’. I could see it growing in popularity, however, by mountain folk embracing Duchy naming conventions.” I thanked her and felt oddly lighter on my feet. We resumed our conversation in Chyurda, speaking of her plans for the Queen’s garden, and I was pleased the language came back to me.
Eventually we parted, with Patience claiming Kettricken while I nervously paired off with my daughter. Neither of us were confident so we were well-matched.
“What did you talk about with my mother?”
“You,” I said and smiled brightly at her dismay. “And Burrich.”
“You spoke about my Papa?”
“Yes. I think he expected me to court your mother after he died. He made me promise to look after her and the boys. We spoke of how I could fulfill my promise without courting her.” I was amused at the bind Burrich’s assumptions had put us into.
“You don’t plan on courting her?” She sounded surprised but not dismayed.
“What? No, of course not.” Had I not told Nettle this? Had Molly not?
“Oh. I thought you might. It seemed like you planned to when I first met you outside the steams.”
“I was considering it at the time, but I decided against it. That does not mean I won’t help her, though. It might even be easier to do so without that hanging over our heads.” I did not wish to speak of horses with either saddles or harnesses. I was deeply grateful to my Fool, however, for I did not know if I would recognize how poorly aligned Molly and I were if he had not provided an example of what it meant to love someone fully and truly. I was certain that I could be content sharing a life with Molly, but I would have to give up much of what made me happy.
Nettle, however, did not believe my words and switched our conversation to the Skill. Is it because you’re a Farseer bastard? Or will they not let you? Her narrowed eyes darted to Kettricken.
Aghast, I spun us around to block her glare, and she was forced to meet my gaze instead. I responded with the Skill as well. No Nettle. Kettricken would allow it. It would make her life difficult and Dutiful’s very difficult, but she would. No, I am choosing how I spend my time. I love Molly, but I would need to change and even excise parts of who I am and what I want in order to be with her. I will not maim myself for love, Nettle. Not even love of your mother.
Her eyes were wide as though she considered such a declaration to be a deeply foreign concept. After all, did we not shape ourselves to fit the needs of others? Did I not tell her just yesterday that the Crown controls our lives due to our illegitimacy? Perhaps I had rattled my cage so hard that she did not hear me when I told her that I held a copy of the key and the door was open besides. Perhaps she was so used to witnessing others who cut off bits of themselves so they could be loved. I hoped my daughter had not learned such a lesson.
Do you understand me? I asked gently.
I do, She sounded faint.
I’m sorry, Nettle.
No! No, you don’t need to be sorry. I understand, I do.
Alright, I was uncertain why she still looked dazed. I Skilled her waves of calm and love and a taste of my confusion.
Do you think I’ll have the same opportunity? To choose how to love? Her voice was so small, and the question so large.
I could not lie to her, but that did not mean I could not protect her. I don’t know Nettle, but I will fight tooth and claw to claim it for you if I must. I heard the wolf in my voice and my heart. Nighteyes might be dead, but that did not mean he was gone.
Good.
We danced a little longer until the Fool reclaimed me, taking the man’s role this time. I let myself be led. “What was that about?” He whispered into my hair.
“I promised I would protect her.” That was the gist of it.
“Oh good. Tell me, do you like your present?”
“The party?”
“That’s a part of it, yes.” He simpered at me.
“I do. It seems for you as much as me, however. You always liked parties more than I.”
“You aren’t bleeding out on a snowy hillside, but I do what I can.”
“I have other hobbies,” I said lightly. “And that only happened twice.”
“Thrice if you include that time in town this past spring.” I had to concede that point. “And well do I know your other hobbies: hunting mainly, but let us not forget complaining about reading ancient scrolls with secret knowledge.” I scowled at him, and his grin broadened. He moved us through some complicated motions that took all of my attention until he spun me out and then back, then dipped me dramatically.
I blushed a deep red in embarrassment at being handled in such a way in front of others. “Unhand me,” I tried to jest, but my voice was tight.
“Oh if you insist,” he purred.
Then he dropped me.
My arms wheeled in panic. I fell barely any distance at all, so low he had held me. He had cleverly positioned my head above a pillow on the edge of the dance floor, and thus I was made well aware of how precisely he planned his trick on me.
I could not hold back the howl of laughter that spilled from me and reverberated throughout the room. I rolled onto my side and clutched my belly as I laughed, interspersed with great gasping breaths.
“Oh Fitzy, it’s good that I can still make you laugh.” My Fool stood above me, grinning at my response, but I could not move from the laughter. “Come now, you’re in the way of the dancers, there’s a good boy.” He pulled me up by my arm, half-carrying me to a chair while I chuckled breathlessly, tears forming in the corners of my eyes.
Somehow I had forgotten how much my Fool loved to surprise me. All the planning he had undertaken simply so he could drop me on the dance floor delighted me to no end.
He handed me water, sat down in the chair next to mine. I drank cautiously to make sure I did not snort it by accident. He spoke with Lacey as I recuperated, and I saw her eyes twinkle as she looked between us. I did not look away from her regard, and I counted that as a win.
Nettle joined us as well. “I never could picture you as a court jester, but now I can.” My Fool took it as a compliment.
“It was a role that suited me remarkably well, but I could not have known how much Fitz would delight in my antics all while protesting so dramatically,” He simpered at me, and I stuck my tongue out at him. “But I’m glad he does,” he said so softly that only I could hear. I was glad of it too.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you laugh like that.” Nettle looked me over as though she had learned something new about me and could not tell how to feel about it. I hoped she came to terms quickly with the concept that I was not a completely morose person.
I shrugged my shoulders. “It’s uncommon, but it does happen. The Fool does it best.” I thought about how much we have laughed since I had rescued him from Prilkop’s lair. Our first genuine laugh had been in the Elderling city, when he told me Prilkop thought I had seduced him. Oh, but how the reverse was far truer. I had given my heart to him long ago. It had taken us a long time to realize that he had so thoroughly claimed it.
“Ah such a sweet concession, Fitzy-fitz. I shall engrave it on a medal and wear it all my days.” My Fool declared, pressing his hands to his chest as though he were a maiden receiving a token from a lover.
“Leave some space on that medal, Fool. I’m sure you do other things best, and we can’t have you jingling like bells for every one of them. We’ll just have to remember what they are.” I could think of several other things, but few would be proper to engrave on a token for all to see.
“To wear bells again! You know, it is so difficult to be sneaky wearing bells,” He told Nettle conspiratorially, “But they did make tumbling a musical delight!”
“Can you still tumble?” She looked skeptical but tried to keep the doubt from her voice.
“Oh, not right now. My back isn’t what it used to be, but I’m hopeful Fitz will heal me soon. Once I’ve got more meat on me, he says.” He gestured to his slim torso with his gloved hands.
“Soon,” I promised.
“Will that be part of our Skill-lessons?” Her face fell when she saw both of us shaking our heads. I let him answer.
“I would rather Fitz be the only one Skilling with me, unless it’s absolutely necessary. I had a bad experience when I was younger, and now I’m apparently very difficult to locate in the Skill unless it’s Fitz.” It was true that I had never seen anyone defend himself as he did in the Skill. His mind was like a school of fish, impossible to hold in its entirety, and as slippery to capture.
The party continued longer but it was beginning to get late, and Nettle plied Lacey, the Fool, and I with questions on how Buckkeep used to be. Molly left first, saying that the girl watching Hearth and Just needed to go to bed soon. Kettricken left soon after via the spy corridors. Before she left, she cancelled our morning meeting, and I could tell Chade and Dutiful when they reached out. I appreciated the decision: we had done a lot of work today, and they would be leaving Skyrene tomorrow. Nettle left third after confirming with the Fool that we three would have breakfast in the morning, though later than usual.
The Fool and I sat with Lacey and Patience, who looked at us expectantly. I stacked plates and cups and waited for someone else to start speaking. My Fool was starting to sag, and I realized how much energy he must have spent today while he was still very much in recovery. I wanted to carry him away to our rooms and tuck him into bed, wrap myself around him to keep him safe, but the air of expectation was thick between us all. We could not leave, not yet.
The Fool broke the silence first. “Thank you again for hosting Patience. This evening was delightful, and we could not have had it without your large room and the access to the walls.”
“You’re welcome,” She said. “Now, tell me. Who do you two think you’re fooling?” Patience looked at us with raised brows. I did not know if Lacey had told her or if my mother had sensed it, but it seemed useless to lie.
“Nettle was certain that I would court her mother. So, she did not realize,” I offered. The Fool’s eyes were wide as we exchanged his look. Comprehension dawned over his face.
“Were we so obvious?” He asked. I reached out a hand under the table so he could grip it. I was certain they knew what we were doing, but at this point it was the thought that counted.
“You weren’t until the very end, dearie,” Lacey’s voice was gentle, “And even then, I think your antics could be explained as you behaving as Shrewd’s Fool.”
“So it was me?” I reviewed my behavior over the course of the night. Had we touched too freely in a crowd of dancing woman? Had I looked at him for too long, or too intensely? Had I held my heart in my hands for all to see?
“Oh Tom, it’s hardly your fault,” Patience said kindly. “You’re so morose and withdrawn that for you to take up any space with happiness seems strange. So when one wonders at the change, the eyes are drawn to the one that sparks the most joy from you.” She looked at the Fool significantly. He smiled at her words, though his gaze was fixed on the table rather than her eyes.
“I think that it is only obvious to us for the obvious reasons,” Lacey said at last.
The Fool’s head snapped up, and he goggled at the two of them at the implication. I felt a strange satisfaction that not only that he was surprised by the knowledge, but that I had figured it out before he did. His eyes darted between the two of them. “Of course,” he said faintly.
“I would guess Kettricken knows, but there is a woman who knows how to keep a secret,” Patience said shrewdly. “If Molly sees the two of you together when there’s more distance in her heart, she will discover it as well. I believe she will take great comfort in knowing it is you, Fool, rather than someone else.”
Lacey nodded. “I saw it in her eyes when you laughed, Fitz. Such a look of dismay I have ever seen. I wonder if she did not believe when you said you would court her eventually, and suddenly she was forced to believe it when she realized you could laugh like that.”
I did not know how to respond to such a statement. I laughed when Molly and I were children, and I had made her laugh on occasion. I remembered a time on the beach where we had run amongst driftwood and made love in the sand. She had told me rumors that made me burst out in laughter. But only the Fool could make me laugh like I was drunk on it, forgetting all else except delight in his presence.
The Fool’s face had fallen with guilt, so I rubbed the back of his hand with my thumb and tried to calm him. “It’s not your fault she didn’t believe me when I told her. She’s so used to me lying, I think, and so she thought I would set my eyes on her again sometime. I needed the laugh, Fool.”
“I know you did Fitzy. Why else would I have done it? It brings me such joy that I can still make you laugh.” I caught his hazel eyes with mine and smiled softly at him. I wanted to thank him with a kiss.
“That look also makes it very obvious,” Lacey commented idly.
“So it does, Lace. Tell me, how new is this? You two are like adolescents the way you stare at each other!”
I inhaled sharply, looked away from him. “Officially? A few days.” It seemed a shameful thing that we could not keep it secret for even a week when we had kept it secret from each other for far longer.
“I’ve mooned over him practically since I met him,” my Fool whispered.
“Well, we do know Tom a sight better than everyone else, Lacey. He told us his story in detail, and do you remember what I said? I said if that’s not my boy feeling lovesick about Shrewd’s Fool, I’ll eat my hat!” Patience declared.
“Your hat is safe, dearie. I told you as much,” Lacey agreed.
“It was obvious even then?” I could hardly believe it.
“Tom, I listened to your entire story and tried very hard not to react to the parts about your Fool. How was it not obvious? I did not want my mother’s intuition to push you one way or the other about the matters of the heart.”
“Mother, you and Lacey spent a year of my life pushing my heart every which way about Molly.”
“Well, you were so set on Molly but barely told her the truth of yourself. It was hardly a good foundation for a lasting relationship!” Patience did have a point, and I wished I had learned it at the time. I wondered how different my life would be if I had. We wouldn’t have Nettle, I realized, and then decided it was a good thing I waited.
I said as much. “Well, if I’d been honest sooner, we would not have Nettle.” I would not trade Nettle for the world.
“She does make all of it worth it, doesn’t she?” The Fool asked fondly, and my heart swelled. We smiled foolishly at each other, and I could practically feel Patience and Lacey rolling their eyes at us. In the moment, I did not care that they knew, and my indifference was delightful in its own way.
“Yes, yes, my granddaughter is a delight. Have you decided when you’ll tell her?” Patience asked bluntly. I felt a great rush of dismay at the question.
“Oh, I don’t know. It’s still very new.” I rolled my head back to my Fool. “It’s probably something we should discuss.”
“Oh probably,” he said flippantly. “I agree though. There’s a difference between keeping a secret and maintaining our own privacy. We are both very private people who also have a lot of secrets.”
I sighed. “This is one of those things that can fit firmly into either category, though it becomes more and more a secret kept from her the more people know about it.” I scowled.
“Why don’t we try?” Patience proposed suddenly.
“How do you mean?” I asked.
“Well. Lacey and I can tell her outright that we are together and see how she reacts. Then we will know. It is not quite the same, but we are newfound family who are very private people with a great many secrets.” She sounded delighted.
“Are you sure? You just found her. What if you lose her?” I did not hide the depths of fear in my voice.
Patience was unable to find a good response for that. Lacey gripped her hand on top of the table, much as the Fool clenched my hand underneath it.
“Perhaps not yet,” the Fool said at last. “As Molly said, there have been a great many changes lately, especially for Nettle. She has accepted and adapted to these changes with remarkable grace for one so young, but that does not mean we need to continue piling more onto her. She learned of her heritage only two nights ago. She learned that her father will not be courting her mother just tonight. I assume you gave her a good reason, Fitz, one that did not include me in the slightest?”
I nodded. “I told her that to be with Molly, I would need to ignore or cut off pieces of myself, and that I refused to do that. She seemed very taken with the idea and wanted to be given the same opportunity. I promised I would ensure she would.” He grinned and squeezed our hidden hands.
“Well, you did a marvelous job then. Phenomenal groundwork for the future.” He complimented me. I wanted to kiss his lips so badly then, and my half-lidded eyes stared at them.
Patience clattered her empty teacup on its saucer. “I believe you are correct, Fool. There is no rush to tell her such things, and none of us are hiding it particularly well in private company,” she said through her teeth. “So let us wait, perhaps until after Harvestfest. I plan to stick around for at least a little while afterwards.”
I realized with sudden sadness that she would need to leave and go back to Tradeford. I did not want her to go. I looked down and away, not wanting to guilt her into staying, but wishing so desperately that she would.
“Splendid,” the Fool said at last, choosing to ignore my reaction. “Thank you, Patience. Fitz and I will discuss later what and when we plan to tell her. We have also experienced a great number of changes recently, and I suspect Fitz is running low on honesty these days, having spent a decade at least of it in the past ten days.”
“It’s not a finite resource,” I lied miserably.
“Perhaps for others, it’s not. But it is for Farseers, I expect, and especially for bastards.” He raised our joined hands above the table to kiss my knuckles. I blushed at the brazen display, but my mothers only smiled at us and then each other.
So we said our good nights and departed through the walls to our rooms. We changed efficiently and climbed into bed, and I was pleased to see Prudence had repaired my late-night bed making at some point during the day. The Fool pressed against me under the covers.
“Did you like it?” He asked me, a tad worried.
“It was wonderful, Fool, thank you,” I kissed his lips at last, and deepened it to give him the hours of affection I had withheld. We parted breathlessly. Sixty-four. “You didn’t need to, though. I know you’re tired.” I did not want him to exhaust himself for me. He had already done so much.
“Oh, no, I quite enjoyed it. It was good to stop being an invalid for a day and to instead be a lover planning a party for his beloved,” His breath caressed my lips as he said this, but I would not allow him to distract me.
“But you need to heal,” I protested. “Perhaps I am being selfish, and we should go somewhere we can be ourselves rather than in the bustle of Buckkeep.” I gnawed worriedly at the guilt I harbored, that my obligations required him to live a secret, exhausting life.
“No, Fitz. No.” His voice was firm. “I will not take you from your cubs. I will not take you from your delightful mother and her wife. I will not deprive you of the life I know you want so that you can care for me in a cabin in the woods. I may be healing, but we are not the same, Beloved, and what we need to heal need not be the same. You needed a cabin and a wolf and a boy to care for. I need you and easy access to some simple goods and friends that I can see without traveling two days to get to them. And I need you to live your life so that I can heal without feeling a burden. Please Fitz, let it be.” His voice slowed as he spoke, the energy seeping out of him.
“If you’re sure, Beloved. Please let me know if it changes. If what you need changes.” I was determined that he would have whatever he needed to heal. I tried to trust that he would tell me.
“I will, I promise you.” His voice was quiet, and I sensed wakefulness lingering in his mind. I rubbed his arm, inviting him to speak. “I did not realize how obvious we were being,” He said at last.
“It was me more than you, I think. You improve me, and others notice it. It’s hardly your fault that I am… the way I am.” I stumbled, unable to describe my moody and sullen personality without being self-deprecating, which I knew he would not appreciate.
“Oh Fitz, you were given a bad hand to start, and people kept stealing your cards. It’s not your fault that people are shocked to see you happy, but I can only hope that it becomes commonplace.” I heard the effort in his voice, the sheer exhaustion of the day catching up to him.
“Hush, you need sleep,” I said, tucking the blankets more firmly around the two of us.
“So do you,” He mumbled. I did not respond, and soon I heard his breathing deepen. At the comforting sound, I joined him in slumber.
I did not know which god to thank, but both of us slept soundly through the night.
Notes:
Hope you enjoyed the chapter! I wanted a cozy lil party with the fam. Fitz has earned it <3
Loving the comments!! I'm not saying Fitz has a praise kink, and I'm not saying I do, but there's something truly lovely about a simple comment saying you liked the chapter =D
Chapter 17: Proper Manners
Chapter Text
I awoke as dawn broke, the dim light brightening our room through our westward-facing window. The Fool was curled like a kitten in the center of the bed, his hair draping across his pillow like a rainbow. His hands and head were pressed against my chest as my body arced around his. I laid in bed for a time, breathing in the peacefulness of our room as it slowly brightened. Serenity enveloped me as I felt the rise and fall of his breath against me. I longed to move so I could watch his face, but I was unwilling to disturb him in the least.
The Fool stirred awake slowly, first with little twitches, then larger movements, then finally a long dramatic stretch of his body and a low groan. He placed his hand limply on my bicep and opened his eyes to blink the sleep from them. I waited until he looked at me, hazel eyes meeting my black ones.
“Good morning,” I greeted him, unable or unwilling to keep a stupid smile from forming on my face.
“It is,” He drew out the second word, his face wearing a matching smile that matched me. He radiated joy brighter than the sunrise.
“How did you sleep?”
“Well. I dreamt I was with you and Nighteyes in the mountains, and we played like puppies,” He pawed me gently in demonstration, and I wished I had shared such a dream with him. It sounded wonderful. “How was yours?”
“Dreamless and peaceful. Good, but waking was better,” I murmured. I pulled him toward me. I wrapped my body around his, and his existence around mine. I nuzzled his throat, breathing deeply and feeling comforted.
He grunted appreciatively and sank into me, relaxing entirely. “Sharing a bed with you has done wonders for my sleep. Every night in Prilkop’s cave, I woke up screaming. The one exception was that last night when we slept together. And then look, another completely pleasant night just four days later.”
“Good.” I was so enraptured by his presence that I could not think of anything else to say. We laid there drinking one another in as the soft light brightened our room. I counted the kisses and pressed each one into the pages of my heart. I hit seventy-four when he spoke.
“You know, when we shared these rooms as Lord and Servant, I would sometimes dream of waking up in your arms like this. And now when I wake up and find myself here with you, I keep wondering if I’m still asleep. I’ll wake up and you’ll be in the workroom or your servant’s cell, while I need to go about my day as Lord Golden.” He shook his head to banish the thought.
“Perhaps they were prophetic dreams and you did not believe them because they were so different than what you thought your future could entail,” I suggested. Despite his role as a prophet, I was somehow able to change the future to one he had not been able to see time and again. What if he had seen it all along and deemed it too fanciful to be true?
He contemplated that for awhile. “Perhaps,” he said uneasily. I knew then I would get no more on the topic today. His hands roamed my body idly.
At his motions, I decided to make full use of our quiet morning. I kissed him deeply, rotating us around to pin him under my body, attempting to straddle his hips as he so often straddled mine. I found the position to be difficult to achieve and resolved to stretch my hips more often; he deserved to be straddled as much as I. While I was unable to fully settle my weight on him or grind down as he sometimes did, I made up for it as both my hands were free to touch his arms and chest through his nightshirt, to pet his hair and face. He groaned under me, the noise vibrating in my throat, and I pulled back only once I had thoroughly debauched him. Seventy-five.
I fell off him and pulled him into me so our desire would settle down. I soon felt Nettle on the edge of my mind, and I let her enter, though I kept any stray thoughts or feelings well in hand. I just saw Mama and the boys off. Are we still doing breakfast in your rooms?
I asked the Fool, and he nodded, “If she wishes.” And so I relayed to her.
I do. Can I ask you to get breakfast for us? My servant did not deliver it this morning, and after the late night and late morning, I don’t feel comfortable bringing a large breakfast back to my rooms. Her voice was fraught with fear and frustration, fear of rumors and frustration that such a simple act might spring them.
Of course. I’ll head down shortly. And I broke our connection.
The Fool wore a smirk, which I ignored. I tried to disentangle myself from him. He was an absolute menace, pulling me back towards him and kissing me as I fought to get out of bed. Once I free myself from his clutches, he stood and stalked me like a cat. He unbuttoned my buttons, moved my leggings from where I had placed them, and silenced my protests with kisses. At one point he distracted me so thoroughly that I seized him with both hands, trying to push him against a wall only to be hindered by my leggings that had dropped down to my ankles. I nearly fell flat on my face, and he finally let up on his affections. He smiled merrily at my scowl.
I fled the rooms like a man pursued, straightening my clothing as I went. I fought the blush that arose on my face as I was sure my morning activities would be too obvious otherwise. Once I reached the kitchens, I realized I had made a tragic error.
Eighty? Eighty-two? I had no idea, and I panicked, flipping through the book of kisses I kept stored in my heart. I hurriedly filled the new pages with the kisses I had just received and fought off, pressing them as carefully as I was able while in a crowded hallway.
Eighty-five, I decided. That was right. It had to be.
I shook myself back to the present, straightened my hair and clothing once again, and went into the kitchens. I selected food for us, selecting a full quiche, several pastries, bread, eggs, bacon, and jam. I grabbed some early apples and plums, then yogurt and berries as well. A kitchen maid joked about the size of my appetite, and I only shrugged at her and picked up a carafe of coffee. At Nettle’s Skilled request, I grabbed a small jug of cream, then hurried back to my rooms, risking the hallways rather than the walls.
I used the Wit to confirm the emptiness of the hall before entering our rooms. I saw Nettle and the Fool already seated at the table, tea and honeypot already laid out. I set the tray down, and they helped me move my selections over. I placed the tray on the little table by the door. When had that gotten there? Must be one of the Fool’s recent additions.
I took my seat and poured my tea as the Fool and Nettle discussed Jamaillian coffee and the ways nobles chose to drink it. I was surprised to hear some added milk, cream, or sugar to flavor the bitter brew. He had introduced it to me black and that is how I assumed everyone drank it.
“If someone drinks their coffee hesitantly, like Fitz does, you can assume they are only doing it to be polite.” The Fool grinned at my scowl. “If they add sugar immediately and rapidly, either they hate the drink and are angry about the social obligation or they have a sweet tooth and are unused to having such an expensive thing readily available.” And so on. I added a small amount of sugar out of curiosity and found I liked it not at all.
“Try this. I think you’ll like it.” The Fool swapped our cups, and from the color I saw that he had added cream to his own coffee. It mellowed the bitterness pleasantly and was subtly sweet. I raised my eyebrows in askance. “Cream, no sugar.” I tried to hand the cup back, but he waved it off, choosing instead to doctor the coffee in my cup as he preferred, all while speaking of the unending ways to drink various hot beverages.
As we ate, I found myself once again the object of a lesson. “You see, Fitz here was taught very well how to properly hold and use silverware as a noble does. You can tell that by the way he holds it properly for only a moment before he quickly shifts to a method used by commoners. It’s difficult to spot if you’re not looking for it, however.” He displayed the proper technique to Nettle, and she practiced. I adjusted my hands to match the way he was teaching her, and I learned that noble Jamaillians hold their silverware in slightly different fashion as well.
“This all just seems so silly,” Nettle complained as he corrected her hands yet again. I agreed wholeheartedly.
“Oh it is silly,” he said, delighted. “Deeply, wonderfully, deliciously silly. Why should it matter how food gets from one’s plate to one’s mouth? Truthfully it does not, to you or the food, but to others it is a way to learn more about you all without you saying a word. It allows nobles to determine whether you belong with them or if you are to be looked down upon. It allows common folk, ironically, to determine the same. You’ll want to use whichever method fits who you are to the group you are with.” He turned dramatically towards me, then hestitated. “I’m sorry, Fitz, you are just such a good example.”
I scowled at him but nodded. “Fine, go ahead.” This knowledge would help my daughter, and better he teach it to her than me.
His face shone in approval. “You see Nettle, Fitz had to learn noble methods when he was nine, which advertised him not as a boy who lived in a stable more at ease with guardsmen than nobles, but as a prince. King Shrewd could send him to the tables of Dukes, and he would behave as a representative of the King. But when Fitz was traveling across the Duchies in disguise, he had to unlearn all these lessons so that he was viewed as a common man rather than a noble. And he still switches between the two with remarkable ease for someone who thinks all of it is silly,” he said this affectionately, as though my unconscious switching was a thing to be proud of.
“Did I ever tell you of the time Burrich tried to teach me manners?” I asked suddenly, thinking they both might enjoy the tale. It had been such an odd decision of his, revealing the extent to which he did not know what I was learning in the castle, under Chade or any of my other instructors.
I saw Nettle’s eyes widen in interest, and the Fool rested his head on his hand. Taking their actions for assent, I told them. “It was the summer after Chivalry died, and I was to be sent with Verity to Neatbay in Rippon. I knew immediately why. Duke Kelvar was not properly staffing his watchtowers, but Burrich explained it all to me as though I had never heard of such things, then he tried to teach me proper manners so I would not make a fool of myself.” I paused for effect and chose the most ridiculous things he thought he was teaching me. “He told me, very seriously, that I should greet people when I met them each day. And that I should call them by their names and titles.”
The Fool burst out in laughter. “He thought you did not know this?” Nettle looked as though she did not believe me in the least.
“Oh, you remember how he was. He thought I was slow because I did not speak much. He used to demand I respond with a ‘yes, sir’ in response to every request he made. He complained that I would never say a word otherwise.” I smiled at the memory, though it had grated on me at the time.
“Were you really so silent?” Nettle asked.
I shrugged at that. The Fool chuckled, and I glowered at him.
“With him I was. He was always dissatisfied with me for some reason or other, so it was easiest to tell him nothing. He would hardly have known me if he had seen me with Chade, I spoke so much.” At thirteen, I had loved Chade deeply and trusted him absolutely, and I fought to earn his trust in return. How strange that in the time since, he had gone from a near godlike figure to a somewhat irritating old man. I did not know if this change was due to him growing older or me. Perhaps both.
“Well, tell us what else Papa taught you.” Nettle interrupted my silent reverie. I told the story as comedically as I could, and even Nettle could not help but laugh. “He thought you didn’t know that you should speak to those you’re seated with at the table?”
“Oh, he thought I knew nothing, despite taking lessons for years in the castle. I have no clue what he thought I was doing up there.” I shook my head.
“To be fair to Burrich, you are dense about some things,” the Fool said with a salacious smile. Nettle was drinking tea and missed it, but I still scowled in a vain attempt to hide my red cheeks.
“Not that dense!” I protested weakly.
“You thought I was simple when first we spoke. This was around then, was it not?” The Fool rapped his knuckles on the table as he placed the interaction.
“The same day in fact.” I was relieved to move past declarations of my stupidity. I thought back to our meeting, and how odd he had seemed. “I had never seen you outside before. I thought you were lost since Shrewd was not with you.”
“Lost in the castle grounds that I also grew up in?” He asked dryly. “I came to Buckkeep a year before you did!”
“You did not convince me otherwise when you started repeating that tongue-tying rhyme at me and smiling like a dolt.”
“It was hard to say! I thought you would understand me intuitively,” He grumbled.
“What was the rhyme?” Nettle said.
“Fitz fixes feist’s fits. Fat suffices.” We said at the same time, then shared a look. He kept speaking. “It was a prophecy that he needed at the time, so I gave it to him.”
At Nettle’s look of confusion, I told the story. “Duke Kelvar had a young wife that he wanted to impress. Young Grace was insecure about her sudden rise in status and was bedecked in so many jewels, she could hardly move. The first night in Neatbay, I went to get extra food from the kitchens, and a girl brought her small sick dog in. I used fat to remove the bone from the dog’s throat, then I explained to her how to properly care for him. But when I realized I was speaking to Duchess Grace, I told her a fanciful story about the true jewels of a Duchy being properly staffed watchtowers. And then the problem was fixed.” I was pleased to hear that the two of them were still together and so well matched in temperament, and the watchtowers were always manned even now during peacetime with the Outislanders.
“Truly, it was your lack of manners and inability to recognize a duchess that aided you best in that moment. It’s well you did not take Burrich’s lessons to heart.” The Fool commented dryly, and I snorted.
“I managed to sit through dinner without insulting anybody. Hard to do without those lessons.”
“Well, I have faith Burrich and Molly taught Nettle well enough that we need not fear her insulting anybody.” He redirected the conversation smoothly.
“You would think.” Nettle scowled, and she looked very like me. The Fool proceeded to give far better lessons to Nettle about how to not insult anybody, and he promised to give her lessons later so she could learn how to insult people without them even realizing. Her eyes glittered at the possibility. After I finished eating, I briefly went upstairs to pick up a stack of papers and a pile of scrolls for my work on the Old Blood conflicts. I rejoined them and worked at the desk in the corner as they continued with their lessons.
At our usual Skilling time, Chade and Dutiful reached out. I sat back in my chair to speak to them. Kettricken decided last night that we would skip today since you are boarding the ship, and we don’t have much to do. We might as well enjoy the slow day.
That’s well and good for you two, but some of us have many slow days ahead on this ship. Chade grumbled, but I felt Dutiful’s relief.
I agree with Fitz. Our days will be much busier when we return. We may as well rest now.
There was a peel of laughter behind me, and I turned to see Nettle clutching her hand over her mouth, eyes widened in embarrassment.
Where are you, boy? Chade demanded. He was unable to see through my eyes, but I felt him lean against my walls. I knocked him back. Who is that?
I could not help rolling my eyes at his questions. Don’t be so dramatic Chade. It’s just Nettle laughing at something the Fool said. He is teaching her court manners in a way she can learn them. This is their second day doing these lessons over breakfast in Lord Golden’s chambers.
The silence from them was deafening. She’s with you now? Chade asked at last.
Obviously.
And… does she know you?
Yes. Molly and I met four days ago to discuss it. Nettle knows now. I showed her the way through the walls to our rooms so she could come by for breakfast. I was irked by the need to report this, brief though it was.
Well, that is far faster than I expected. I thought you might put off the conversation as long as possible. Chade said slowly, as though he was not certain he should even say the words.
Well, it needed to happen sooner or later, and Molly and I agreed it best happen while she was in Buckkeep. She left this morning and will be back for Harvestfest. I tried to speak plainly through it all, but irritation seeped into my tone.
Dutiful filled the silence, Well, I for one am glad you did it quickly and she took it so well. I will be glad to greet her as my cousin on my return. I could feel Chade’s curiosity only deepen at Dutiful’s words. We’ll speak tomorrow, then?
Yes, at our usual time, lad. I acknowledged, and he left the conversation. Chade lingered.
Fitz, I don’t mean to be so skeptical, but this is unlike you. Are you well? Hearing his naked concern for me swayed me to him. I sighed.
Yes, very well. I felt his disbelief only increase, and I resigned myself to a longer explanation. Chade, do you remember how I told you about putting some of my worst memories into a stone dragon in the garden? I felt his assent. Well, after I recovered the Fool, we found a way to recover those memories. It’s like I’ve been partially forged for sixteen years, and finally I am whole again.
Like those Outislanders were partially forged on Aslevjal? He asked skeptically. You weren’t like them at all.
No. It was less directed than what they experienced. I severed my worst memories from myself, and that had an effect on me. I have spent much time these past few weeks trying to come to terms with having them again. In general, I have found I am less fearful, and I want things, and I reach for what I want now rather than letting some nameless fear hold me back.
The pure shock I felt was both demeaning and embarrassing, but I understood. He had been telling me for a year that I was too cowardly and not ambitious enough. Now he had the reason I had been that way, and it was not something innate to me. It’s good to have you back then. He said at last, voice gruff with affection.
It’s very good to be back.
So you are sharing Lord Golden’s rooms again? I thought you would stay up in the tower or perhaps pursue Molly. I should not have been surprised that his mind went there, but I was.
Yes, we are sharing rooms, and no, I am not pursuing Molly. I did not explain further. His curiosity grew, but he said nothing. To divert further prying, I threw him a distraction. Last night, Patience and Kettricken managed to convince Molly to accept Withywoods. I expect her to move there next spring or summer.
You were with her, Patience, and Kettricken last night? At the same time? Chade sounded astonished. How did you maneuver that?
I did nothing. I admitted. The Fool and Nettle arranged for everyone to gather in Patience’s chambers. If you want to be invited to the next family get together, Patience will need to whack you with a fan first.
Yes, I expect so. He sounded weary. What of your boy Hap?
I growled. The boy has decided to exercise his independence without telling me a damn thing. He gave up his apprenticeship, and I can’t find him, but we think he’s just trying to figure things out. If he doesn’t turn up to dinner with Patience tomorrow night, I will turn the town upside down looking for him. The bite of my threat cut us both.
We? Chade’s sharp ears caught yet another one of my stumbles.
The Fool and I. I did not elaborate. The silence grew between us, and I almost cut the connection from frustration alone.
Of course. He responded. I’m glad you were able to talk with someone about it. Would you like to have the names of a couple contacts who could help you search? I was shocked by the offer and sent that through our connection. He felt some strange mixture of emotions, loyalty and love, concern and worry. I did not want to understand him right now.
I’ll let you know. I need to return to this Old Blood agreement. I said shortly.
Of course. Let me know if you need any help, he said before cutting the connection between us.
“Fitz! See, he’s useless while Skilling. Fitz!” The Fool’s voice reached my ears, and I jumped in surprise, bashing my knee into the desk. “There you are! How are Chade and Dutiful?” He asked cheerily.
I rubbed my knee, certain it would bruise. “Well enough. Dutiful was glad for the day off, but Chade wanted to keep talking. They were both surprised Nettle was in the room with me.”
“Why’s that?” Nettle asked.
“Seems like they expected me to hide from you until I couldn’t anymore,” The fact that I had hidden from her the first day I returned was not lost to me. “I told them I wanted to talk to Molly before I established our relationship more firmly. They did not expect Molly to be here.” The Fool saw it for the partial truth it was and kindly said nothing.
“Well! I think I have a new task we three should work on. You both should learn how to maintain a conversation while Skilling one another. Maybe you don’t need to learn how to have two intelligent conversations at once, but losing all sense of your surroundings when you’re Skilling is unwise and even dangerous.” The Fool lectured us both, and I saw the glint in his eye. He was going to enjoy this.
“Do we have to today?” I eyed my paperwork. Both tasks seemed equally unpleasant.
Nettle’s eyes, however, glittered at the opportunity. “You did say I should learn it, Fitz. That I should Skill you during the day. Perhaps I can Skill you while you two are alone together and you can practice as well.” I had no desire to Skill with Nettle while speaking with the Fool but had no subtle way of saying it.
I accepted fate.
“How about we start now and see how it goes?” I asked. “I’ll go first. Nettle, will you go up to the workroom so you can’t hear us?”
She took her tea with her, and I used her time on the stares to glare at the Fool. “Don’t you dare.” I warned him. “We agreed to wait. If I don’t have perfect control, she will know everything I feel and think and see.”
He held his hands in the air. “I know, Fitz, I know. Not a peep from me.” Then he blew me a kiss.
I narrowed my eyes at him. “I’m being serious.”
“So am I. I promise you I won’t do anything untoward. Trust me, Beloved.” Somehow I did, despite my better judgment.
I was in the unenviable position of trying to maintain a conversation with the Fool debating strategies for Stones while Nettle asked about the various things around the workroom she was not allowed to touch. She came down after five minutes.
“That was terrible,” she said. “You told me a jar labeled carryme was fine, but the lavender was dangerous.”
“Agreed.” The Fool raised an eyebrow. “You kept confusing the colors of the stones and what they can do. It’s one thing to give bad advice, but another to give advice that’s against the rules.” He waggled his fingers.
“I have never been good at maintaining two conversations! I have skilled Chade and Dutiful while riding before and did not die,” I said hotly.
“Correct you are, Fitz. Not dying is a glowing recommendation for your abilities,” The Fool waggled his eyebrows.
“Well, let’s see how Nettle does.” I went to the workroom while Nettle sat with the Fool. I was uncertain what they spoke of, but I talked to her about the horses in Burrich’s stables. She stumbled a few times, and she talked about breeding a gelding to a mare, but otherwise she did fine. I descended and told her my assessment.
“We spoke about the weather.” The Fool grinned at my frustration.
“Don’t you think that’s a tad unfair, that I talk about complex strategy, and she talks about the weather?”
“Well of course it is. Your Skill lessons began 20 years ago while hers formally began this year.” I did not want to seem petulant at the comparison, so I simply sighed.
“Well, I’m going to the training yard now before it’s too warm. Nettle, do you want to join?” I asked as I gathered my things to go.
“Not today. I have history lessons.” She brushed off her dress as she stood, then she waited for me so we could leave together. I let her go first so I could run my hand across the Fool’s shoulder on my way out. I wished I could kiss him instead.
Blaine and I clashed our practice axes together, my face locked into a snarl as we fought one another. We exchanged several more blows. I managed to bash his blade out of the way, then jabbed him with the butt of my axe. He fell to the ground like a sack of grain. I offered a hand to pull him up. He accepted and, once standing, rubbed his belly sorely.
“Another?” I asked eagerly.
“Not today. You just beat me three out of four, and I’ll have bruises from it,” He winced. “I don’t understand how you recover so fast. I beat you three times out of four just a few days ago, and you keep coming back each day.”
I only shrugged. “Perhaps I’m good at taking a beating,” was all I could offer him. I certainly had enough experience.
“I doubt I’d hold a candle to you during the Red Ship Wars.”
I was pleased by the compliment but could not let it stand. “Stamina is a young man’s game. Two of the times I beat you today were quick enough that I never tired out. If we kept going, you would win every match by the end of it.” Even now I felt my muscles straining under the effort.
“That may be true, but tomorrow I’ll fight you after you’re tired out from the sword.” Blaine offered, and I could only accept. Other than him, only Weaponsmaster Cresswell knew the axe, and he was rarely available. We went to the weapons room and hung our axes. I picked up a sword and stepped out to find Wim.
I was surprised to find Hap, unshaven but alive, waiting outside the door. “Hello Tom,” He sounded cheerful, but his stance was nervous.
“Hap!” I pulled him into a hug, careful that I kept the practice blade safe as I did so. He gripped me tightly, and I held on for a long while, only letting go when he released me. “It’s good to see you. One moment.” I put my blade back, and when I emerged, Wim was coming up to meet me. “Wim. Meet my boy, Hap,” I introduced them awkwardly.
“Good to meet you, Hap.” They clasped hands, and I saw Wim look between us two and note our lack of family resemblance. He let it lie. “I assume you don’t need a sword partner then?”
“Not today. Tomorrow? Blaine wants to do axes after swords tomorrow.”
“Aye, I saw the beating you gave him. I’m surprised Blaine wants to keep practicing. Axes are always painful when you’re losing, worse than the sword.”
“Perhaps he’s trying to improve?” It did not seem like he was improving very quickly.
“That may be, Tom. I’ll see you tomorrow,” He said diplomatically before he left.
“Have you eaten?” I turned back towards my boy. He had slept on the streets when Jinna kicked him out before he finally swallowed his pride to see me. I was concerned it had happened again.
“Not since breakfast,” he said. I took my boy to the guardsman’s hall. We gathered bread, cheese, sausage, bowls of hearty stew, and a pint of ale each. We sat opposite each other on the table and started eating.
“It’s good to see you,” I said at last, uncertain where to begin.
“I never realized you were good at fighting, Tom. You took that guardsman out in four hits! Bam bam bam BAM!” He said enthusiastically, gesturing with his hands like he held an axe.
I could not help myself. “You thought I became a guardsman but didn’t know how to fight?” The idea was laughable.
“I never saw you fight before. I thought you were probably fine, but not actually good,” Hap said tactlessly.
“I was your age during the Red Ship Wars,” I reminded him. “And I sailed on one of King-in-Waiting Verity’s warships at the time.” It felt strange to give my uncle that title, but I did not want my casualness to give me away.
“You never mentioned that before,” Hap said slowly, his face dropping.
“Didn’t I?” It seemed an odd thing to avoid.
He perked up suddenly. “Doesn’t Starling have a song about the Red Ship War? The one about Chivalry’s bastard son with eyes of flame and what not? Did you ever meet him, the Witted Bastard?” Hap’s expression looked oddly like Starling’s, hungry for details to squirrel away.
“I never saw him, but I’m sure he was there.” I skirted the truth. I changed the subject to what truly mattered to me. “Hap, what happened to you? I went to Gindast’s, and they told me you gave up your apprenticeship almost two weeks ago. You didn’t tell me when we met for dinner afterwards.” I wanted to shake the boy, and my tone warned him as such.
“I didn’t want to tell you until it was all settled, Tom. I wanted you to be proud of me instead of picking up after my mess again…” He sagged, unwilling to keep speaking.
“Go on,” I said magnanimously.
“Well, you heard about what happened with my apprenticeship. I was foolish. I thought I could convince Svanja that we didn’t need money, and we could run away to a cabin and build a life together. She just laughed at me, and she used the money you gave me to doll herself up with jewelry and attract a well-off draper.” I nodded, unsurprised at the story thus far. That must have been the man I had seen through the window. “You were right Tom, and I should have listened to you sooner. I’m sorry I treated you the way I did. You’ve always supported me, and then the first time we disagreed, really disagreed, and I just assumed I was right and you were wrong.”
I could not help but appreciate the sincerity of his apology, though the desire to give him a talking-to gnawed at me. Another time, perhaps. “It’s alright, Hap. I understand.”
Hap looked so earnest as he continued, gesturing broadly. “So I tried to figure out what it is I truly want to do. I thought carpentry would be it, but I missed having control over my days, and I would only get that control back if I became a master in twenty years. And last year I tried travelling around doing farm labor and everyone hated my eyes, you remember. So I went to Starling and talked to her since she’s seen so much of the world, and that’s when I realized I want to be a minstrel, Tom.” My eyebrows shot into my hair at the thought. I swore to myself I’d hunt Starling down for convincing my boy into her profession.
Hap laughed. “No, Tom, listen. Starling discouraged me from doing it. She told me all the worst stories about it. And it sounds hard, but no harder than getting called a devil for my eyes. Then she ran me through all these beginner level minstrel trainings, making them really difficult to convince me I would hate it, but I could do them all! Even better, I had learned so many songs and tales from her visits to the cabin. I’m already at journeyman level of knowledge. I still need to make my apprentice harp, but I learned something of woodworking after a year of drudgery under Gindast. I should catch up just fine.” He seemed so happy and confident then that I could not ruin his dreams, but still I needed to ask.
“So will Starling be your master then? I thought she was not longer practicing actively.” Her marriage would have to declined dramatically for her to take an apprentice.
Hap laughed at me, “No, Tom, of course not. She introduced me to a minstrel named Sawtongue and gave me permission to sing her songs. When we travel, I’ll need to carry his packs, cook dinner, and recite endlessly, but until then he thinks I’ll be ready to sing some children’s songs at Harvestfest. Life is good, Tom. It’s really, really good.”
I nodded at his words. It seemed like a good option for him, but still I worried. I saw his face twist as it did when he thought he was going to tell me something I didn’t like. “What’s the catch?” My voice was a warning against lying.
“After Harvestfest, Sawtongue and I will head north to winter with his patron in Bearns.” He said this slowly. Somehow when I wasn’t watching, my boy had become a man, with his own life plans that took him away from me. I did not think too hard on that lest I begin sobbing at the table.
“But you’ll be here until Harvestfest?” I asked insistently. I wanted to see him more before he left.
“I will. Until then, I’m staying with Sawtongue at the Pelican’s Pouch. He teaches me in the afternoons, and I still plan to visit you and Lady Patience tomorrow. I was thinking I could sing a bit for you all, if you’d like.” He practically wiggled with excitement at the opportunity.
I realized I had my boy back at last. He was here with me rather than longing for Svanja or a life outside our cabin. Better the month we would have than another year with that distance between us again.
“Yes, Patience would love that. Perhaps I invite my friend who carved our cabin last summer as well. He might be able to teach you something of carving to help with your harp.” I suspected Hap would get along with my Fool, but would he recognize Lord Golden?
“You would?” He exclaimed, grabbing my hands with his own in his excitement. “He was a true artist, the way he decorated everything. Especially the water barrel. He’s here in Buckkeep?”
“He is. I’ll need to see if he’s available.” I considered the simple pocketknife he was using to carve. I would pick him up some actual carvers’ tools when I went to the market to pick up his clothes. My day tomorrow would be much fuller than I expected.
“That would be wonderful.” He released my hands to mop up his stew with his bread.
I finished my ale, remembering the old blind bard I had traveled with years ago. “Son, does this Sawtongue know how to fight? To defend himself? If he travels so much, surely he does.” Fear for him crystallized into my belly. I did not want my boy murdered by highwaymen before he turned twenty.
“Not as such. He says he throws bags of coins and runs.” Hap did not sound pleased at the idea.
“Running is safe as long as money is what they want.” I did not want to speak ill of his new master. I considered something I should have done a long time ago. “If your master allows it, I could probably teach you how to fight and send a sword with you if you’re not likely to stab yourself.” I might be able to juggle him and Nettle at the same time. To keep my boy alive, I would make the time.
Hap’s mouth fell open. “You could?”
“If your master allows it,” I repeated cautiously.
Hap looked like he would shake himself off the bench in his excitement. “I’ll ask him tonight! If he says yes, when should I come?”
My day was too busy tomorrow to include him. “One moment,” I said. He nodded. I reached out to Nettle, and she answered immediately.
Nettle, I was thinking about teaching my boy Hap how to fight. He leaves after Harvestfest, and I’d feel better knowing he has some basic knowledge. Would it bother you if he joined us in the practice yard in the mornings?
The answer came immediately, Of course it wouldn’t, Fitz. Have you not taught him before?
I answered shamefully, No, I had hoped he wouldn’t need to learn.
I felt her amusement, I’ll enjoy trouncing your son then, Shadow Wolf. I sent her my appreciation and closed our connection.
“The day after tomorrow, late morning. I need to speak to the Weaponsmaster first, but I’ve been helping him train a girl sometimes, as a favor to a friend.” That friend was myself. “She’s more skilled than you, but I expect you’re stronger from woodworking, so it might work well for the month we have until Harvestfest.”
“Sounds good, Tom. I’ll be back tomorrow night for dinner, right?” I nodded at him. Our meal finished, we stood up together and hugged, then I entered the walls to attend a meeting with the Dukes and Duchesses of the realm from the walls.
Chapter 18: Believing and (dis)Honesty
Notes:
Huge thank you to Castleintheskv's comment last week expressing excitement for Nettle and Hap's first meeting. I knew what would happen, but I assumed there wasn't much interest in it? Soooo I foolishly did not write up their first interaction and only had a brief scene between the two of them. Thanks for letting me know: I wrote it and it's here =D
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Our luck did not hold, and my Beloved’s nightmares came back in force that night. It took me some time to wake him, and then I could only hold him as he sobbed into me. He begged me not to let him fall back asleep yet would not speak of what awaited him should he return. I did not ask a second time.
I carried him to lie between me and the fireplace and missed my wolf with all my heart. Between the two of us, I knew he would feel safe. As it was, I kept jostling him to stay awake, and I eventually brought out the cloth and pieces to play Stones together. We played until sunrise.
At his request, I waited until Nettle came over before I left. A consummate actor, he managed to hide his true emotions from her, but I could not do the same and my concern for him was plain. He all but kicked me out, and I went to Kettricken with my tail between my legs.
We had several new emergencies that I did not care for, mostly economic in nature. The energy with which I applied myself startled us all: I told myself it was to simply get our tasks done, but it was mostly to stop myself from Skilling Nettle every ten minutes. Chade fixated on minutiae, while Dutiful was hardly paying attention. Between them and my hectic energy, we had a very tense morning, and I could feel Dutiful’s concern when we parted.
Apparently, I had said “I’m fine” too many times and with too much frustration for anyone to believe me.
“I’m going on a ride,” I growled at Kettricken. She released me without question. We were to attend a meeting with me spying from the walls, but with my mood it would not be a useful thing for either of us.
I could not help myself: I visited my Fool before I left to find him deep asleep in our bed. I opened the curtains as wide as I could in hopes that he would feel the safety of the sunshine. I kissed his forehead and cheeks three times at least before I managed to pull myself away.
I bribed Myblack with apples, and we rode as swiftly as we dared. I felt Dutiful then and, since I was determined not to think of the Fool anyway, let him ride with us for several hours. We groomed Myblack together, and I finally felt a semblance of calm wash over me. Dutiful thanked me for the ride and left me in the stables. I went to the steams to quickly clean myself before fetching lunch for our rooms.
I was relieved to see him not only awake but lively as well, carving his blob of wood in the chair by the fire. I laid out the meal on our small table and he joined me there, kissing me before he sat down. Ninety-nine. I pressed it into my book carefully.
“Do you still want to join for dinner tonight?” I asked, trying not to seem worried.
“With Patience and Hap? Of course I do. I just wish I had more than a pocketknife to demonstrate proper carving technique to Hap,” he said.
Since I was going to town after lunch, I could pick something up. As much as I wanted to surprise him, I doubted I would choose exactly what he would want. “I need to go to town to pick up your clothing order anyway. How about I buy some tools for you?”
He smiled brightly at the offer. “You would? Really?”
“Of course, Beloved.” I said his name in Mercen, and his cheeks pinked. “I just need to know where to go and what to get. I can’t get you a C-adze if you would rather have a gutter adze or something.” I was unreasonably pleased with myself that I knew two types of adzes as my knowledge of woodworking was limited to axes, knives, and, distantly, saws.
“It’s called a D-adze,” he said absently, dashing my pride. He fetched a sheet of paper from the desk and rejoined me, scrawling out a list of items and instructions. He added brackets and some comments, then a name and address at the bottom, which he circled. “These are the ones I would like today that they should have on hand.” He gestured to the items listed in the top bracket. “These are the things I don’t need now but would like at some point. Please place an order if they don’t have them.” He pointed to the lower bracket. At my nod, he folded it and handed it to me, and I tucked it into my pocket.
We ate for a time, and he explained the benefits of different types of adzes, and I listened as best I could. After we finished, I stacked our plates and was about to return them when his words stopped me in my tracks.
“Fitz, can we talk about something?” the Fool asked softly.
Those words never meant anything good. All I could think of was that I would never make it past ninety-nine kisses. My book would be complete, only to be opened when I wanted to remember the kisses and hate myself for failing so tragically. I would need to move to the guardroom or the room in Patience’s chamber or perhaps the workroom if that wasn’t too close for comfort. Or he would leave me to go to Clerres, and I would never see him again. I would be alone until I died, I was certain.
We hadn’t even made it to one hundred kisses.
I did not want to face him, but in my weakness I wanted to look at him one last time before he left me forever. I forced myself to turn around and forced myself to meet his eyes. His face looked as distraught as I felt, and I almost left that very instant.
“Fitz, stop. Please. It’s not what you think, I promise.” He walked over to me. He gently took my hand, and I went limp at his touch. He guided me to the couch and sat down sideways so that he faced me, and he arranged me so I would mirror his position. I did not try to make it difficult for him, but I had so little control over my body that I did not make it easy. He treated me so kindly: surely this was his way to prepare me for the hurt of his impending words. He took my listless hands in his and looked me in the eyes, though he had to duck down so he could intercept my gaze.
“Beloved,” he began, and I jumped at the naming. Surely he did not mean it. He took a deep breath and started again. “Beloved. I appreciate how you helped me last night. In your arms, I felt as safe as I could be, and you took wonderful care of me. I felt so loved. So. Loved.” The way he began did nothing to alleviate my tension. Somehow I felt worse.
Beloved pursed his lips at my expression but continued anyway. “I need you to not react as you did after that. Once Nettle was here, I had to ask you five times to please go to Kettricken, go to your duties. I insisted I would be fine and safe with her, but still you refused. I had to physically push you through the door so you would understand that I was serious. But then your behavior was so concerning that Chade and Dutiful Skilled Nettle to ask what was wrong, and I had to lie to her so she could lie to them. But still, they pressed her for reasons and solutions, and I had to come up with something, so I told Dutiful to join you if you went riding or to weapons training. And then I almost fell over from exhaustion, and Nettle had to help me to bed.” He took a deep breath then, and all I could do was mourn his departure. He would leave me for being too much after decades of not being enough. I braced for the blow.
“I need you to believe me when I tell you I will be fine.” He enunciated each word individually. “I know you were tired, Beloved, but I was exhausted, and you knew it. But your refusal to believe me was even more exhausting. Suddenly I not only had to take care of myself, but I also had to take care of you and deal with all the people who were concerned for you, and I could not tell them what upset you. I could not say ‘I had a bad nightmare and now Fitz is falling apart’ without answering a lot of very difficult questions.” He squeezed his eyes shut and took another deep rattling breath. When he opened them again, his gaze held me in place. My eyes felt as round as archery targets. Would he release the arrow and shoot me?
“Beloved, I know what I’m asking you is difficult. You love me so much, and you want so badly to take care of me. But I must ask you this: Please believe me when I tell you that I am fine. You can ask to make sure, but then please believe me. My morning would have been far more pleasant if you had simply left when I asked. If you were feeling unwell and unable to focus afterwards, I am certain you could have shifted or even cancelled your meeting and gone riding instead. Kettricken would have understood. She has cancelled for lesser things.” He squeezed my hands, and I weakly squeezed back. He smiled at the gesture. “Beloved, you are allowed to take care of yourself. I am allowed to take care of myself too. Sometimes that means we need to be apart for a time, but we come back together afterwards.” He brought his fingers to my temple to brush a hair out of my face, before he cupped my cheek. “And we are still together, and I intend to stay with you for as long as you’ll have me. I love you so much, my Beloved.”
His speech complete, he took a great sigh. His hand fell, shoulders slumped, and his head dropped.
I did not know if I was allowed to help him anymore. “Can I hold you?” The words spilled out. He was not leaving me. He was not leaving me.
“Please,” he said wearily. I gathered him to me, enveloping him as best I could, and I pressed my face into his neck, breathing him in. I was surprised to feel the wetness on my cheeks, and even more surprised that his cheeks were wet as well.
“I thought you were going to leave, and I would never see you again,” I whispered. I felt safe once more now that he was in my arms.
“I’m sure you did. I did not know how else to say it. I’m sorry.” His voice was quiet in my hair.
I took the time I needed to think about his words. I needed to apologize. I did not want to rush this, and I was safe enough to think. Clothes and carving tools could hang, this was more important. He needed to know that I understood what I did wrong, and I needed to figure out how to best not do this again.
I found the words at last. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. I didn’t mean to exhaust you, and I should have known how my family would react. I should have listened to what you said you needed. I knew I was not well enough to work, but I tried anyway.” I paused in my listing of my own failures. This… was not what he needed from me, was it? He needed something else from me. “I promise I will try to listen to you in the future. I promise I will try to believe you. Beloved, I can’t promise that I will always succeed, but I will try.” I hoped it was enough. I knew I would fail again, though hopefully in a less catastrophic fashion.
“That’s all I ask for, Beloved. Thank you.” He adjusted his head so that our brows touched, and he looked into my eyes from the familiar angle. Then he leaned forward and kissed me, a short, tired thing. One hundred. If any kiss needed to be remembered, this one was it. I pressed it into the book in my heart.
“I love you,” I told him when I returned.
He smiled weakly. “I love you too.” He sat back and patted my chest once. “Now, to celebrate our newfound understanding, Fitz, I would love it if you tucked me into bed then went to town to buy me pretty clothes and sharp knives. I will rest a bit, and I shall be ready to banter with Patience and Lacey and teach your boy something of woodworking.”
Obediently, I carried Beloved to bed and kissed him goodbye, then I went to town to go shopping. My heart still beat nervously, but I chose to believe him.
I sent the Fool ahead via the walls and carried food up to Patience’s rooms from the kitchens, aided by a page. I knocked four times to signify someone was with me and waited a moment before opening the door.
The page and I laid out the meal on Patience’s table all while my mother talked to the girl about the importance of proper serving utensils, and she ran off immediately when she had no more reason to stay. I greeted my mother and Lacey both with kisses on the cheek, and I boldly kissed my Fool’s cheek as well. We sat down at the table, and Patience told us of her day. She had apparently met with Duke Bright to discuss his eventual return to Tradeford so that Patience could leave.
“But where would you go?” I asked with concern.
“Why, here of course. My family is all here, and Lacey’s boys would be closer as well. I need to determine if this Bright is as his name suggests, and he’ll be able to take over after Harvestfest, or if I need to train him over the winter in Tradeford. My steward is extremely competent, but he isn’t nobility, so he can only manage so much without formal oversight.” I felt such excitement at the idea of them staying near me that I went to hug her. At that moment, there was a knock at the door.
I stood up, straightened my hair and clothes, then went to open it.
“Tom! It’s good to see you. I knocked on the wrong door twice.” Hap looked so relieved as he hugged me in the doorway.
“The same door?” I jested lightly, letting him pass me and closing the door behind him.
“No, a different door. The directions the man gave me at the first door were surely a joke. They put me on the other side of the keep, and a group of men acting very strange invited me in even though I told them I was supposed to meet you in Lady Patience’s rooms.” He sighed with frustration. I met Patience’s eyes at the table. She shrugged, and the Fool gave me a simpering smile. I guided my boy to the table, and he introduced himself to Patience, Lacey, and the Fool, bowing a bit over-enthusiastically, even to Lacey.
“Why are you called the Fool?” Hap asked.
“Well, Tom gave me the nickname when we were children, and it stuck better than the name my mother gave me. If you think Fool is hard or uncomfortable to say, I promise you that more people would struggle with the name I was born with, for somewhat similar reasons.” His eyes crinkled at the double meaning of his words. Patience perked up with interest.
“What’s your name then?” Hap asked guilelessly. The Fool said his name in Mercen, a melodic series of vowels and tones that I still struggled to grasp. My boy used his newly acquired skill as a minstrel’s apprentice to echo the name almost perfectly back, and Beloved laughed aloud. “Well done! I haven’t heard it spoke properly in decades.” Or at all, except by me. And perhaps Prilkop.
Hap grinned at the compliment, but then Patience tried to say the Fool’s name as well, and she had me try too. I did better than she did but not by much, though Beloved’s grin deepened when I said his name before my family.
“Does it have a meaning in your tongue?” Patience asked discerningly.
“Oh, something one does not say in mixed company, not unlike Fool. But Fool I am, and Fool I will always be.” He simpered at me as he said it, and I rolled my eyes at him.
We served ourselves without regard to rank or formality. Simply by being herself, Patience efficiently cut through Hap’s nervousness about meeting the former Queen-in-Waiting. She and I described our relationship by staying close to the truth as possible: I paged for Lady Patience for several years when she returned to Buckkeep after the passing of her husband, and she had informally adopted me, poor orphan that I was.
“Is that why you took me in, because you’re an orphan too?” Hap asked, his eyes wide. I had never told him that, but perhaps my complete unwillingness to discuss my families implied such to him.
“You needed parents, and Nighteyes and I could provide,” I said gruffly, and that was the end of the conversation.
My boy spoke much of his new apprenticeship, and the Fool and Patience were eager to ask questions and speak of minstrels they knew and enjoyed, all while Lacey and I basked in their presence. We shared secretive smiles when one of our lovers was being particularly flowery or dramatic, and I could not help feeling a great sense of relief my mothers knew we were together.
Even new, our romantic relationship had proven itself far sturdier than I would ever dream of. After all, he had loved me for decades and a mishap here or there was unlikely to change that. We had hitched ourselves to the same cart, and we needed to learn how best to make our way through life together. There would be stumbles, but we had not fallen yet. I felt a faint wispy curl of hope that we might be travelling together for as long as we lived.
After dinner, the Fool taught Hap how to carve, and the rest of us formed an audience around them. Patience stared with particular interest as his gloved hands scraped a blade confidently over the block of wood he had brought. I was pleased to learn not only that my boy had brought the wood for his harp, but he insisted that every scrape of his blade on the harp wood was his own. Nevertheless, he graciously accepted some of the Fool’s blocks to practice techniques on. Hap had taught himself at our cabin, and he had made me that bench and other bits around the house. Under the Fool’s instructions, he flourished.
After a time, Patience claimed a block as well, declaring that she would carve a duck of all things. I took my own piece from the pile and carved a sad crooked little whistle over the course of an hour that I handed back to the Fool. He accepted it with tears in his eyes, and when I tried to take it back out of embarrassment, he hid it and refused to return it.
Eventually Patience insisted Hap sing for us, and he declared he would sing one of Starling’s songs, since she had so kindly granted him permission. Before we could stop him, he sang out the introduction of ‘Antler Island Tower.’ He had a clear tenor, but his voice skittered to a stop when Patience burst into tears and ran to her bedroom.
“I’m so sorry, I forgot that I sang about her husband’s bastard! I should have realized it would upset her,” Hap babbled.
“You couldn’t have known, lad. The events that happened are older than you,” Lacey said graciously. My belly tied itself into an anxious knot, and I was completely incapable of saying anything at all.
“I should have realized she would have been upset by the infidelity and how infamous the bastard became. It must have upset her so much to be reminded,” Hap continued witlessly.
“Oh that wasn’t the reason. Patience thought of Fitz as her own, you know, much like how you’re our Tom’s. She wished to claim Fitz and raise him, but they couldn’t for the boy’s safety. After my Lord Chivalry died, she came back to Buckkeep specifically to try to raise him,” Lacey said delicately. The Fool and I were silent, carefully not looking too much at any one thing. I could not imagine a more uncomfortable situation. I owed Lacey a gift of thanks for how she handled the conversation.
“So I sang to her about her dead son?” He realized at last an acceptable cause of Patience’s tears.
“Yes, you sang of her son. Starling did good work with that song, to champion the boy so well. He was only sixteen years old, you know, when he sailed on the Rurisk. We hardly saw him that summer, he was away so often.” Lacey smiled sadly and gripped her crooked hands together at the memory.
“You knew him?” Hap suddenly switched entirely from contrite to eagar, as though he could not imagine knowing FitzChivalry Farseer. I put my head in my hands.
“Of course I did. He was in here every week or more for three years.”
“Wait, did you know him, Tom? Fool?” I regretted our decision to stick close to the truth at that moment, that Hap could put it together so well.
I found my tongue, found something I could say that was true. “I can’t say I ever spoke with him, and I saw him rarely.” I decided abruptly we needed to move past this topic, and the words tumbled over themselves in my enthusiasm to move on. “Lad, this is neither the time nor place for this conversation. Let this be a lesson to you about choosing a song carefully, one that fits your audience. You can’t play a bawdy ditty in a nobleman’s hall, or a ballad at a sailors’ tavern, and you certainly can’t play a song about a woman’s family without asking first. Ideally, she would ask you instead. Now sing us a happier song, a good long one, so that Lady Patience can hear it and know she is safe to come out.”
Hap looked at me skeptically but began to sing the song Crossfire’s Coterie. At Lacey’s prodding, I joined in, and I did fine for myself. Eventually Patience emerged, eyes reddened but smiling. The song lasted a good long while, and I was impressed that Hap already had the words memorized. When we finished, he asked for requests, and we managed to find another song he knew.
“Your voice is wonderful, Hap! Oh, if only we’d had you at a party we had recently, it would have been wonderful. Another time, I hope.” She looked at me very intently as she said this, and I realized she thought Hap should be invited to family parties as well. While I appreciated her acceptance of my boy as family, but it was another unpleasant conversation for me to try not to bungle.
The evening ended as well as it could. Hap asked if he could visit again in a week and perhaps continue learning how to carve, and we all agreed tentatively as our schedules might fill with the return of Prince Dutiful and Counsellor Chade in a little under a week. Still, we agreed to it. Hap promised to see me tomorrow to start learning how to fight, and I hugged him farewell.
He left and silence descended until we all began to speak at once. We all stopped except for Patience. “What in the world was that boy thinking, singing that song?”
“I tried to turn it into a lesson about knowing your audience. I assume he’s too early in his training to have gotten specifics on that.” But I hoped he would receive formal lessons on the topic soon.
“You raised a clever boy, Fitz. He almost had you figured until you distracted him with your sudden lesson.” The Fool’s tone was bland,
“I thought he might shout all the reasons Patience could be upset. Then she would need to start wailing even louder so that he would stop,” Lacey said with a slight smile at the thought.
“I nearly thought so too. I had no idea what to do when he started. I couldn’t very well not react to him singing about you. Imagine the rumors! Dowdy, silly, emotional Patience sits very calmly through a rendition of ‘Antler Island Tower’ by a boy practically the same age as Fitz when he died!” Patience harrumphed, and I could not agree more.
“Do you think you’ll tell him? It sounds to me like he’ll figure it out sooner or later,” the Fool asked. Patience and Lacey turned their heads toward me, and I gulped.
“I would rather not anytime soon. He has been very impulsive and foolish this past year, and I couldn’t trust him to think before he did anything. I dare not trust him with my identity on the off chance he rebounds. Maybe after he winters in Bearns?” I asked. Was that too generous? Too cruel? I had no gauge for such things. I put my head in my hands.
Patience sighed. “You’ve had him ten years and not told him. Another six months or year won’t harm him.” She rubbed my back comfortingly.
“I expect he’ll find out sooner if he keeps coming around,” the Fool warned. “And you’ll be seeing him daily with Nettle until Harvestfest.” I nodded limply.
I knew my son far better than I knew Nettle, and I expected he would take knowledge of my identity much like Dutiful did. I had no idea how he would take my relationship with the Fool, however.
“Thank you again for hosting us, Patience. It’s been a delight as usual.” The Fool stood wearily and kissed her cheek and Lacey’s, and I followed suit. She shooed away my offer to clear the plates, so we left through the walls.
“Well that was exciting,” the Fool declared. We emerged from the servant’s cell and made our way to the bedroom. He leaned on the edge of the bed facing me and began to unbutton his vest. I watched his long fingers with great interest. When I realized I was staring, I looked away and focused on my own undressing. Underneath his vest, he had a long-sleeved shirt with great flouncy sleeves that buttoned tightly over his wrists, providing his skin yet another layer of protection. I was entranced by his motions. I had only seen him shirtless the once, during our seventh kiss, and I had not been given permission since.
“Far more exciting than I had hoped. Thank you for the carving lessons.” I stared at my clothes trunk self-consciously as I removed my shirt and leggings to change into loose sleeping trousers.
“Of course. I had not realized everyone would be so interested, or I would have brought more tools,” he said airily. I went to clean up the sitting room, blushing furiously at the open door between us. This was a thing couples did together, did they not? Avoid looking at one another while changing clothes for fear of presuming too much? His body had been a hidden temptation for so long that I did not know if I could handle it being an open one.
I returned to the bedroom when the rustling ceased, and he was already under the covers. I joined him in bed, and he was slower than usual to meet my body in the middle.
I kissed him goodnight, and we slept for a time.
I managed to wake him up quickly enough from his nightmare that he dropped back to sleep within the hour, but I could not do the same. I took myself to my desk and tried to write and determine what was keeping me from sleeping. I wrote for a time about Hap, but that was not the problem. Nor was Patience and Lacey. Chade, Dutiful, Kettricken, and Nettle all triggered embarrassed anxiety, but it did not worry me as greatly as I expected.
It seemed my restless thoughts were centered on my relationship with the Fool.
I had never lived with a lover, nor had I shared a bed with one I had never seen naked before. The closest to a similar situation was when Starling would stay for several days with Hap and me. We maintained propriety outside of my bedroom for Hap’s sake, but that was not the same as my deep fears about the unspoken rules of our new relationship.
Always the Fool had been the one to choose what was and was not allowed to be spoken of or done between us. I had kissed his chest days ago and not seen it since. Did he not want me to? Did he regret it? I did not know when I was allowed or not allowed unless he explicitly told me or placed my hand somewhere he wanted me to touch. And he had not brought my hand to his torso since our seventh kiss. Hadn’t he?
I pulled out my mental book of kisses, shockingly thick, and I went page by page. Partway through I visited the privy to deal with the effects such memories had on me, but I reached the end of my book, one hundred and one kisses within, and I reached my conclusion. At no other point had he given me any sign that he wanted me to touch his chest or remove his shirt again.
Yet when we returned from Patience’s chambers today, he began unbuttoning his vest with casual hands. Did that imply that I was allowed to look? Or did it mean that he trusted me to look aside and respect his privacy? Or perhaps it was merely that he was removing his vest, and witnessing the removal of the shirt was off-limits to me.
I looked at the paper beneath my hand to see that I had sketched an image of him without his shirt on, his face as debauched as it had been after our seventh kiss. How long had he been shirtless in my presence? Five minutes? Ten? I found myself inspecting the image voraciously and, with surprising stamina, took it to the privy for a time before I tossed it into the fire.
Would I never receive such an opportunity again? I feared he had regretted letting me so close in the first place. Perhaps I had done poorly, or it had been too soon to his torture and death on Aslevjal. Maybe he needed his back to be healed first?
I wondered if it would be so bad if all our activities were limited to above the clothes for him. He had defended his privacy for as long as I had known him, and perhaps his treatment by the Pale Woman only heightened his preference. I could not blame him for that.
Bravely, I decided that if he were never willing to remove his clothes in front of me ever again, I would abide by it. I would accept whatever it was he allowed me, whatever he wanted of me. I loved him deeply, and love is more than bedding, as he so often reminded me. I could take care of my needs myself without imposing on him with my boorish desires.
A dark thought lurked in the back of my head. I had been carefully ignoring it, but in that moment it chose to strike. What if it’s your fault that he doesn’t trust you? You yelled at him that you would never want to bed him, remember? He said we two were fated to remember those words for the rest of our lives. How could you forget? He remembers still.
He forgave me! I pled to myself in my mind, my voice high and whiny.
But that does not mean he forgot. It does not mean he is not still hurt by it.
I considered how honest I had been the past two weeks. I could not recall being so honest in my life before. It was remarkably exhausting, like exercising a rarely used muscle. Unlike my body, it seemed such muscles were slow to recover. But I had learned something, had I not? To apologize well, one must tell the truth. I needed to understand why I harmed someone to apologize honestly, because without understanding, how could I ensure I did not repeat the behavior?
I had told him before leaving Buckkeep that I regretted those words. He had forgiven me, but how could he trust that I not quarrel with him again? After all, he had not trusted me after our fourth kiss with good reason. To seal my actions and make them real during the light of day, he had marked me so that we both had proof. He marked me to ensure I would not go back on my word.
I nodded once to myself. He did not trust me, and he had good reason not to. I needed to prove myself trustworthy by demonstrating not only that I was sorry, but that I would never repeat such harmful words again. With a goal in mind, I began to write.
With a sigh, I tossed another paper into the fire, one in which I focused on the impact of elfbark the day of the quarrel. It was more an excuse for my behavior than an explanation and was therefore not worth keeping. I set my quill to paper and stared out the window at the lightening sky. Then I lowered my quill and placed my head in my hands.
Useless.
Hours of writing, a night wasted, and I had no answer. Perhaps for bastards, honesty truly was a finite resource, and I had run out. Perhaps as the Fool had jested to Patience and Lacey, I had spent decade of honesty and now I had none left. Without honesty, I would surely destroy all progress I had made with my family and my lover. Maybe I needed another ten years in a cabin with a wolf to build up a meager supply. But the wolf existed only in my mind these days, and his companionship was not consistent.
These two weeks were better than I deserved. I was not worthy of kissing my lover’s chest if I could not tell him the truth. I was not worthy of teaching my daughter the Skill and my son the sword if I was only capable of lies. I could probably continue being a Shadow King; I might even thrive.
I felt cool arms wrapping around my neck from behind. The Fool pressed his chest to the back of my chair and a luxuriant kiss on my cheek. “Good morning, lover,” he breathed.
“Good morning, Fool.” The tension of my thoughts melted away at his touch. I had not lost him yet.
I rotated to steal a kiss from him, and, to my intense surprise, his warm tongue brushed across my lips. I automatically let him in, and his arms tightened around my neck as our tongues explored one another. After quite some time, he pulled back to rest his chin on my head. One hundred and two.
“I must be losing my touch,” he mused.
“Hm?” My thoughts were clouded by the sensation of him.
“Usually you react far more enthusiastically to my kisses.” He trailed a hand from my shoulder down my chest and belly and even lower. I blushed deeply, and the red chased his touch downward. I had visited the privy twice the previous night to take care of myself, and now I paid the price with an obviously flaccid cock when usually such a kiss would have pitched a tent in my leggings.
His laughter rang like bells. “Fitz, have you been out here hot and bothered all night?”
“Only at the beginning,” I admitted. Any lie I produced would undermine either my manhood or my attraction to him, and I had enough honesty in the dregs of my soul to protect both.
He kissed the top of my head. “Would that I had been awake to help,” he sighed wistfully. Neither of us missed the reaction in my leggings to that statement, my cock fighting against all odds to be recognized. The Fool only laughed once more and released me.
“How did you sleep last night?” I asked.
“Well enough. A bit cold without you. I claimed your side of the bed after you left.” He went to the hearth to heat water for tea.
“Oh good. That’s good,” I was strangely uncomfortable at being found out.
“I was thinking about moving my supplies in the desk to my private room, so that this desk is yours alone,” he said innocuously. I looked at our shared desk, with my uneven stacks of paper along the back of it. My mess took up over half the space.
“I can move back to the workroom, it’s no bother,” I said guiltily.
“If you’d like, but I personally love that you have claimed a space in the sitting room.” He leaned over the armchair closest to me and dangled a hand over it. It was close enough for my to grasp if I wanted to. “When we lived here as Golden and Badgerlock, I effectively claimed three rooms as mine, including this one, leaving you that little cell. We shared only the privy. But now that we are here as Fitz and Fool, I want it to be different. Our bedroom, our sitting room, my private room, and your cell that takes you to your workroom.”
“But I’m so messy,” I said, straightening the piles awkwardly. “And my mess will be in our shared space. It’s fine, I can move a desk to my cell.” Working in a windowless room did not appeal to me, but I did not want to impose.
“No, Fitz. You require a hearth near where you work, and my private room has windows and a desk already! I locked the room before I fled, and Kettricken had claimed that the contents were property of the crown, not Lord Golden’s creditors, so it is the same as I left it.” The Fool sounded delighted at finding some part of his old life untouched.
Still, I felt uneasy. “But what if you want to write letters in the same room as me? Rather than in your private room?”
“Well, I suppose you can join me in there, or I’ll work at the table or leave the door open, Fitz. Come, do you want to see?” He splayed his dangling hand in offering.
It was as though he asked me to go with him to the moon. I did not budge until he came around the chair and took my hand. He pulled me to the entrance of the room I had lived next to for a year but never been in and scarcely seen. He opened the door, then turned to look at my face. Whatever he saw halted him in his tracks. “Are you well, Fitz?”
“I’ve never been in here before, not really,” I said uncomfortably.
“Well, no. But I’m not a Prophet anymore,” and he sounded strangely pleased with that statement.
“What does that have to do with it?” This was his room. His private place. I was not allowed in. I had never been allowed into his private places before.
“Well. A Prophet has prophecies. I would use this room to read my prophecy books or view the web of possibilities. It is a very… vulnerable thing to do. For me. But before I went to meet you at the docks, I burned all my books. I no longer see the future, so it is just a room with a desk, a chair, and a shelf. I also store my wood here. Would you like to see?” He sounded almost shy as he asked, and I wondered if this felt as strange for him as it did for me.
“I would. It just seems very private.” I shifted nervously in place. I could see the room behind him, and it was as he said. Past the door was a desk with a chair, and a cushioned, colorfully patched armchair was in the nook between the window and the shelf. It looked very comfortable.
“Well, I am inviting you into my private space. Please come in?” He begged me, and with so clear an invite, I could not refuse. I took a very cautious step through the door, fearing he would change his mind or the room would somehow disappear and I would fall through the floor. Neither happened.
What was once so mysterious was suddenly very ordinary. It was small enough to be a children’s room, and I suspected that was its original purpose. It was not square, and the alcove to the left contained a large shelf filled with wood of various sizes as well as the tools I had bought him. Then there was the armchair, a bookshelf, and a large desk with a comfortable chair. All except the armchair were made of wood and clearly carved by him. Each was functional, but they all had a strange eccentricity to them. He had decorated with several high-quality tapestries to warm the walls, and the south-facing window had multicolor curtains. There as a broom and dustpan in the corner.
With his nod, I touched each piece of furniture cautiously, appreciating the curve of the desk, palming the seatback of his chair, running my hand along his bookshelf. I picked up each item on it, a few carved figures alongside what were clearly souvenirs. Half of the shelves were empty. Where his journals used to be, I suspected. I slowly sat down in the armchair in the corner, and the Fool claimed the seat at the desk.
“See? So, if I’m working in here and happy to have company, I’ll leave the door open, and you can join me in whichever seat I’m not using. The desk in the main room can be yours, and we can even install locks on it or hidden catches if you like, to keep your words safe. I promise I won’t go through it, and I will only give a cursory glance to things on top. I would promise I won’t look at them at all, but I don’t think I could keep it.” He gave me a tight smile.
“I would like that,” I said slowly. The chair really was quite comfortable. I could see him curling up like cat to nap or sprawling to enjoy the light through the window. The top of a tree was just beyond the glass and a bird sat on a branch and preened its wings.
“I would like that too, Beloved.” He came over to the armchair and sat on my lap, swinging his legs over one arm and throwing both arms around my neck. My hand came up to support his back, while the other claimed his bony shin and stroked it. He took my face in his gloved hands, and he kissed me gently with only a whisper of tongue. I could not think of a more sensual position than in his private room with him on my lap, and my hand sprinted from his shin to the back of his head to crush his mouth into mine. I wished briefly that our hips were better aligned, but I redirected that desire into my lips and tongue and hands. He moaned into my mouth and let me in, moaning as I pressed my tongue deeper inside.
My hands wanted to travel under his shirt, but I was not allowed, so I pulled away with reticence. He kissed me briefly as I did so. One hundred three, one hundred four.
I stared at him in desire and held myself steady through will alone. He was scarcely better, his lips panting, eyes wide, pupils blown. There was a crease between his eyes, a tension that looked like disappointment. Had I gone too far?
I shook my head and sighed. “I need to go to breakfast,” I told him. He kissed my forehead and slowly got off my lap.
My daughter and I were slowing practicing an attack pattern when Hap joined us. I gestured for him to wait as Nettle and I went through it again and again, increasing in speed each time. The goal was not to beat the motions into the bones, but to become comfortable with speed and learning to react instinctively. When I broke the pattern, skipping a few motions in the middle, she adjusted awkwardly but managed to block my sword. Our swords clashed and grins broke out on both our faces. She pulled away and pumped her arm in the air.
“I did it, did you see? I was so fast!” She jumped up on her toes, and I suspected it was only propriety that kept her from dancing in place.
“I did! Well done, that was excellent.” I put my practice blade on my shoulder. “Come, Nettle, we have company.” I walked over to Hap and gave him a one-armed hug before I introduced them. “Hap, this is Nettle. Nettle, meet my boy, Hap.”
Nettle glanced at me briefly before she awkwardly reached out for a warrior’s clasp hands. Here on the training grounds, she was not expected to curtsy. “Nice to meet you.”
My boy took a few seconds before he reached out for it; when I looked at him, his eyes were wide and his mouth was slightly ajar.
He said nothing.
Eda and El in a tangle, he had no idea they were siblings. From the look in his eyes, I doubted he would care since he was adopted, and they were not raised together besides.
I clapped him heavily on his back. He jumped, dropping Nettle’s arm in the process, and blushed deeply. I put my hand on his shoulder. “Nettle is the daughter of a close friend of mine. She has a very intensive apprenticeship in the castle and not a lot of free time. The hour she and I train together needs to be focused on sword practice.”
“What’s your apprenticeship in?” He asked, sounding like a loon. Had I truly raised a boy who fell to pieces around someone he was attracted to?
I remembered my awkward boyish uncertainty with Molly, how I boasted of her to Starling to create distance between us, and endless cups of tea with Jinna. I thought back to the Fool’s most astute teases that deprived me of all ability to do ought but blush and run away. How I sidestepped his flirtations, protesting loudly the entire time, while my entire body leaned in and my whole world reshaped itself around him. That large cavern in my mind, filled with a great swath of longing for him, yet I had spent years saying that I loved him only as a friend.
No, I should not be surprised that my boy was an idiot around Nettle. I only hoped his stupidity ensured he did not notice the ways in which she and I looked alike.
Nettle raised both eyebrows, unimpressed. She glanced at me briefly and sent me the sharpest of Skillings. He doesn’t know you’re Fitz?
No.
Or that we’re related?
No.
Or that you’re training me in the Skill as well? At this point, I was surprised she was still asking. I shrugged a shoulder. Fitz, seriously?
“I’m training to be a scribe,” she said, glaring at me. “We’ve been cleaning up old scrolls and organizing them.”
“Oh. Tom did scribe work at the cabin, and I helped him sometimes. Are you working together for that too?” His eyes brightened, and I saw the question before he asked it.
“No. Only a few can do this type of work.” His shoulders slumped, and I patted him gently. “Come now, let’s see how you do. Nettle, can he borrow your sword?” She handed it over, and he grimaced at the sweat on the grip. Good.
“Does she… have to be here for this?” Hap glanced between Nettle and me. She smiled toothily.
“This is her training hour, so we need to see how or if I can train you two together.” I tried to adjust his grip on the sword, but he squeezed the grip so hard that his knuckles were white. “Relax son, let me show you.” I adjusted his hand as much as he would let me, and Nettle went to sit on the side. I heard her whistling as she went.
Hap’s experience with cutting firewood gave him a good understanding of how to get the greatest success with an axe or hatchet, but it was prohibiting his ability to make any motion that was not a completely indefensible overhand chop. I tried to get him to do anything else, anything at all, but it was like his body had forgotten how to move and his mind had forgotten how to listen. He kept glancing towards where Nettle sat, and I knew his mind was not on the task before us.
I got several taps into his torso before he brought his considerable strength down directly in front of him, where I no longer was. I pushed him gently from the side, and he fell easily. I genuinely could not recall a time when I had been so incapable of taking a blow, but Hap had not been kicked by his uncle’s pointy boots years before starting sword training. I tried to view it as a sign of good parenting that he had zero instinct for how to dodge an attack.
“Your son is certain good at chopping wood that doesn’t fight back, Tom Badgerlock. Unfortunately for him, neither of us are immobile logs.” Nettle teased us both from where she sat.
“Lad, I could have sworn that Nighteyes used to bowl you over all the time when you were younger. Did you never learn how to dodge?” I gave him a hand up and started to help him dust himself off, but he glared at me for babying him. I held my hands up to my shoulders and backed away.
“Of course not! That would defeat the fun of it. He’d knock me off my feet and then we’d wrestle.” Hap seemed aghast at the thought. There truly was a lot of dust in his shirt. He gave up and picked up the practice sword again. I went to correct his grip once more, but it was futile.
“Unfortunately for us, you never learned how to stand or take a blow without falling. Put the sword away, lad. We’re starting with stance.” I was truly an idiot for not realizing earlier. My boy left with only a little sullenness.
“This is going well,” Nettle said dryly. I glared at her. “What? You really thought he was further along?”
“I barely remember not knowing how to fight. I definitely don’t remember not knowing how to dodge a blow,” I reminded her. I sighed. “I think you’ll want to work with Cresswell today. The weaponsmaster told me he doesn’t have time to teach everyone, and the Queen specifically said you get priority with him. I’ll have you rejoin when Hap’s closer to your level. This next thing I must teach him requires my full attention.”
She sighed and stood up. “Fair enough. My Papa taught me stance first too, and it makes everything easier.” I nodded, and she left with a wave.
“What do you meet her after lunch for?” Hap asked from the door.
“Hm? Oh, other lessons,” I said vaguely, keeping down the panic. I cursed my lie from earlier. Why did not I simply say we worked together with the scrolls?
“More weapons?” He sounded doubtful.
“No, lessons that Queen has asked I give her and a few others at Buckkeep. They’re not to be spoken of in casual conversation.” I eyed him as I said it, and he nodded slowly.
“And it’s not that scribework you talked about earlier?” I shook my head. “Alright Tom, you keep your secrets,” Hap said nonchalantly.
I felt a panic forming in my belly. I still did not trust my boy to keep my secrets. I could not recall a time when he had kept a secret from someone for more than a day, but perhaps that is because he did not interact with many people besides myself, Nighteyes, and Starling growing up.
“You keep them as well, son. You’ll need to learn how to keep secrets in your new profession,” I said gruffly. “Now come, bend your knees and set your legs like this.”
Hap figured it out slowly, not yet accustomed to his gangly height. He still could not reset himself reliably when our time was up. I sent him off with weary legs, then went to get lunch, my body jittering from unspent energy.
Notes:
Two steps forward, one step back. Our Fitz has had a very stressful couple week, and I doubt I'd be doing any better in his shoes.
Chapter 19: The Quarrel (and its Reconciliation)
Notes:
Glorious news! It's a double post day!! I'm doing this for a number of reasons: first, chapter 20 immediately follows this one. I originally wrote them as a single chapter, but I divided it into two when it got unwieldy. Second, I'm going on a month-long hiatus starting May 9, and I wanted to post all of Act 1 (ending with chapter 21) before the hiatus.
I’ll post chapter 20 later today: I want to do a final round of edits.
There are spoilers here for lore established in F&F regarding how White Prophets see the future. To avoid:
From: “Tell me,” I said at last, and he began.
Skip to: “You have told me this before,” I said softly. [referring to the Fool's visions of his own death]
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
My days before the return of Dutiful and Chade entered a certain routine. I met Kettricken for breakfast each morning for work, often joined by Dutiful and Chade via the Skill. I took headed to the training grounds in the late morning to meet with Hap and, eventually, Nettle. I would usually lunch with the guards, run up to the tower to organize the Skill scrolls with Nettle and Thick, then I would either attend meetings through the walls or work at my desk. I tried to leave enough time to go on a ride with Myblack before I dined with some combination of my Fool, Thick, Nettle, and my mothers. After dinner, the Fool and I retreated to our chambers while he carved or wrote letters, and I returned to my old habit of writing and burning.
Based on the Fool’s frown, he did not appreciate the regression in my behavior, but he refrained from commenting.
I still tallied our kisses greedily and delighted in our affectionate touches. We fell asleep each night and woke each morning with our bodies tangled together. I tried to wake him gently when he had nightmares and did my best to be attentive without smothering him.
But I could no longer ignore the chasm in my soul that formed from our quarrel last spring, when I had said words we both could not forget. I had been exhausted from Nettle’s siege of my mind at night and angry at everyone, even before I drank the elfbark tea. I could not help but wonder how he could bear my touch with those words lying between us? How could he still want me after all I had said to hurt him? I could only wonder at what inspired me to tell him that which could easily have remained unsaid?
I told myself that it was my responsibility to understand. How else could he trust that I would not do such a thing again? Perhaps that conversation would even allow that gaping chasm in my soul to heal. But I could not understand why I said those terrible words, nor could I understand why I pushed so hard to have that conversation. We had spent so much time not speaking of it, but that morning I was like a hound who caught a scent, and I chased my prey without pause.
But why? I had been irritated by all the jests about how Lord Golden treated his servant, the tittering and the smirks, and even when Starling stabbed me with the accusations. Yet, as best I could remember, I had found such rumors to be more grating than enraging.
Why had I been so enraged?
I wanted to pursue our relationship without such a specter haunting us, but I could not figure out how to dispel it. Surely it bothered him as much as it bothered me. At the very least, we had not progressed physically. His shirt stayed on. I worried that he regretted removing it the first time or, worse, that he felt unsafe to do so given all the damage I had wrought.
I reminded myself repeatedly that we agreed to move at the pace he was comfortable with, but I could not deny that my old words may have permanently maimed our relationship. I picked at the thought like a loose thread on a shirt. Even evening I unraveled, and I burned the words to stop them. I found no answers that satisfied me, and I did not want anyone to read the words, especially not the Fool.
I picked up the most recent pages and tossed them into the flames before collapsing bodily onto the couch. I reconsidered the so-called fainting couches of Jamaillia that the Fool had mentioned. I wondered if a divan would be more satisfying to collapse on to.
That night, the Fool sat on a chair by the fire and carved a block of wood. He watched my behavior with aplomb.
I sighed dramatically, but the rhythmic scraping of blade on wood continued without pause. I freed my face from my arm and acknowledged the truth Nighteyes had told me long ago: We thought best together, and my scribbling was a poor substitute.
“Fool, I cannot understand it,” The words poured out of me.
“Can’t understand what, my love?” His tone was endlessly patient. The word of endearment stung.
“Why I said the words I said,” I mumbled, squeezing my eyes closed.
“Which words?” I heard a whiff of frustration at my obliqueness followed by a clatter as he set both knife and block of wood on the end table. Silence built between us as he waited for me to answer.
“The words I said in our quarrel,” I whispered, as though by speaking quietly, the words would cease existing.
His footfalls were soft as he crossed the narrow distance between chair and couch. I stiffened instinctually, but his hand touched my shoulder so gently, as though I was precious and worthy of kindness rather than a spiky gelatinous ball worthy only of pain.
I would have preferred rage at that moment. Why would he not be angry with me? Why would he not cuff me for being stupid and thoughtless? A dark voice whispered to me, Molly would have been angry. She would have punched you. I wanted to feel the darkness of his anger toward me. Somehow a harsh beating seemed like it would hurt less than this gentleness. If he would just hurt me as much as I hurt him, maybe I would feel forgiven. Perhaps I would be worthy of such forgiveness.
Hush, I told myself. But I could find no argument to explain why it was good he did not harm me, that he never raised his fists in anger, only the knowledge that Nighteyes never did.
I tried to relax into his touch. No blow was coming, I reminded myself. No Skill assault or secret knife or twisting words designed to confuse me. It was just a conversation between the two of us, me and the one I trusted most. When my body finally unclenched, he lifted my head and slid his lap underneath me, providing me with a pillow. I rotated in place so that I was facing upwards, rather than pressing my face down into his… smallclothes. I claimed one of his long hands, his fingers still so crooked, with both of mine. I gripped it like it was the only thing keeping me from drowning. I needed such a lifeline for this conversation.
He looked down on me with gentle eyes. “You are trying to understand why you said the words that we both know now were untrue?” His other hand settled on my hair, and he gently brushed it across his lap.
“I can’t understand why I would say it. Why I would lie about it, or even why I could not leave such a thing unsaid.” I looked up at him and watched the way the firelight caressed the contours of his face. I could not believe someone so beautiful would want anything to do with someone so broken.
“You lie all the time, Fitz. To yourself most of all,” his voice was as soft as a summer wind, and the words reddened my face. To have it stated so openly felt uncouth, like assassins talking about their kills. He hesitated but a moment. “Fitz, can I tell you something? I have thought long about it, and I think it may be helpful.” His hands and voice were steady, but his eyes betrayed his nervousness, glancing at my eyes rather than staring into them as he so often did. I nodded numbly at him.
He looked towards the fire as he spoke. “As Lord Golden, I almost uniformly experienced indifference from men who knew my proclivities and were not interested in me. I was not competition for women in the same way, so they did not care. To them, I was just like any other man that they did not want to bed.” He paused to lick his lips, and my eyes tracked the movement. “Any anger I experienced came from men who yell at me that I was corrupting boys and other nonsense, but they would pay very careful attention to everything I did, every movement I made, especially my backside. I suspect that the greatest hatred towards same-sex attraction comes not from those who do not experience it, but rather those who do. They feel the need to degrade it in others to prove to themselves that they could not possibly feel such things.”
I realized belatedly that I had noticed the same things when I was his guard but attributed it to another reason. “I thought those men were trying to figure out how best to assault you or make sure you did not… assault them.”
His laughter filled the room, and my cheeks grew hotter. “You thought they were eyeing my ass to assault it?” He waggled his eyebrows at me.
“To an extent, that is exactly what they were doing,” I jested weakly, and he guffawed at the thought. I did not consider the jest worthy of such a response, but perhaps it was a relief to hear it.
He quieted himself eventually. “Well, I think that you needed to tell yourself that you would never wish to bed me, because you were increasingly aware that the opposite was true, and that scared you. And I think you needed me to know because then it would seem truer than something in your head or on paper.” He shook his head, his braided hair flopping across his shoulders. “Fitz, I forgive you for this. I forgave you when you apologized to me before you sailed for the Out Islands. I forgave you that night you stayed with me in the Elderling tent. And I forgave you last week when we joined in the Skill, when I learned the extent of both your lie and your guilt. And I forgive you now.”
To be forgiven so easily felt unearned, and my unease did not rest. In a flash of insight, I wondered if continuing to feel guilt over the quarrel, continuing to fixate on it, and continuing to demand his forgiveness again and again, was perhaps the worst form of selfishness. Self-loathing, self-flagellation, self-centeredness, those sins were all mine for my fixation on our quarrel.
The Fool did not release me, and I suspect he saw the new depths I had achieved. He brushed his knuckles on my cheek. “Four times I have forgiven you for this, but you need to forgive yourself as well.” His words cut through the thick slime of my self-loathing. Was it so simple?
I did not know how to forgive myself for what I had done, but whatever he saw on my face made him smile softly at me. He thought I would be able to, and he often underestimated my own abilities to change things. Perhaps I could discover how if I tried.
The Fool slid his hand under my he to lift it and claim our one hundred and seventy eighth kiss. His soft lips pressed mine and pulled away. I pressed it quickly to my heart. He tapped my chin thoughtfully. “To me the question is not why you said those things, but why then? We had both left that conversation unspoken for so long, yet you were determined to have that conversation that moment and not a minute later. So why then? What set you off?”
I forcefully turned myself away from my guilt and inadequacy to think on his question. Why then?
“Well. I had been having a difficult time. I told you about how Nettle essentially ruined my ability to sleep the weeks beforehand?”
He nodded. “You always grow short-tempered and impulsive on lack of sleep.” I scowled at him, and he shrugged. “It’s true. Keep going Fitz,” he drawled the words.
“I think lack of sleep was part of it. I was also feeling increasingly out-of-control of my life. I had bargained for Nettle’s childhood by agreeing to be Skillmaster, but Dutiful was angry with me and refused to meet for Skill-lessons. Chade was increasingly pressing on me to bring Nettle in because of her ability with the Skill…. Do you remember how I told you that I told Hap that love is more than bedding? Jinna had turned Hap out and he wanted me to go to Gindast to save face. I didn’t.”
“That can’t be all of it,” he said doubtfully. “You’d been dealing with those problems for weeks.”
“I ran into Starling, and she accused me of bending over for Lord Golden.” I avoided his eyes and tried not to stumble over the words. “Chade thinks she was disappointed that such a… I don’t know, a heroic figure would choose this boring life, let alone one where I was a… a bedservant as well. I think she would not have questioned my decision if she realized that you were Lord Golden.”
His hand ran temptingly across my chest and then down to rest on my belly. He grinned as my back arched into the motion. “Well,” he said dryly. “We both know FitzChivalry would absolutely refuse to be a servant, pretend or otherwise, to Lord Golden if Lord Golden was not me.” The Fool’s fingers danced along my small ribs, just high enough that I did not squirm. “That can’t be the reason either. You would have told her who I was if that was truly what bothered you.” I tried to come up with another reason. His hand ceased its torment. “Fitz, don’t you think you’re ignoring the obvious?”
“What do you mean?” I asked thoughtlessly.
“The Bingtown Traders and, more importantly, Jek.” He tapped my cheek with his finger to emphasize the name.
“I don’t want to talk about Jek.” I grabbed his hand with one of mine but had no idea what to do with it. I held it limply above my head, while my other hand clenched his other just enough to whiten my knuckles. I dropped both suddenly and crossed my arms on my chest. He watched and waited, one hand returning to my hair to soothe me, while the other rasped its knuckles along my arms. He waited until I grasped that hand with mine once more before he spoke once more.
“I really think you do, Fitz. I think you’ve been trying to talk about Jek every night you’ve been writing, but instead you have fixated on your words and your lie. Now we both understand the lie, but not why it mattered so much to you to say it then. Now. Tell me what happened with Jek, and how you felt about it. Start from the beginning, and don’t try to make it seem smaller than it is. I believe this is the cause to the largest argument you and I ever had, so I would appreciate all the melodrama I know you can conjure up.” He smiled crookedly at my scowl, though he did not look as though he was looking forward to this rehashing any more than I was. I could not tell whether or not I appreciated that he refused to let me turn aside from the tale, but I suspected he was right as he so often is. It might be better to have it out in its entirety.
I reported to him in the manner I had been trained.
“After we parted, Kettricken and Chade had me tell them all you told me of the Bingtown dragons. We skipped a meal or three in the process, so I went to get food from the guardsmen’s hall and bring it back here. I intended to eat and then sleep because I was too exhausted to stand at your shoulder and spy.” Per his request, I did not alter my tone to make it more palatable. I felt spiky and anxious and wanted to be done with the conversation, and my inflection and words reflected as much. He squeezed my shoulder in encouragement and did not comment.
“Jek was waiting for you here. She greeted me as if I was Lord Golden, and she asked me about Amber. I responded as befitted my role as a servant, but she was having none of it and complimented my brown eyes. She said she liked them more than if they were blue.” At this comment, the Fool’s face froze into a mask above me. He said nothing.
“Well?” I asked, petulant.
“Keep going,” he said faintly.
“Fine.” I growled. “You showed up and looked like you were going to faint all while Jek talked about how difficult the ruse was for the two of us to be together. It was obvious she considered us lovers. I was irked you let her believe that lie. But you kicked me out and I ate my much-delayed dinner in my stupid cave bedroom.” I did not cover up my anger at such treatment. “I left the door cracked to eavesdrop,” I admitted freely.
“Yes, you would have done that. I did not realize.”
“I wasn’t subtle about it.”
“What did you hear?” His voice was dreadful, as though I was the one dragging him through this tale, when he was the one dragging it out of me. My heart ached at his pain, and I was surprised to feel that my old anger was thoroughly drowned by my distress at his suffering.
“Do you want me to stop? I can stop. We don’t have to do this.” I so desperately did not want to do this.
The Fool genuinely seemed to consider my offer, which told me exactly how much the story upset him. But he shook his head. “No, I am well enough for this, and it will hang over our heads until we have this conversation. But I thank you for asking.” He smiled wearily at me and resumed stroking my hair. I felt in that he was petting it more for himself then for me. I let him. “Tell me how you felt? When you met her, and I banished you.”
I frowned. “I felt… upset that she looked at me as though she knew me. I was confused that she thought we were lovers and that you had allowed her to believe this. But I was far more upset that she recognized me instantly when I had no idea who she was.”
“Upset?”
“Oh I don’t know, I was feeling a lot.” The dark maelstrom of my old emotions was unpleasant to consider.
“Can you try, please? For me?”
I inspected the vortex I had felt. “Angry. Jealous and threatened. Ignored and inadequate. Insecure and excluded. Purposefully excluded. Hurt.” I lanced the maelstrom and found the heart of it. “Lonely and alone.”
“You thought I abandoned you.” The words wept out of him. He clenched my hands painfully. I gently rubbed his fingers with my thumb to sooth the pain, his and mine. The path grew darker, and I did not want to lead him down it. I waited until he looked at me once more, his golden eyes gleaming and red-rimmed.
“Oh Beloved, it was worse than that.” His eyes widened at my admission. I freed one of my hands to reach for his face, to cup his jaw and brush away his tears. The angle was awkward, but I was determined.
He closed his eyes and leaned into my hand. “Tell me,” he demanded.
I did not know how to be gentle, but I did try. “I felt like you had deceived me so thoroughly that I never knew you at all. To abandon someone meant we had each other for a time, and I felt in that moment that I had never had you. I thought I was just a joke to you, a trick. Someone you were obligated to spend time with when your role as White Prophet required it of you, and the rest of the time you kept away from me to live the life you preferred, one without me. I thought you lived your true life as Amber with friends like Jek who knew you better than I ever could.” His eyes rained tears on mine as I rained blows on him.
I continued at his short nod. “As Amber, you carved my face into a ship’s figurehead, and you did it without asking for my consent. It was such a violation, Beloved, when you know my need for secrecy and my hatred for being on display, that you would carve my face onto the figurehead of a boat that can go anywhere and be viewed by anyone. I was so convinced that while you carved, you told all my stories and secrets to these people in your other life. After all, how else would Jek know me? Know how you feel about me?” I paused, uncertain how I could continue without bludgeoning him even more.
I tried to soften the words as best I could. “I have always tried to respect your need for privacy, and I believe you when you say I know you better than anyone else. That I know you best. But Beloved, in that moment, all I saw was this other life you lived as Amber filled with friends who loved you and whom you loved. I knew nothing about it at all. This Jek not only knows about your life as Amber, but she acts like she knows me as well. I thought that if she knows me, she must know your life as the Fool. Your life with me. So how could I know you best when she knows more parts of your life? More facets?” I took a deep breath. “And then… then I felt like I knew you not at all, and I questioned every part of our friendship.”
I stopped both for breath and room to breathe, but tears from the Fool’s face continued to shower me. Our current positions were designed for me to be comforted, but he was the one in need of it. I made a decision.
I slowly sat up and rotated around so I could gather him into my arms. I leaned back to that he was slotted between my legs as I reclined sideways on the couch. He kept his hands close to his chest, grasping desperately at my jerkin. I rocked him in place as he cried.
“What else happened?” His nose was clogged, his voice strangled. I found a handkerchief for him, and he grabbed blindly for it.
“What do you mean?”
“There were several days between Jek’s arrival and our quarrel. What else happened?”
“Are you sure you want me to keep going?” I asked cautiously.
“Fitz.” His eyes were fiery from beneath wet lashes. “Please. Do I have to ask again? Let’s have it done.”
I sat silently for a time, trying to figure out what to say. “I felt like I was drowning in lies, so I went to leave Buckkeep to get some distance. On the way out, I ran into that Elderling boy, and he acted like he knew me as well. He was getting his knowledge from Tintaglia, which was terrifying. Starling, Hap, Jinna, you know about. And Dutiful, Thick, and Chade. Everywhere I turned, I was failing.”
I paused then, but his voice was steady when he repeated his demand. “What else?”
I exhaled sharply. “Every damn time I saw Jek, she acted just so happy to see me. She would bump into me and tell me to lighten up every once in awhile. But the day before our quarrel, she told me how she knows Lord Golden’s secret and so do I, and how she can keep her friend’s secrets if she decides they are worth keeping. How she thought undeclared love is not a secret worth keeping. And… I panicked. She thought she had the right to determine which secrets should be kept, and I thought she knew my secrets from you. And when she told me plainly that it does no good to ignore the secret that you and I both know... I decided I would no longer abide you hiding in your chamber refusing to talk to me, which you had done ever since Jek showed up.” My tone was harsh as I lined up the words that spurred me to act, and I could not stop myself from pointing out that final injustice. “You met with her, of course, but not with me.”
His head bobbed limply as though he were a carved puppet. I tightened my arms around him and rubbed his back in hopes it would provide him comfort He spoke tonelessly. “What happened next? Surely this did not happen on your way to bring me breakfast.”
“It was the day before. That night Chade and I talked about Nettle and gave me the Old Blood letter that directly threatened me. The Old Bloods, mind you, not the Piebalds. Then I fell asleep holding my walls up as Nettle pummeled them and begged me to talk to her. I woke up with a Skill-headache and got your breakfast, including Garetha’s flowers. And then we fought.”
“And then we fought. Oh Fitz.” He exhaled mightily. He rotated in place to wrap his arms around me, and I clung to him fiercely with my arms and legs. “The anger really was building up in you the whole time, and it only grew worse. I hid out of shame, you know. Shame and fear. I told myself it was because I was unwell, but I knew I lied.”
“Why didn’t you talk to me sooner? Why did you refuse me?” I had made it through my entire side of the tale without tears, but that was no longer the case. “You wore Lord Golden’s face instead of your own, and I felt I had to be his servant. I felt like you didn’t care about me at all. Like you knew I was upset, and you could not be bothered to care.”
“And so you took Jek’s suggestions to stop ignoring this understanding of ours and combined it with a betrayal so great that it was worse than abandonment, and then you hurt me as best you could.” He squeezed me in his arms as though if he squeezed hard enough, we could return to that day and fix it. I returned the gesture, and we clutched each other until his arms loosened. I followed suit.
“I didn’t think about it like that. I thought I was clearing the air as Jek suggested,” I murmured.
“I’m sure you did,” he sighed. “I thought for sure you would leave it be at several points, but you did not.”
“No. I think I was trying to say what truly bothered me, but it was so tangled and confused. Then it seemed like your answers confirmed my fears: you became whatever you needed for your purpose. I felt like a tool for you to use rather than a person. But then you followed those words with your declarations of love for me and your refusal to limit who you were… Well, it was confusing and terrifying, to say the least.” He opened his mouth to respond, but I shook my head fiercely. I tried to get the words out. “Beloved, you are correct. It was too honest for me. Too close to what I wanted. You said I asked for false comfort, and that is true. I wanted you to lie and tell me that you didn’t want to bed me. Even though I knew the rejection would hurt, I thought it would be a good pain. After all, if you did not want me, I could not want you. I wanted you to reject me so strongly that I could reject myself. But you didn’t, and when I was faced with blade of your honesty, I used it against you, afraid that doing otherwise would harm me instead.”
“It was not supposed to be a blade, but an open hand. An offering. I did not want to lie to you or trick you,” he whispered.
“I know that now. I’m sorry I hurt you.”
“I forgive you Fitz. And I know you will not do it again,” he said quietly.
All energy left me with his words. I finally understood why I said what I did and reacted as I did. I had been pierced with the blade of understanding. We laid in that sharp feeling together, as close as we could be without removing clothes or pressing fingers to wrist. I felt the crackle of ice in my mind as the chasm of my self-loathing began to thaw.
I thought at last we could move on, but my Beloved broke the silence.
“Fitz,” he said hesitantly. “I am afraid there is another piece of honesty I must give you. Three pieces.” I gave him a haggard look, but his eyes were steady.
“Now?” I asked plaintively.
“I think so. All three are directly relevant to the conversation. If you are airing your dirty laundry, I am afraid mine should receive the same treatment. May I tell you?” he asked unenthusiastically, like a man asking to tie the rope for his own noose.
After a time, I echoed his earlier request. “Tell me.”
He draped himself along me, laying his arms on my chest and propping his chin atop them so we could see each other better. “First, a clarification. I was only in Bingtown for about two years before I met Paragon, then I stayed for one more year to repair him and sail with Jek and our other friends. Then I left and traveled for another year before I joined you at your cabin.” He spoke this truth easily. I hoped they were all so simple, but I doubted it. “But before Bingtown, I was in Jamaillia, living another life you know nothing about,” he said apologetically.
“That isn’t so bad,” I said cautiously. I was now curious about the time he truly spent in Jamaillia. Perhaps that is where he acquired Lord Golden’s accent and clothes. It seemed likely.
“No. It’s not. The second one is worse. Far worse. You see, I did not simply carve your face onto a ship figurehead, but rather the Liveship Paragon’s figurehead. He talks with your mouth and scowls with your face. His nose is broken, and he is beardless and has a cut in his cheek. He wears Burrich’s earring and a battle harness carved with charging bucks, and he brandishes an axe very much like the one you wielded during the Red Ship Wars.”
I felt doused in cold water, bathed in ice. I was cornered by enemies on all sides, but fighting was not an option. The truth of his words was impossible, absurd. It was an invasion of the highest order. “Please tell me you’re lying,” I begged him.
“I’m sorry Fitz. That would be a lie,” he smiled sadly at me. As gently as I could, I pushed him off me and stood up. I needed to move. To run, to ride, to fight. Anything but be in this room. If we were not several stories in the air, I would have jumped out the window, but instead I paced like a caged animal. I struggled to breathe but could not slow my steps. To stop was worse.
“Fitz, please,” the Fool looked distraught. He sat straight up and propped himself over the back of the couch to watch as I circled our table. His knuckles were white where he clenched the seat back.
“Please what?” My voice was flat. Deadly. It was a voice that made people back away from me and watch my hands.
His eyes were fastened onto my face. He did not move away.
“Don’t do this,” he begged.
“Don’t do what?!” I roared. We both flinched. I ceased my pacing and turned to face him. I lowered my voice deliberately. “Why would you do that? Why would you give him my face?”
Why did he torment me like this?
“Would you believe it if I said it was because I missed you?” His voice was small and tight.
“Was that why you did it?” I hated the idea. Rather than simply coming to see me when he missed me, he carved a talking ship to look like me. To talk to him as he wore my face. The very thought of it… No wonder Jek smiled the way she did. No wonder she thought we were lovers. One did not simply carve the face of their childhood best friend onto wood that held the soul of a dragon. It was not done. Nor should this have been done, but here we were.
“In part.” he seemed unwilling to continue.
“Tell me,” I pleaded. I collapsed onto the armchair the Fool had vacated, legs bouncing rapidly.
“From the beginning? It is a long story. A lot happened in that year,” he cautioned. I ceased my movement.
“You would tell me the full story?” I felt like a hound distracted by a squirrel, but I so desperately wanted to hear it. My legs began to shake once more and my hands bounced atop them.
“Of course,” he agreed.
“Then.... I would hear it later. Please. Not tonight.” I gulped. “Tonight, I would hear of why you thought it wise to carve the face of a supposedly dead Witted regicidal royal bastard onto a Liveship.” I did not limit my sarcasm or self-loathing in my tone. He flinched and licked his lips nervously.
“To respond to that question specifically… Fitz, don’t take this the wrong way, but to most countries south of here, the Six Duchies is considered a backwater, even now after a decade of Kettricken trying to make it otherwise. They know the people here are short and dark-skinned with thick hair, and there is a mountain queen, and that we fight frequently with the OutIslanders and Chalced. Outside of the Six Duchies, no one knows your face. Even in the Six Duchies, you traveled for years unrecognized, with few exceptions. Those in Buckkeep Town know what a Farseer looks like, and the larger cities and duchy seats within the kingdom, but few other places. It was not wise, Fitz, but it was not as unwise as it seems. Outside of a few limited areas, none of which the Paragon visits, you are not nearly as recognizable as you think.” He looked at me as though this were an insult, but in truth I found it to be deeply comforting.
Still. “That only explains why it is not a completely foolish idea. It still does not explain why you did it.”
He gathered his legs to his chest, bundling himself up on the couch like he did as a child. “I did it for Paragon.” He spoke matter-of-factly. He stared into the fire rather than meet my gaze. “He had a difficult life from the start, much like you. He experienced tragedy and abandonment for most of his life, and the loss he experienced rendered him mute for a time. He was eventually sold to a pirate captain, which ensured a great deal of deal of pain and death occurred on his deck, and like memory stone, he absorbed it all. His only friend Kennit was badly abused, and the boy died twice only for Paragon to revive him, and then the boy tried to kill himself permanently. To keep him alive, Paragon took Kennit’s pain into himself, and by doing so… Oh Fitz, you have felt it. You know what sort of person Kennit was and who he became.” I nodded. I understood this Kennit in a way that few could, I suspected.
The Fool continued. “And Kennit did not have Nighteyes, only a mad ship. So he murdered the entire crew and scuttled Paragon, who eventually floated back to Bingtown and was chained to shore. And that is how we found him thirty years later. We befriended him and repaired him, but even without that tragedy… his hull is comprised of two different dragon cocoons that have been forced together. Even when treated well, he is moody, unpredictable, and irritable.” He smiled softly as he said the words, and I would see just how much he cared this Paragon. He sighed. “I suspect he was like this even before he took Kennit’s memories into himself. He reminded me very much of you.” He met my eyes once more, and the love I saw softened his words. It was unnerving to be compared to what sounded like an insane ship, but even I could admit the similarities. My life was also rooted in tragedy.
“So when he asked me to carve for him the face of someone I could love, all I could think of was how much I love you. Beloved, I promise you the entire time I carved him, I never spoke of you, not even to Paragon, but I’m afraid carving his face and body to look like you inevitably told my friends how much you meant to me. They asked who you were, of course, but they know nothing about you beyond your appearance and my love for you. And to anyone who was not on the crew, I am sure Paragon is just a dashing figurehead, though like you he is prone to scowl.” He looked at me, and I scowled obligingly. He laughed once.
“Fitz, Paragon mainly travels between Trehaug, Bingtown, and Jamaillia City. He never comes this far north and has no reason too. My decision to carve him was foolish, lovesick, and impulsive, and I regret that I did not consider your feelings about it. I shamefully thought you would never find out. I hoped I could keep it a secret and never have this conversation. But that is selfish of me and disrespectful of you, and I am sorry for it.” His sincere apology moved me, and my anger fled in its wake. I was left adrift without it and needed a moment to stabilize myself.
“I understand, Fool. I don’t like it, but I do understand,” I said at last.
“That’s the best I hoped for,” he said wistfully.
We watched the fire for a time. He made tea and handed me a cup. Peppermint and lavender, a calming tea. I could not blame him.
“What is this third secret?” I hoped it was not nearly as bad.
“Can you rejoin me on the couch?” I looked at him, unimpressed. “Just to sit next to me. Please.”
I went to sit next to him. I drank my tea and my legs still twitched anxiously. The Fool did not touch me, though I could tell he wanted to. I think my motions troubled him.
“Tell me,” I said at last, and he began.
“Before I died, my ability to see the future worked in several different ways. The first is in the form of deeply symbolic dreams, sometimes accompanied with words. When I wake, I experience an intense compulsion to write them down immediately.” The Fool’s voice was almost academic, and it was not a topic I expected us to talk about. He waited for me to acknowledge that I understood before he continued.
“The other method was more refined but difficult in many ways. If I engaged the ability, I could see the lines of probability in front of me. For example, I could see that if I said a few words to that person, I could see that they join the guard or return to their mother in Tilth.” As he described the scenario, his hands gesturing in the air, drawing lines and connections in a great web. “And then I would see how their return to Tilth would lead to a renewal of the family farm, and the neighbor would be upset because they disagree on land boundaries, and he would contact the local noble who deals in land disputes who would ignore him, so he would declare them Witted or perhaps he would move some rocks at night or send his child to marry so that their land would be joined. And so on into the future. I could see every possibility of every action, no matter how minute. I learned eventually to judge these possibilities and determine their probability of occurring as well.”
“That seems useful, but overwhelming,” I ventured, and he nodded.
“Exactly so. I did it rarely because of that. Usually, I would look at the web briefly to get an understanding of the general likelihood of each event, then continue forward by feel. And as uncomfortable as these lines of probability going to the distant future seemed, it was far more unnerving when they ended at my death. I knew I was going to die on Aslevjal for a long time, since before I visited you at your cabin. Once I learned of my doom, I dove into the web to determine what I needed to do to ensure dragons returned to the world and put time on a better path.” He stuttered to a stop.
“You have told me this before,” I said softly.
“I know, it’s just… Oh Fitz, I’m struggling so hard to say it.”
“Please tell me.”
He rotated to face me. He seized my arm in his hands. “I was able to see for a very long time what words and actions would deliberately seduce you to me.”
I was taken aback. “Seduce me?”
“Yes. And I was also able to see the long-term effects any romance between us would have on our ability to put time in its proper path.” I could only stare at him.
“Fitz. I looked forward after I spoke to Jek. I saw that you would be angry by what she insinuated, that you would try to talk about it, and in most instances, you left off earlier in the conversation, and we continued to Aslevjal and me to my death. But Beloved, in many of those potential futures, I saw the words that I could say to calm you down, to comfort you, to alleviate all your fears, and convince you to trust me almost completely. In some of those paths, we even began a romantic relationship.” His entire body quivered, and he squeezed his eyes shut. “And it would have been false, Fitz. All of it. The words I said would have been lies, the relationship would have been a lie, and in almost all instances, you killed Icefyre in hopes of saving me. I was doomed to die no matter what you did, but I saw that if we entered such a relationship, you would take your own life soon after you found my body.” He looked at my face, and I saw he was satisfied by whatever he saw there. I cannot imagine it was good, but neither was this topic.
“So Fitz, I could have spoken to you sooner. I could have alleviated your concerns. But I was terrified that I would give in to the path I saw, where I could make you wholly mine in what little time we had left together. Could you imagine knowing you would die in only a few months, knowing exactly how to get everything you wanted before you died, all at the expense of the world and your own morals? I wanted it so badly, Beloved, even if it was false. So, I waited to talk to you. The longer I waited, the more unlikely that outcome became. After that evening you spoke to Jek, that outcome became practically impossible, so I waited for you that morning knowing that I was safe from the thing I wanted and dreaded most of all.” He smiled ruefully at me, and it was all I could do to hold his gaze.
“It was possible, even then?” I asked at last. My twitching had ceased at some point, and I had set down my teacup. My hands reached forward to clasp his. I wanted him against me, and I wanted him as far away as possible. I wanted to run, and I wanted to freeze. All I could do was grip his crooked fingers.
“Not likely, Fitzy, but possible. But I knew the exact words to say, and all those words were lies. And so, when we finally did speak, I gave you as much of the truth as I could, with perhaps a few angry exceptions later on.” I suspected I knew the exceptions, but now did not seem the appropriate time to ask. Nor, I reflected, did it seem appropriate to ask which words would have won me to him.
“So you see, I take a fair amount of the blame for your rage that morning. I knew you would be angry, but I thought I could explain it and you would be happy to let it lie, as we both preferred. But instead, Jek’s words encouraged you to demand that we no longer ignore what which we both understood very well but never spoke of. So you see, your rage and your words were my fault.” Tears burst from his eyes, and his shoulders shook as he wept. I held him as he cried, chewing his words. I could not help but feel he was wrong. When he finally looked at me, I told him so.
“You are not at fault for my feelings,” I said slowly. “They are mine.”
“But I knew I should talk to you sooner and did not! A friend would have done so,” he argued so passionately with me, determined to be responsible for my actions.
“I could have reached out sooner,” I argued back, striving for logic. I have been told I often took the blame for things that were not my responsibility, but I was confident this was not the case. “Instead, I sulked and waited for you to acknowledge me, and then I sulked when you did not.”
“But I knew you would sulk until I spoke to you or waited for you as myself rather than as Lord Golden!”
I shook my head slowly at him. “No, Beloved. It is like at Aslevjal. I am responsible for my actions, and I am the Catalyst who sets off the changes. I had plenty of opportunities to believe in our friendship and trust you and even try to talk to you about it. Instead, I behaved like a child having a tantrum. It is true that I was going through a difficult time, but I had as much ability to fix our friendship as you did.” I was more confident than I expected my words to be. A spark of insight hit me. “In any of those futures where you seduced me, did I ever initiate the conversation?”
“Very rarely,” he said begrudgingly.
“See? I can’t blame you for reacting as you did. You knew you would die, and you knew you were weak with longing, so you avoided me to ensure you would not take advantage of me with your ability." I saw it all so clearly, how his actions were designed to avoid any potential for that future. I reached up to brush my knuckles along his cheekbone. He leaned into it. “I did the same thing as you, remember? Practically the instant after you told me you would die on Aslevjal, I ran to Chade and worked with him to ensure you could not be on Aslevjal. I tried to create a future where there was no possibility you could do the thing I did not want.”
He considered this a moment and closed his eyes in acceptance. “You win,” he said. “I am not responsible for your feelings or actions, even when I could see the future.”
“Good. I will savor this victory,” I said. I pulled him bodily onto me and enjoyed the comfort of our contact. The chasm in my mind was closing, and we had even reached an understanding about the Liveship. I wanted to turn the conversation towards better times. “Now tell me, are there other times when you could have seduced me, but had to valiantly avoid doing so?” I teased him lightly.
He stacked his hands on my chest and rested his chin atop them. “Several. More than you would think.” I raised an eyebrow and rubbed his sides to encourage him to keep going.
“Thrice when we were young. Once before you went to the Mountain Kingdom, once soon after you returned, and once after Verity left,” he said at last. I raised my eyebrows at him. “The first time was when Molly was gone, and the second was when you thought she did not want you.”
“And the third?” I asked softly.
“When I asked if Molly was carrying your child, and you were angry. I was bruised and you wanted to take my shirt off to take care of me.” I remembered that day well and with a great deal of guilt. I had almost attacked him for his question. “I was, you may recall, choosing my words seemingly without care for how they would sting you, but I chose them thus because to do otherwise risked setting off a chain of events that would have been quite pleasant for both of us in the short time we would have had left.”
I should not have been surprised by that, but still, I was. I squeezed my eyes closed as I considered the might-have-beens that he had wanted but could not have. A small part of me wished he had chosen different words, but we likely would not have survived much longer. We would not be on this couch having this conversation.
“When else?” I asked.
“Oh, a dozen times in the mountains, but almost all of them were easy to avoid. It was such an oddly carefree time. We knew what we were doing, and we were together and with reasonably good companions. You know,” he smiled conspiratorially at me. “If I initiated the romance, it would have made your time on the Skill-Road much easier. You would have been focused on me rather than distracted by the Skill, but it would have heightened your guilt about Molly and Nettle. I did not look, but I suspect you would have demanded Verity be slightly clearer when he made his request that final night, if you had someone closer to you that you wanted to live for. And of course, the next day I sent Starling instead of myself, because it was very likely we would have slept together had I come to you. I am sure you can imagine the turmoil I felt doing so.” He let out a strangled laugh.
“But you did not want me like that. Seduced through your foresight,” I speculated.
“No. It took quite a bit of willpower to remind my adolescent mind of that, however. I possessed as much of your heart as you could share, and I would have felt… dirty and wrong, if I chose paths that ensured I wound up in your bed. But I wanted you so badly to comfort you, Beloved. I knew if I went to you then, you would have wanted me as much as you were able, and I refused to take advantage of you like that.” His voice was distressed at the thought.
Despite the pain his voice held, all I could focus on was the knowledge of how badly he wanted me even back then. Once he made me aware of the possibility, I could see the myriad ways he could have bedded me. I would have been embarrassed and confused, I would have felt like I betrayed Molly, but I could see how little it would have taken to pull me into his arms. A salacious joke, a shy smile, and a face full of desire at the right moment would have done me in.
In the face of such daydreams, I realized that we were no longer prohibited by his foresight. He had not manipulated himself into my life or my bed. He had certainly not ensured he would be tortured to death just so I could bring him back to life so that he would be almost ripped away from me by Prilkop. I had spoken to Patience and Lacey for five days to determine what I wanted, and I learned I wanted him. I chose him. Then I had gone to him and been as honest as I was able to convince him to come back with me. To stay with me and to be with me. He had not manipulated the situation in the least, and I had chosen him anyway.
We were no longer held back by his concerns about exploiting me or the impact such a relationship would have on the fate of the world. We were when we needed to be, where we needed to be, and who we needed to be.
I wanted him, and he wanted me. And I wanted him to make a salacious joke and look at me with a shy smile and a face full of desire in this world he did not control.
The moment, I decided, was now. I would make it happen.
Notes:
See what happens when you use your words Fitz?
This was cathartic af to write. I wish the two of them spoke in canon about these topics, but I hope I did the topic justice. I must have re-read the quarrel chapter a dozen times while drafting and editing this conversation.
And please, do enjoy your next chapter on this most wonderful of double post days ;D
Chapter 20: Permission
Notes:
Third reason for the double update? We finally earn our rating y'all!
Note the new tags (I haven't decided if 'praise kink' is necessary for the fic thus far, but feel free to let me know). Chapter specific tag for hand worship!
If E-rated content is not your vibe, please skip to "I blinked my eyes open"
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
I repositioned myself so that I could flip my Beloved over so he was beneath me. At my motion, his eyes widened and mouth parted. It was a good start. I positioned my hips between his legs with confidence I did not deserve and claimed his mouth for our one hundred seventy-ninth kiss. His lips opened so I could taste him, and I found him to be sweeter than I remembered. His arms wrapped around my neck and his legs wrapped around my hips, and in doing so he brought my heat into his coolness. A new maelstrom formed between us, this one far more enjoyable. Love and joy rode the storm, and they churned up great waves of lust.
I groaned into his mouth, and my hand sank into his hair. My other reached down with to awkwardly fumble at his waist and his chest, uncertain where he wanted me to touch him. He arched up into me in response and, taking that for encouragement, I groped more firmly, exploring his waistline over his shirt. He rolled his hips into mine and mine thrust into him instinctively.
As quickly as I started, I stopped.
Worry filled me: was I too forward? Did he even want this? He looked up at me with a shy smile and desire in his eyes. “Here I thought I’d have to get on my knees to beg you to kiss me,” he joked.
My fear was immediately replaced with fiery desire, but I had no idea what to do with it. I had no clue what I was allowed to do.
Not knowing what he liked or wanted, I did the next best thing. “I love you,” I said. As near as I could tell, he always wanted to hear those words from me. My hands traveled the narrow corridors of his body where I was allowed, and I bravely brought my hands to the bottom edge of his shirt and lightly touched the skin just above the waist of his leggings. “I love that you were honest even when it hurt. I love that you did all you could to ensure that any desire I felt for you was genuine and not a result of your manipulation. It must have been so difficult, knowing what to do and unable to do it. I love how you remain true to yourself despite all you have suffered.” At my words, the Fool smiled so broadly, he lit up the room. I wanted him to believe me but did not know the words to make it so. “I love you,” I repeated, frantic that he knew it, that he believed it. I kissed him to seal the words between us.
He pulled my face towards his. He nuzzled my cheek with his cold nose, then whispered into my ear. “I love you Fitz. I love that you are stubborn in impossible odds, determined to make the world a better place. I love that you manage endlessly to surprise me. I was raised to believe nothing could, yet you do again and again. I love how deeply and earnestly you care, and how hard you work to show it. I love how fiercely you protect your pack and how carefully you handle your cubs. I love you, my Beloved.” His kiss was tender, and my heart swelled.
I kissed him until his mouth opened, and he gripped my hair so I could not escape. I still did not know what to do with my hands, and I touched the parts of him I was allowed, hoping that something I did was right. Despite my panicked fingers, my body somehow understood what he desired: I rolled my hips into his and built arousal between us. He moaned sweetly underneath me, his hands roaming from my head to my sides and back. He stopped at my waist and began to guide my hips as best he could. I moved with far more confidence, and he gasped. He wanted this. He wanted me here.
When I thought I could take no more, I pulled back. His face stared up at me in wonder. I pressed my forehead to his, taking great gasping breaths, and boldly asked, “Can I remove your shirt?”
I pulled away when his eyes widened and darted away from mine. “It’s fine if not. That’s why I asked,” I reassured him. I caressed his hair and remained silent, intent on giving him the space he needed to find the words.
“I would love for you to,” he said, his gaze fastened on my shirt collar. “But I… I don’t feel like I’m in my own skin these days. My body feels wrong to me.” He said this so matter-of-factly. “I feel like I am not myself but instead I am whatever wreckage she made of me. I know you desire me, I do. You’ve left no illusions as to that fact. But I fear you can’t possibly desire this.” He gestured vaguely towards his body, and the way he said that final word was so derogatory and hateful that I nearly gasped aloud.
My heart ached as he expressed a belief so familiar to me, having felt the same of my own body for years. I look at him and tried to understand what changes he felt were impossible for me to want, but he just looked like my Beloved. A little worn and perhaps in want of a Skill-healing, but himself still.
I wanted him to know he was not alone and that I desired him still, but I did not know what words would convince him. I tried. “I felt like that before. First when I nearly died in Jhaampe, and I came back with those fits. I felt like my body no longer belonged to me and was simply a prison that held my mind.” He nodded jerkily. “I felt it again when I came back from the dead with a scarred face and a cowardly reaction to nearly everything,” I said. He nodded again, but his eyes looked over my shoulder. “Remember how I wound up at your feet in the mountains, and you took care of me in Jofron’s cabin? I felt like that then.” He smiled softly, but I saw he didn’t understand me. Those words were not enough. The similarities between our experiences were not enough. He needed more from me.
I took his jaw in my hand and adjusted it so he would look at me. When at last our eyes met, I spoke softly. “Tell me, FitzChivalry, when I came back to you in a body that did not feel like my own, did you love me less? Did you want me less?” I used my own name deliberately, to show how much I loved him in the way he loved best. He goggled at it, and I realized that I had perhaps mis-stepped, but I held firm with my hand, face, and eye. He was as dear to me as my own life, dearer even than that, and I would use whatever name that denoted his importance to me, if only I knew it.
I saw how he wanted to look away, but I did not break our shared look so neither did he. At last, the Fool breathed honest words between us. “No, I loved you more. I wanted you more. You came back to me scarred and broken, and you hated yourself so much. I knew you needed love then. I had so much love for you.” I smiled softly at the thought. Yes, I knew exactly what he meant.
My display of dominance achieved, I released his jaw and lowered myself to him once more, stopping only when our mouths were a handsbreath apart. I gazed into his hazel eyes that were so uncertain. “Right now, I am overflowing with love for you,” I told him. “And I want to give it to you in whatever way you would like me to. Please, Beloved, tell me what to do so that I can love you as you deserve.”
His pupils blew out, and his breathing turned heavy and loud in my ears as he realized what I was asking, as he understood what I was offering. I was relieved to see that he wanted it. Better, he understood that I wanted it too.
“I would like,” he started then sputtered out. He took a deep breath and tried again. “I would like you to remove my shirt and touch every part of me that it hides. I want you to replace the memory of her knife on my skin with your hands and mouth. And…” He stopped. I waited, somehow both tense in my enthusiasm to begin and calm with the knowledge that he would grant me permission only once he was ready and not before. He gulped at whatever look he saw in my eyes before he continued. “I would like you to be shirtless when you do,” he stammered out, eyes looking anywhere but at my face.
“Anything else?” My voice was a low growl, and I would have felt embarrassed had I not felt him clench my arms and seen the heat of his gaze as his eyes met mine once more. His pupils somehow grew wider, leaving only a faint ring of hazel.
“Where can I touch you while you do it?” He asked for bounds on himself as well, and I looked at him in astonishment.
“Anywhere you like.”
“Anywhere?”
“Anywhere,” I said firmly. “Anything else?” I sounded like a hound waiting to be released to chase the hare, a horse asking for the bit, a bastard wanting desperately to ravage his lover. Please, please, let me do these things for you. Let me reclaim your body as best I can. Please unleash me.
“No, that’s all,” he breathed.
I ripped my shirt off, and buttons flew everywhere. I dropped it to the ground. I removed his shirt far more carefully, though I tossed it on a nearby chair rather than folding it or draping it or whatever the proper procedure was. I leered at him greedily. I was pleased to see he was no longer emaciated. He was merely thin, though thinner than he used to be. My eyes surveyed his flat chest and smooth belly, and they were drawn to the hairless skin under his belly button before I looked back up at his face. I was practically panting with desire. His eyes watched me, as greedy to look upon me as I was for him. I wanted so badly to devour him. I almost stopped myself before I remembered that was exactly what he asked for.
I descended on him with my mouth and hands, touching everywhere I was allowed both firmly and thoroughly. I paid particular attention to anywhere that looked like it was the least bit scarred or damaged, though I had no way of knowing if the marks were young or old. It did not matter to me, for all of it was him, marks and all. I recorded every gasp and groan and shout. I took note of which places and actions drew sounds from him, and which produced an overworked silence, his mouth hanging open as he struggled to breathe. I crafted a symphony: I was both the player and the audience, and he was my instrument. I vowed to study well and master his music.
His hands were featherlight on my head as though to assure himself it was me who was there. I sucked love marks onto his belly, chewed on his collarbones, and nipped along his ribcage. Everywhere I went, I left traces of myself: My beard reddened his flesh, my mouth left bruises, and my teeth left indents. I felt a surprisingly powerful sense of satisfaction in the marks I left behind, everywhere as though something deep within me had been denied such in the past. I ignored it and journeyed elsewhere. There was so much of him for me to explore.
His hands were not covered by his shirt, but I reasoned they had received so much damage as a punishment for my rejection of her. I opted to approach his gloved hand first. I licked messily down his bicep to his forearm and wrist, then I worshiped his gloved palm. I paid homage to his long fingers, sucking each into my mouth, then in pairs. I was particularly cautious with his Skill-tipped fingers and their missing nails. No longer graceful, they bent crookedly and made it difficult for him to carve. They were mine to claim.
His freed hand pressed flat against my lower back, and his hips worked against mine. My arousal pressed against his own through the thin fabric of our leggings. If I had been granted permission, I would have brought my mouth down to taste him. Would he taste as sweet as his tongue or his skin when he flooded my mouth? Heat blazed in my belly at the thought of it.
I ignored the impulse and returned to my task with enthusiasm, for his other arm with its ungloved hand needed attention and sucking his fingers was similar enough to what I craved. I licked my way across his chest, and his other hand shot towards me as he saw my intention.
“Yessss,” he hissed. I took my time descending his arm, sucking a deep bruise into the soft bend of his inner elbow. He moaned below me, and his fingers dug into the soft flesh of my side. I took that as a compliment and nipped my way to his palm, where I laved my tongue over the lines of his hands.
When I swallowed his fingers into my mouth, his hips convulsed into mine, and our twin erections rubbed against once another. He brought his gloved hand to the curve of my ass, and his fingers flexed to encourage me to thrust into him. I enjoyed the sensation so much that I wanted to rub backwards against his palm. But no, down and forward and against his hardened cock, that was where he wanted me. I was obedient to the demands of his hand.
I was embarrassingly close to my own completion and moaned into his fingers, sucking them as far in as possible. It was almost too much. I nearly gagged, but my throat somehow relaxed, accepting the discomfort with pleasure.
“Eda and El, Fitz,” the Fool’s voice groaned in my ear, and I rolled my hips against his purposefully. His gloved hand sped up, and my hips matched the motion. I brought my mouth to his, and my free hand made its way to his chest where I traced circles about his pebbled nipple. He brought both hands to cup my jaw as though he had forgotten about all else we had been doing.
We kissed languidly, and I was surprised to find my hips had slowed. His hands slipped back into my hair. “I love you,” I said when I broke away.
“I love you too.” He brought our mouths back together. His hands descended further and explored the expanse of my back and my waist before they dipped back down under the curve of my ass once again. The twitching of his fingers told me what to do. I sped up my hips once more, intent that he forget all the sensations she left on his flesh. He was mine, not hers, and I did all I could to remind him of it.
“Please Beloved, please. I can’t—” He moaned into my mouth.
In a fit of inspiration, I brought my teeth to his throat. I worried it without breaking skin, licking without sucking. He groaned, and his hands sped up, and my teeth bit down. He cried out, a sharp high sound that escalated to noiselessness. He jerked against me, arching his back, and his hips thrusted unevenly into me as he came into his leggings. I looked upwards as best I could, but I could not see his face with his head thrown back. Another time, I told myself, I would witness his face as I brought him to completion. This time I could only lick his neck, pleased with my accomplishment.
I kissed him as he returned to himself, face relaxed and eyes bleary. He wrapped his arms loosely around my neck, kissing me deeply. “Fitz, that was good,” he murmured into my mouth.
“It was good.”
I was only a little distracted my throbbing cock pressed between us.
“How are you still hard?” the Fool asked vaguely, his mind loose and words light.
“I haven’t come yet,” I said somewhat obviously.
“You – Fitz, I could feel you. You have felt like you were ready to burst before I told you what I wanted to do.” He sounded frustrated, and I was hurt. How did I do this wrong? Did I do so poorly?
“I… Fool, you didn’t tell me I could. You didn’t say you wanted it, so I thought maybe you… didn’t want me to?” I realized the ridiculousness of the statement as I said it. Fortunately or otherwise, feeling particularly stupid has never encouraged me to orgasm, or I would need to change leggings far more frequently. My cock pulsed limply in assent.
He gave me a calculating look, and it did something to me, the heat rising once more between my hips. I rocked very gently against him, uncertain how to reclaim the mood or if he even wanted to. I could leave and quickly finish myself in the privy if that was truly what he preferred. I had done as much plenty of times since we had started sharing these rooms again.
“I should have realized this,” he said suddenly. “This is very like you.” He briefly pressed his fingertips to the bridge of his nose but grimaced and pulled his wet hand away. He tried to wipe it off on his trousers to find that they too were wet. He wiped his hand on my relatively dry leggings.
“This is me,” I said, uncertain what he was aiming at but feeling deeply embarrassed by it all the same.
“Fitz,” he said decisively. My dick and I tensed, sensing that he had something new in mind, something that I strongly suspected was designed to include my release. “I want you to take off all your clothes and sit on the couch. Spread your legs so that I can be between them.” I was primed to begin, but his look held me in place. “Fitz, I intend to suck your cock until you come into my mouth. Do you want to do that?”
I gaped at him. “You want to do that?”
“I want it very badly. But you didn’t answer my question.” His voice contained a warning.
“Yes, I want that,” I said immediately. Then, because I was unable to stop myself, “Are you sure?”
“I can hardly remember a time I haven’t wanted that, Beloved. I promise you I am quite sure.”
“Can I touch you while you do it?” I asked hopefully.
He nodded. “Shoulders and above, but please be gentle with my face. Don’t… don’t thrust into my mouth or pull my head closer. I don’t want to choke on you by accident.”
I was scandalized he thought I would do such a thing without his permission and did not hide my expression. He chuckled and touched my face lightly. “Beloved, what did I ever do to deserve you?” he asked me quietly.
With all my blood directed elsewhere, I had no good answer for him. leaned into his hand.
“Are we agreed?” He asked, his fingers tracing the edges of my face.
“Yes,” I responded immediately. He raised his eyebrows at me, and I scrambled off him. I removed my socks, leggings, and smallclothes and chucked them on a chair while he went to find a strip of leather for his hair. I sat back down onto the couch completely naked, spreading my legs as he had asked. He slotted himself between them, tracing his fingers up my ankles and calves, knees and thighs, until he rested hands and elbows on my thighs. His eyes were on my rather than my cock, and he smiled at me with raised eyebrows. I put my hands on his shoulders, blushing furiously.
I could not decide if I was embarrassed or impressed that my dick stood hard and ready as though I was a decade younger, but it did not matter. My beloved was between my legs and looking at me with desire, and I refused to feel awkward about it. My cock pulsed in agreement, a drop of slickness forming at the slit.
“I might not last long,” I warned him.
His smile turned salacious. “I would be surprised if you did. Are you ready?” My throat was clogged, but I managed to croak out a yes. His eyes held mine as he licked up my length. I practically leapt out of my skin, my eyes rolling back and hands gripping his shoulders. They were not his face, so I could be less gentle. I wrenched my eyes open to watch him.
I saw him assessing me after his initial exploration, and I wondered if it was more manageable to watch his eyes or his mouth or close my eyes entirely. My shaft twitched in enthusiasm at my options, batting him lightly. The beaded precum on the tip smeared on his face at the touch, a thin line connecting the corner of his lips to the tip of me. I flushed in embarrassment, and the redness reached the base of my ribs. He grinned at me, then opened his mouth, and licked my precum from his lips. I moaned loudly and could not look away as he took me into him.
His warmth and slickness took me apart. His expert tongue ran along the bottom of my cock, and his mouth created a slight sucking sensation as he enveloped me. I sank into his slow movement, trying to breathe and settling for something that oscillated between a whimper and a gasp when my lungs worked at all. I threaded my fingers into his loosely braided hair. He placed his cool hand where his warm mouth would not reach and stroked in tandem with the rise and fall of his head. I had the faintest sensation of déjà vu, but I shook the feeling away. He was here before me and deserved my full attention.
He looked up through his eyelashes, and I saw the smile in the corner of his eyes. The sight of him almost ended me. He increased his pace, and his tongue somehow swirled along the underside of my cock, an explosion of sensation with every movement. I managed to hold my hips in place, despite the increasing urgency I felt to move them, to thrust. I gripped his head harder with one hand but placed the other gently along his jaw and cheek. I could feel myself through his cheeks as they hollowed and filled. He moaned, and the sound vibrated around me.
And like that, I was undone, the blazing heat between my hips spilling out into him as he sucked my soul out with his mouth and consumed it entirely. I shouted his name to claim him and my name to love him. I lost time for a while.
I blinked my eyes open and found him leaning his cheek upon my thigh, a hand nestled in the thick line of hair connecting my navel to my crotch. He looked pleased with himself. I weakly grabbed his arm and pulled it towards me, and he followed the motion willingly. He let me kiss him.
I wanted to feel where I had been so recently, where he had loved me so much. He tasted little of me, but I did not mind. I licked into his mouth regardless, caressing his tongue with my own, claiming it back from her. I had not yet determined how I could reclaim his two missing teeth, but I was sure we could think of something between us.
I released us slowly and realized with a start that I had lost track of how many kisses we had shared. I kissed him again and thought that perhaps it did not matter, provided there would always be a next one. Then I kissed him again to be sure.
I could have stayed there forever, drunk on the realization that I had infinite kisses before me. Each time I pressed my lips to his, I felt deep satisfaction in knowing that we had progressed closer to eternity, and that we would never reach the end. My lips grew numb to sensation, but my heart demanded more.
Eventually, Beloved pulled away, his face full of regret. I silenced the whimper that rose within me in his absence. We had forever, I reminded myself. One more kiss now does not mean one fewer later.
“Hello Beloved,” I greeted him. We had been swimming in lust long enough that I had the strange impulse to greet him though we had never separated.
He smiled back, and I marveled at the expression. Here he was before me, love in his eyes. Would I ever grow used to it?
“Hello Beloved,” he responded. At some point, he had straddled my lap while I sat on the couch. I pressed a brief kiss onto his chest, reddened from my beard from earlier. I thought it might fade by the morning. I had covered him in over a dozen love marks, large and small, in my ministrations. I had somehow avoided placing any above the collar, excluding four faint pinpricks on his throat. They would be gone by morning. I both thanked and cursed my past self for it, wishing I had left an exposed bruise. He would grumble at me and apply makeup to it, and I could look to it as the hidden secret it was. Instead, I would know the wreckage his shirt covered, and I allowed myself to be satisfied with that. I mouthed the bruise on his collarbone, feeling greedy.
“We should clean up,” he said mournfully. I looked down at the mess of his leggings, drenched from his spend. His chest and arms were likely sticky from my mouth as well.
“We should,” I agreed.
He touched his bare fingers together, grimacing as he pulled them apart. I lowered my hands to grasp his thighs. With some maneuvering and care, I stood up and lifted him with me, his arms wrapping instinctively around my neck as he cried out in surprise. I carried him through our bedroom door and placed him on the bed, then I brought him clean sleeping clothes and went to find a pitcher of warm water and a washcloth. Thinking about Prudence, I gathered our clothes as well and tossed them into the basket on the way back to my Beloved.
He let me clean his torso, arms, hand, and back. I saw him warring with himself when I had reached the end of his exposed skin. I saved him the decision and handed him the cloth. I went to sponge myself in the sitting room. Knowing he likely had far more to clean up than I did, I took longer with it than I usually would. I returned to toss the cloth in the basket and found him freshly clothed. He handed me his soiled garments and the cloth, which I put in the basket as well. I joined him in bed.
“Not going to wear anything?” He closed the distance between us.
“I’m warm enough.” Then, suddenly anxious, “Should I put something on?”
“No, this is good,” He ran his hands over my chest and stomach, then made his way to my hips, squeezing them gently. I twitched when his hands crossed the sensitive crease of my inner thigh, and my body jerked when he held my softened dick in his hand.
“Is this amusing to you?” I gritted out. I somehow grew harder in his hands once more.
“Hm? Oh, I suppose. I wanted to feel its softness. I haven’t done so before.” His nimble fingers dancing lightly across the length, then wrapping his hand around to pump experimentally.
“It won’t be soft for long if you keep it up,” I warned him. He chuckled at my words, then released me to place his hand firmly on my hip.
“I’m sorry, Beloved. I keep struggling with the idea that you want me. I can’t believe that I can touch you at all, let alone like this.” His hand twitched on my naked hip. “I keep thinking I must be dreaming or you’ll change your mind or forget somehow, and I won’t be allowed to touch you again.”
“I feel the same,” I admitted. “But I realized something tonight.”
His eyebrows raised. “What did you realize?”
“I think I’ll have you forever.” I mumbled the words, as though speaking them loudly might make them untrue.
His eyes and grin widened. He kissed me, as enthused by the idea as I had been earlier. Our kisses were sloppy enough that, when they ended, I considered getting another cloth.
“You know what that means, Fitz?” He did not pause for a response, “That means I get to have you forever.”
“It does.” I nuzzled his wet cheek. He wedged himself into the crook of my shoulder, and my arm wrapped around him. I cautiously pulled aside his night shirt to rest my fingers on exposed skin. When he nuzzled deeper into me, I allowed myself to push aside the loose collar to fully press my hand against his back. I did not know if I could fall asleep like this, when my mind and heart and hands were so full of him. My entire body thrummed where it pressed against his. I could not imagine how it would sing if he were naked in my arms.
“Had I known how badly you wanted to see me shirtless, I would have removed it much sooner.” His tone was jesting, but it held an undercurrent of anxiety. I opened my eyes to the darkness.s
“I always wanted it.”
“I thought you didn’t after that first day. You never tried to again.”
“You placed my hand on you. I didn’t want to assume I still had permission afterwards. I thought perhaps you regretted granting it,” I whispered back.
“I understand that now.” He hesitated, as though weighing a thought to determine if it was worth saying. When at last he spoke, his words were slow and speculative. “I had not realized how much you like being granted permission. How much you want to be told what to do and what you are allowed to do.”
I felt both seen and ashamed. I remembered a time when Chade told me once that he would refuse to tell me what to do, that I needed to learn how to make decisions as a man, rather than react as a boy. I remembered begging Jinna to tell me what to do when Hap continued to make poor decisions. I remembered a myriad other moments when I was told I did something wrong, when I was told I should have done something else instead.
I was silent for too long, and the Fool twitched against me. “Did I say something wrong?” he asked worriedly. I gripped him harder to my side.
“No, you’re exactly right.” I did not know what else to say.
“What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking of the times when I was allowed to make a choice and told in great detail that I chose wrong or rashly or childishly. By Chade and Burrich mostly. Molly or Patience sometimes. Jinna did a couple of times, too.” I sighed, not wanting to bring them into bed with us.
“Oh.”
“Exactly.”
“But all of your decisions were correct in the long run. Had you not chosen rashly or childishly, there is a good chance we would not be alive here and now.” His opinion as a White Prophet certainly was comforting, but still.
“It does not feel that like when you’re being berated,” I reminded him.
“Well, none of them are paragons of virtue or wisdom either.” He scoffed.
That much was true.
I exiled their ghosts from our bed. He was with me, and I had thoughts on the matter as it stood between us alone. I drummed a rhythm on his side with my fingers to build up the courage. When I spoke, I spoke slowly, aware I was treading into unknown waters, but he was the one who had opened the conversation. Surely I would be safe with him. “I have often felt as though you set the bounds of our relationship without even speaking of them, and I was required to operate within those bounds. It was very strange when you said you placed no limits on our love when I was so very aware of what was allowed in our relationship. I was even more aware of what was not.”
“You felt like that?” His voice was curiously tinged with dread.
I could not back out of the conversation, nor I did feel like it was one we could continue delaying. Not after what we had done. Not if we were continue as we were.
I soldiered bravely onward.
“Very. You would avoid almost any questions of your past or yourself and, on the rare occasion I finally got answers out of you, you would speak in a way that seemed designed to confuse me. It made me feel stupid. So I rarely asked. Instead, I hoarded any dropped words like they were jewels.” I ran my knuckles along his shoulder “And it wasn’t just words, Beloved, but other things. Your clothes stayed on even when injured. You had your private room that I was not allowed into, nor was I allowed to ask questions about that which I saw. Even when we were children. Whenever I crossed an unspoken boundary, you retreated behind a mask. It felt a punishment, and it seemed to be was my responsibility to discover precisely which line I had crossed so that I could ensure I never did so again. You wore your masks against the world, Beloved, and I was frequently on the other side of them.”
“Oh.” He said quietly. His fingers beat a little pattern on my chest. “That does sound very like me.”
“Is it any surprise that I did not know whether you wanted me to remove your shirt again?”
“Not when you say it like that,” he admitted. We lay silently for a time, though what he was thinking, I had no idea. Through our link, I could tell he was distressed, but I felt rising determination in him to do right by me. “So… you would like me to tell you more explicitly where my limits are?”
I leapt at the offer. “I want nothing more.”
He tapped my chin with his finger. “I can do that. Do you want me to grant you blanket permission moving forward? Or do you prefer these to be specific allowances?”
I was very tempted by the offer. What would he grant permission for, I wondered. But then I thought of the look he would wear if I thought I had permission in general, but he viewed it as a violation in that moment. “Blanket permissions are fine for that which you would never reject or which have clear private or public limitations, but I prefer specific allowances when we are in the moment. The explicit guidance today was—” I remembered the strange euphoria of certainty, of knowing exactly what I was expected to do and achieving it to the best of my abilities. I shivered. “Very good,” I ended lamely.
His eyes flamed. I wondered if he felt a similar comforting sense of certainty, of knowing what I wanted. “I can do that.”
“Thank you.” I felt I might float away, I was so light. Without intending it, my thoughts drifted in a dangerous direction.
I thought back to my previous lovers, who seemed confused at the start that I was so hesitant to seize what I wanted. I had been so fearful of being rejected. I remembered the great embarrassment I felt when I finally realized that Molly was asking to be bitten in bed and her frustration when I was either too firm or too soft with it. Starling soon delighted in my willingness to learn exactly how to please her. After my initial impatience, I had brought this knowledge to Jinna, who seemed to enjoy my skills but was disappointed that I had not somehow intuited which skill she wanted and when. All three had either told me I was too gentle. They asked me to do more of what I wanted rather than asking permission, but I felt incapable of doing anything without some sign it would be well received.
“Do you want that?” I asked him suddenly, loathe to place him in the position I had so often been in.
“Want what?” He asked, clearly lost in his own musing. I realized his half-hard cock was pressed against my hip.
“To tell me what to do. I don’t want to burden you,” I explained.
He shifted so he could lean over and kiss me. “I would love to tell you exactly what I want you to do,” he said seriously. Heat rose in me at the thought. “It is no burden at all to think of what would please both of us. No burden at all.” He purred the words. His low voice and easy acceptance dragged a quiet moan out of me, and I longed to embrace him once more. As though sensing my desire, he brought his lips to mine.
I turned the full of my attention towards him. I grabbed the underside of his knee and pulled to help him straddle me before I brought my hands down to grip his waist. Our hips rolled together, the motion achingly familiar and blessedly new. His tongue parted my lips as we kissed, and he explored my mouth.
When I considered that perhaps I might be able to bed him a second time that night, he pulled away. His hair had fallen out of its tie and hung down onto my face, shrouding our room with it. His face filled my entire field of vision. His breath feathered my hot cheeks. I waited.
“Blanket permission the first.” He stated, “You are allowed to kiss me whenever and wherever you like. I don’t care who is there or how involved it is. If you are so inspired, you can throw me onto the table in Verity’s tower and devour me in the middle of Skill-lessons.” He eyed me seriously. I could not ever imagine being as brave as that, but I understood his intent. I nodded, face crimson. “I, meanwhile, will kiss you only when I am certain we two are alone, unless you say you are comfortable with brief kisses in front of specific others. We know what is between us, and I have no need to display it.” I nodded one more, appreciating that he understood my preferences and would abide by them.
“Don’t just nod. Tell me you agree or not,” He said, voice sharp.
“I agree,” I said quickly, obediently.
“Good.” I melted under the warmth of his compliment. His eyes darkened as I did so. He continued valiantly.
“Right. Blanket permission the second. In private, you may touch any part of me that’s clothed. You will ask permission before removing my shirt or I will ask it of you. Do you agree?” He asked, worried.
“Yes,” I responded immediately,
“Good.” His face softened, as did his voice. He spoke thoughtfully and a little apologetically. “I think this past week, I kept expecting you to take off my shirt. Since you had no idea if I wanted it, and I am not certain most of the time either, I think just being explicit would be helpful, right?”
“That sounds wonderful to me,” I agreed easily.
He smiled devilishly. “I will eventually grant permission to remove my leggings and smallclothes, but I don’t anticipate that occurring anytime soon.” A jolt of lust shocked my body at the thought of seeing him naked. He laughed delightedly.
“You may also carry me, flip me, pull me down into a kiss, reposition me so that I fit against you more comfortably, or otherwise use your strength in deeply attractive ways to gently manage my body. I like all these things very, very much,” he confessed. “And I would like you to keep doing them.” I took the opportunity to pull him over to his side, positioning him so that our legs were tangled, and our arms were wrapped around each other. Our brows touched lightly.
“Of course,” I murmured, rubbing my nose against his cheek.
He breathed a sigh of relief. “In public, you are limited to touching me above clothing on my arms and torso, though you are allowed to touch my hands whenever, and my neck, face, and head only near our close friends in certain circumstances, and I trust you will use your discretion and caution to determine what those are. In public, I will touch the same locations very rarely and only when I think we are alone, but I expect I will touch you more frequently under certain extraneous circumstances, dancing or whatnot. We are agreed?”
“Yes,” I wanted to kiss him now, but he had not released me yet. He was not done.
“Good.” He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Fitz, I want you to have control over how others see us and our relationship. We live with your family, and you are far less comfortable with public affection than I am. One day, I would love to hold your arm as we stroll through Buckkeep Town, kiss you in the Great Hall, dance with you at Springfest, and make frantic love with you in the Women’s Gardens during Springfest.” I did not think my face could get redder. “Beloved, I would love for everyone in the Six Duchies to know FitzChivalry Farseer has a strange lover with an enthusiasm for upsetting gender norms and a tendency to present as a man. I think to have such a public and legendary figure present himself with this lover on his arm would do much to upend the backwards opinions about love and sex in this kingdom.” He sounded at once passionate and determined, and I too found myself wishing for such a world. I wondered if I would ever be strong enough to usher it in.
“But—“ His word snapped me back to the present. “I won’t force you into anything you don’t want to do. The same way you don’t watch me when I undress or visit my private chambers when the door is closed. The same way you won’t thrust into my throat even when I know you desperately want to.” He smiled fondly at the memory. “Beloved, I understand your fear, and I understand your need to protect yourself. I have that same need, but we present it in different ways. I won’t force you to display yourself in a way you are unwilling, the same way you don’t force me to display myself in the ways I am unwilling.” Then he relaxed and kissed my nose, releasing me at last.
“Thank you for that,” I said quietly. Then, growing stronger and bolder, I needed him to know that it was not only him. “It’s not just that it’s you, Beloved. I have never kissed anyone in front of anyone else on purpose. Just Nighteyes. Hap a couple of times by accident. I think Patience’s party was the first time I had ever danced in front of anybody other than her and Lacey. I have never held anyone’s arm or hugged anyone or… or…” I could not think of what else couples did in public, but all of it sounded terribly uncomfortable to do.
He understood what I was trying to say, nodding along with my words and taking over my explanation easily. “For you, affection was private or not at all, the only exceptions were when you were dreadfully wounded,” he said sympathetically. “In public, you could fight or lie, but you could not love. You can scarcely be yourself in a room with a few family members, let alone a group of strangers.”
“Exactly,” I felt such gratitude that he understood what I meant, that he put into words my own fears. “I am trying not to be as afraid all the time, but it’s so difficult, Beloved. This is not something I learned in the dungeons, but something I have been taught for as long as I can remember.”
“I understand, Beloved. I acquired my own protective strategies later in life. I looked like a child, but I was around 20 when I was tattooed, among other… deeply unpleasant experiences at that school. And the trip I undertook to get to you was not a… a painless experience,” Beloved shuddered, and I held my body still, uncertain how to respond. Slowly, I began to move my fingers in circles on his back to comfort him.
When he still did not respond, I opted to fill the silence. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No,” He said resolutely. “Not tonight. But thank you for asking. I think we have had more than enough talk of the past tonight. I cannot tell which of our protective strategies is more extreme but, suffice it to say, I appreciate how well you have learned and respected mine. Thank you.”
And so, remembering my permissions, I kissed him gently and let him sob quietly into my chest without commenting upon it. In each other’s arms and with newfound understanding, we both slept through the night without any nightmares.
Notes:
This is probably the most vanilla Dom/sub undertones fic on ao3, but our blorbos are soft and require softness. IMO Fitz is heavily coded as "wants clear guidance on things." I'm confident that a Beloved who knows they're loved can fulfill this need.
For the delay: this is my first published E-rated chapter/fic, and it's not beta'd. I’ve edited it to death, and to the skill level I’m capable of without re-writing it entirely. I hope you liked it :)
Feel free to chat with me on tumblr! @smoky-solitude
Chapter 21: The Witted of Greton
Notes:
Chapter specific warning for violence. From "swarmed her", skip to "When I finally returned to myself in full,"
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
I awoke feeling lighter and more relaxed than I could ever remember. My arms and legs spread like a starfish across our bed, and the Fool’s curled body was wedged into my side. I rotated to wrap myself around him, feeling like a clam closing its shell or a hand clasping its mate. Two halves made one, and we were whole.
I had experienced yet another changing time, and I now lived in another ‘after.’ But, for the first time in my life, I had been granted clear expectations on my behavior in this new place. I was oddly unafraid of this new place, and it was a delicious novelty.
The sun brightened the sky outside. I judged that I had slept later than I usually would have, but I still had some time before breakfast, I reasoned. Dutiful and Chade would return to Buckkeep late this evening, and Kettricken and I had been preparing a welcome feast for them. Or rather, Kettricken worked on the feast and handed me documents on internal politicking that she didn’t have time for. She tried to include me at first, but I expressed neither interest nor skill in organizing such an event, and my involvement only slowed the process down. She had rejected the Fool’s offer to help as well, insisting that he needed to rest and to heal, but he was welcome to aid the Harvestfest planning in a month provided he felt well enough by then.
I cancelled Skill lessons today in anticipation of their return. Lately we focused all our energies on the cleaning and sorting of scrolls, now that Thick learned to have his shields up most of the time. Nettle was the true champion in that effort, finding words to explain the concept as Dutiful, Chade, and I never had. It was a huge relief for our walls not to be constantly hammered on by his music. Now it was like a song playing softly in another room, and we could choose to approach and listen. Sometimes he slipped, but he usually was not bothered when we asked him once more.
I had also cancelled sword fighting lessons with Hap and Nettle. My daughter was helping prepare for Dutiful’s return, while my son was sore from our work this week and that he needed a rest day. I wondered at how much time it took him to recover from our weapons training and chalked it up to muscles he had never used before, whereas mine simply regained their old strength.
So my day amounted to breakfast with Kettricken, then working at my desk, perhaps a ride with Myblack, and finally attending the feast. The Fool had planned a simple disguise as one Lord Chance so he could join as well, and Kettricken had put together some documents to provide fictional holdings for Lord Chance, bequeathed three years prior. He promised me that he would not advertise he was staying in these chambers.
I kissed my Fool’s head softly and still he did not stir. I carefully excised my arm from under his neck and my leg from between his knees. He mumbled quiet protests, but I managed to move gently enough so as not to wake him. I put on a simple outfit, disdaining the guardsmen’s uniform, and padded into the sitting room to heat water for washing. I kept finding buttons with my feet, and I resigned myself to a more systematic search when the fourth button caused me to leap and clasp my foot in pain. They were small, stubby things, and unfortunately quite in fashion. It was difficult to find good wide buttons anymore except on children’s clothes.
I began basic ablutions in the washbasin, pleased that we had cleaned the worst of it from ourselves up last night. I made tea and returned to our bed with a teapot and two cups.
The Fool was awake, but there was still a sweet wooliness in his eyes. I set my supplies on the nightstand and kissed him awake. He eventually pushed me away, practically giggling at my antics. I poured tea for both of us and passed him his cup.
“Good morning, Beloved.” I clinked our little cups together.
“Good morning, Beloved.” He smiled and kissed me once more before taking a cautious sip.
“Sleep well?”
“Marvelously,” he drawled. “Nothing like an orgasm to ease yourself to a dreamless sleep.” He smirked as I coughed into my cup. I thumped my chest. “Yourself?”
“Likewise.” I blushed, all my attention focused on my too-hot tea and not on my too-hot face.
“Glad to hear it, Beloved.” He ran a hand up my thigh, then walked his fingers inwards. I yelped and almost spilled on myself, and he grinned broadly. I seized his hand and raised it to my lips to kiss it as apology before releasing it. Unbothered, he placed his hand on my shoulder and leaned against me. I took a cautious sip, then another. I wanted to lower the level so that if he restarted his antics, we would be relatively safe from scalding tea.
“Do you know if Nettle is still coming for breakfast? She said so yesterday morning, but I don’t know if that’s changed,” he asked idly.
I held up a finger and Skilled to ask her. “She says yes, though she only just woke up. It may be a little while, but she’ll bring breakfast with her.”
“Thank you, Fitz.” His dexterous fingers danced across my shoulders to rest on the nape of my neck, where they dug in and competently massaged my muscles. I groaned lustily. My eyes closed, and his motions deepened. Sharp sparks blossomed where he touched, relieving any tension I did not know I held. I turned to clay in his hands, and he worked me as he wanted.
His motions ceased. I discovered that I had flopped entirely forward, and I no longer held a mug. I looked around blearily to see he’d rescued it from my drooping hands. At my wandering eyes, it appeared in my hands. Beloved rubbed my thigh nearby.
I took a lukewarm drink then tossed back the rest. I handed the mug back and stretched as entirely as I could. He smiled cunningly and pounced on my limp form, throwing me back onto the mattress. I convulsed upwards into him to throw him off me, then sprang on him.
We wrestled for a time. My tight-fitting clothes gave me great advantage over his loose nightshirt and leggings, as I was eventually able to get a hold of him to hold him down. I ravaged him with my mouth, licking down his neck and leaving a fresh love bite upon his collarbone. Satisfaction roared within me as the sight of it, and I experienced a flash of memory. His reddened face gasping words as his hands pushed my head down. Leave it, I thought he said. The words reverberated in my mind, and I left it.
I straddled and kissed him indulgently. His hands ran lightly down my body until he reached my ass. He grabbed me firmly, and I yelped. He smirked, and I understood in the moment that he had let me win our little wrestling match. I kissed his nose, placed my hands upon his chest, and experimentally ground my hips downward into his. His eyes widened in surprise then rolled back in pleasure; he groaned with abandon as his cock hardened underneath me. Intense satisfaction washed over me that I had such an effect on him.
Sensing my mood, he grabbed my knee with one hand and pushed my shoulder with the other while his hips moved upward. He very neatly rotated us so I was beneath him with my legs bracketing his hips. His arousal was against mine, and he rocked against me. It was a strange position, one I had never been in before, and I found with some embarrassment that I did not mind it.
His mouth dove towards my neck, which unfortunately gave me a good view of the window. I squeezed my eyes shut, indulging a minute longer until I pulled him up towards my mouth for a chaste kiss.
“I have to go now,” I said regretfully.
He made a face at me. “Do you have to?”
“I’m running late.”
He sighed and climbed off me. “Will you work here later today or in the workroom?”
I got out of bed, checking my clothes to ensure they held no sign of our antics. “Here, unless you and Nettle can’t stop giggling.”
“Mmmm, no promises. I don’t know yet how he behaves before large events.” He held out a hand to me, and I clasped it instinctively. He pulled lightly, and I went to him, leaning with my knee on the bed so I could kiss him. His lips and tongue worked together to make me forget anything else but him.
His hand flattened on my chest and pushed me away. “You have to go, Fitz.”
“Right,” I said. “I have to go.” I left him in bed.
I took some papers from my desk and made my way to the workroom. I did not know if it was Prudence or a different discreet servant, but a covered breakfast waited for me there, as it did almost every day since I had chosen not to go through the Skill pillar. Was that truly less than a month ago? So much had happened so quickly, it felt Kettricken and I had been working together like this for far longer. I suspected the return of Dutiful, Chade, and Web would alter my life dramatically once more, from the work Kettricken and I were doing to Skill lessons, and even dinners and evenings. I regretted spending my half-dozen free evenings writing about an old quarrel rather than taking advantage of my time with the Fool.
But I could not change the past, I reminded myself. It’s done.
I knocked on Kettricken’s privy door, and she greeted me, kissing my cheeks. “You look well, Fitz.”
I placed the tray and took my usual seat. “Thank you. I feel well.” I did not say that it was a result of thorough bedding or having cleared up some old disagreements with the Fool. I suspected she might guess he was at fault for my pleasant mood.
“I myself feel nervous for tonight,” she said plainly. “It has been long since Dutiful and Chade have been in Buckkeep, and it will upset the routine we two have built. But we will make more progress with the Old Blood and Piebalds both once Web is back, and the nobles will be happy to see their prince returned.” While I felt to some extent she said this mostly for me, that did not negate the real concern she felt.
“We can handle Chade together, and Dutiful will be delighted to be home. I have taken him riding with the Skill three times this week because he misses Buckkeep so desperately.” I comforted her implied fears rather than the spoken ones.
She smiled. “Thank you Fitz. We truly have learned to work well together. And here I thought I would be comforting you this morning.”
“Perhaps it’s a rare bout of optimism.” It pleased me greatly to alleviate her burdens when so often she had aided me with mine.
“Thank you FitzChivalry.” She clasped the back of my hand briefly before returning to her meal.
“I look forward to Web’s return as well. I have tried to work out the best way to settle the Piebald-Old Blood disputes, but it is hard without his insights. I am not truly a member of the Old Bloods, and the Piebalds both revere and revile me, so I feel both under- and over-qualified for this task. I’ve done what I can, though.” I handed her the stack of documents I had taken from my desk.
It included a thorough write-up of each group’s grievances against the Six Duchies and against one another, possible solutions for each grievance and the potential impact of each solution, and potential laws to enforce the solutions with the goal of decreasing both instances of Wit-on-Wit violence and prejudice against those with the Wit magic. The laws had taken the longest and were not something I enjoyed learning about, but I hoped a few options would be acceptable.
When I had first accepted this role, we had hoped we could begin negotiations and end all violence immediately. Instead, we had found that while the Old Blood were willing, the Piebalds were unsurprisingly suspicious of Farseer goodwill. We had experienced several more clashes between the two groups over that time. Each instance had been a two-day ride or even further, so we had agreed it best to stay in Buckkeep and allow the local Dukes to handle it. They had done as well as we expected, and Duchess Faith of Bearns had enacted even stricter protections than Buck. Kettricken and I both suspected that the entire family was Witted, but we made no attempt to find out for certain.
Kettricken had finished her meal quickly and switched to reading through the documents, taking occasional sips of her coffee. I had bravely poured myself a cup of coffee and added cream as the Fool had suggested and found it unfortunately enjoyable. Not as good as tea, but useful if one had a late night. I tried not to smirk at the thought.
As she marked up my pages, I applied myself to my breakfast, my fingers idly neatening the pages she set down. She stopped partway, “These are good work Fitz. I too would like Web’s opinion, and I wish we could get the Piebalds to the negotiation table, but these are a good start. I can tell you worked hard on these.”
I nearly glowed with her compliments and tried not to feel like a child about it. She handed me her own pile of papers as well, and I flipped through them. Fishing rights and concerns, another legal dispute, and that damned Bingtown Trade Agreement. I scowled at it.
“How much do you want to bet they added a military alliance back in?” I asked grimly.
“Oh, without a doubt.”
Normally at this point we would Skill Dutiful and Chade, but we agreed the previous day that such a conversation was unnecessary. Instead, we reviewed each others’ work in more detail. I started with the legal dispute, reading through it and asking questions and noting down her answers, while she continued to go over the Old Blood documents and doing the same.
After some time, there was a knocking on her door. Kettricken looked at it with surprise. I hid in my usual spot while she accepted the message. She read it at the door.
I heard her say, “Bring me Captain Foxglove immediately.” Then the door closed.
I emerged. “Is it happening?” My voice held a mix of dread and excitement.
She looked up at me with fierce eyes, “It is. The Old Bloods and Piebalds are clashing hours from here. We ride, King FitzChivalry.”
I did not think, I simply moved.
I went directly to my rooms, waving to wide-eyed Beloved and Nettle as I went into my bedroom. I put on a gaurdsman’s uniform. I emerged to strap on my sword and axe while repeating Kettricken’s words to my beloved and my daughter. I checked my various hidden knives unself-consciously and patted my hidden pockets for poisons while Nettle hovered and the Fool watched. I hugged both my daughter and lover briefly, grabbed two apples from the bowl, then raced to the stables to saddle Myblack.
All the work I had put into her was helping, but she did not like the excitement in the stables and shied away while I tried to saddle her. Frustrated at the delay, I used my Wit to calm her and was surprised when she settled instantly. I guiltily gave her an apple and readied her, then I led her to the courtyard where a dozen guardsmen mounted and two dozen more waited on foot.
In the chaos, there was a small barefoot girl of perhaps eight years of age with a fierce look about her eyes. She rode a sand-colored mare without any tack whatsoever, and I saw that the two had the Wit. Though were not bonded with one another, I could feel their communication just at the edge of my senses. With the Queen, Captain Foxglove, and the girl, we made fifteen riders, and the foot would reach Greton in the following morning. The Quartermaster handed out travel rations to the cavalry first, and then we left with the girl, trotting to the gate and speeding to a canter once we passed it.
Captain Foxglove and I rode at the front as my Queen and the girl riding just behind. The rest of the troop rode three across behind them, and nobody questioned it. Foxglove glanced at me, then her eyes jerked back to look again and lingered. They widened in recognition. We three had ridden to Neatbay together so long ago when the Red Ship Raiders had landed, and it was not surprising that she would recognize me in such a similar situation almost twenty years later. I nodded at her, and she nodded back.
“You still have your wolf?” She asked, voice nearly lost to the rhythmic sound of hooves. I nearly pretended to be Tom Badgerlock, but I could not help but feel guilty at the impulse. She knew me.
“No. He died last year.”
“I’m sorry. Six of my guards said he saved their lives in Neatbay. I would give anything to have him with us today,” Foxglove said ruefully. I was shocked to hear her say as much, not only accepting my Wit but appreciating my wolf in the same instance. Nighteyes would have liked her, I suspected.
I nodded once, my throat too closed for speech. I focused my attention on the conversation behind us.
The girl’s name was Tempest, named for the storm that raged during her birth. She described the town and situation as we listened closely. Greton was once a very prosperous trading hub specializing in hide and timber export along the Antler River. The Antler was wide and shallow there, the current carving out the opposite side of the river, and it had docks for fishing boats. Tempest’s community was located just north of town and supplied many of the hides Greton traded. She told us they would sell their goods every week in the little market just past the northern gate of town, and today the Piebalds showed up and started shouting at her grandmam. Tempest’s mother had sent her Wit-companion, the horse Goldenrod, to bring the girl to Buckkeep and ask the Queen for help.
The girl paused a moment to speak with the horse, then continued talking. “The Piebalds didn’t see me leaving, but now they’re shouting names. They’ve got a crowd now, but the crowd ain’t doin’ nothing, even though they know us. We been trading with them for forever. We always set up in the same location.” The girl was as fierce as her name and lightning bolts sparked across her eyes.
“Is there anyone in the crowd who would be willing to help, if prompted?” Kettricken asked with clipped words.
The girl focused inward, then her voice became apologetic, “Mebbe, mam says. There’s a leatherworker who we worked with, and he’s got ‘prentices, but mam’s afraid if non-Witted folks step in, a riot will break out. Grandmam is trying to talk to their leader, but she ain’t getting close enough to get walloped. They’re saying we’re traitors, but they’re the ones betraying us.”
“Your mother and grandmother are wise. If they can hold off until we’re there, we may be able to put a halt to it.” Kettricken tightened her jaw and looked to Goldenrod. “Please tell them, we’re trying to get there as fast as we can. We will stop it.” The horse bobbed her head as best she could at a canter.
We had to slow to a trot so the horses could rest. Myblack was still antsy to move, and it was a struggle to rein her in.
“Badgerlock, do you think you can do anything if you went ahead?” Kettricken asked me.
“Maybe. But it’s possible I’ll only make it worse.”
“And then you’d be mobbed.”
“Goldenrod and I can bring you round the back, secret-like,” Tempest offered. “You can step in only if something breaks out.”
I nodded. I would rather be the first line of defense against the Piebalds than Tempest’s Grandmam. Still, I looked to Kettricken for permission. “My Queen?”
After a few seconds, she decided. “Ride,” she told me.
The girl and the horse darted into the woods. Myblack and I followed.
Goldenrod’s shorter legs and familiarity with the terrain allowed her to stay ahead of us, but Myblack was determined not to fall too far behind the rangy mare. Tempest and I did not speak, all energy focused on supporting our mounts over the rocky terrain. We emerged from the woods directly into Tempest’s community, then we followed the path to town. We heard the Piebalds long before we saw them. We left Myblack on the edge of the path and crept forward stealthily. Fighting still had not broken out just yet.
We found a hidden place in the bushes. Tempest’s grandmam held her own with eight Old Bloods against the dozen angry youths that made up the Piebalds. All the Piebalds were armed with clubs and swords, and all the Old Bloods had were belt knives.
“So, you’re a good fighter?” The girl asked, eyeing my axe and sword.
“Good enough. I’d rather not fight today, if we can avoid it. There’s been enough death.”
She nodded sagely. “You Old Blood?”
There was no use denying it. “Yes. I was raised without guidance on my magic. I joined a community when I was 18, but it wasn’t for me. I left after a year.”
She nodded without concern, and I wonder if she knew others who felt that way. “And you protect the Queen?”
“I protect the Queen. I trust her.”
“My grandmam says she was given an impossible position, and she did as good a job as any could hope for, a foreign queen without a Farseer king.” The girl said it as though she was quoting something her grandmother said often. I looked forward to meeting the woman below us.
“Your grandmam is a wise woman,” I said.
The Piebalds were starting to twitch and fidget, their nerves making them jumpy. Their leader was getting red in the face and moved his hand to his belt next to his sword.
“It’s happening soon,” Tempest whispered.
I nodded. I used every trick I had to sneak closer in a Buck blue uniform. I emerged from behind a stall, quickly brushed the twigs out of my hair, and found her beside me.
“You sure you want to be here?” I asked the girl. Her head barely reached my elbow.
Her fists were balled, and her eyes threw lightning, but she said nothing. I peeked around the stall.
“What’re you stalling for, woman! Just give us what we want!” The man’s face was a torrent of anger.
“I can’t give you what you want, Melvin. It’s not mine to give,” Tempest’s grandmam said calmly.
Melvin placed his hand on his sword, and I took it as my signal to move.
I rounded the trade stall, and all froze at the sight of my blue uniform. Tempest and I made our way to between the two groups. She stopped next to her grandmam and gripped her hand. I met the old woman’s eyes and sensed her gratitude. I stepped deliberately in front of her and adopted a relaxed posture.
“What’s this here I see? A group of young toughs tormenting an old woman and her family. Never thought I’d see the day.” I shook my head woefully. I was not particularly skilled at de-escalating situations, but I hoped I could delay them more with confusion.
“This ain’t your business, Farseer prick,” Melvin sneered at me. I froze, fearful I had been identified, but I saw no recognition on his face or even those behind him. Instead, he fixated on my uniform. What an odd way to refer to a guardsman. I relaxed as best I could in the face of a dozen young Piebalds.
“We are in Buck,” I said plainly. “And I happen to work here. So it rather seems like my business.”
“Ain’t Buckkeep, ain’t your business,” the boy said. I looked at him more closely. He was my height, and barely twenty. His scabbard was old and rusty, and the grip of his sword had seen better days. He repeated his statement rather than swinging at me, and I saw that he was scared. He led eleven youths all of whom grew up in a time of peace. Had any of them even been in combat before?
“You don’t want to do this.” I scowled as fiercely as I could without growling like a wolf. I adopted the subtle posture of one who is deeply intimidating. I’m bigger than you, I’m scarier than you. I’ve fought with men bigger and scarier than you and won. You don’t want to fight me. I tried to convey all these ideas with my stance and face. I think for a brief instant I had him: I saw his doubt and fear, and the market quieted as he thought about tucking his tail to run.
That was when Kettricken showed up. Her squad of mounted guardsmen funneled into the market through the narrow gate between the market and town. The sound of hoofbeats rang in silence of the market, and Melvin looked over to see the pale mountain queen riding just behind Captain Foxglove. Only one of the horsemen were on the same side as the gate as them.
Melvin’s eyes narrowed, and the Piebalds followed his gaze. Their eyes grew hungry.
“Get the Farseer bitch!” He shouted, pulling out his sword. Then the Piebalds swarmed her.
“No!” I removed my axe from my back. My first hit took Melvin in the neck, his blood spraying my uniform. He swung his sword weakly at me. I dodged it easily, placed a boot onto his chest and shoved his body off backwards and ripping the axehead out in the process. The two Piebalds closest to him turned back and saw me standing over his dying body. One bellowed, and the other charged.
I remember moving towards where I had last seen Kettricken, as inevitable as the tide with the fury of a storm. I did not attack anyone who was not in my way, but I mowed down any who were, not caring if they faced me directly or not. I reached my queen to find Foxglove standing over her and another guard downed on the ground. Two more guards stood on either side of their captain, having made it through the gate. Foxglove shouted something at me, and I joined the line to protect our Queen.
At some point, Kettricken stood back up. She wielded my guardsman’s sword, face fierce. A few strands of her hair whipping free from her braid. She was out-of-practice and did not take any aggressive actions, but her aim was precise when anyone got too close. Further away, I saw Tempest peeking up from behind a stall, eyes interested rather than sorrowful. I hoped that meant her people were safe. I was pleased to see two guard striking out from our group standing between the remaining Piebalds and the Old Bloods.
I heard Kettricken shouting, her head too close to mine. There were not many Piebalds left: She called on them to surrender. One woman dropped her sword and backed away before she ran into the woods. A boy raised his sword to swing, but at Kettricken’s shout, he dropped it. The guard he was fighting could not pull the blow and his sword dug into the boy’s arm. The guard and the boy cried out.
When I finally returned to myself in full, I first became aware of the sticky sensation of blood on my face and hands, and I tasted the familiar metallic flavor of blood in my mouth. I had a deep cut on my left shoulder and the sleeve barely hung on. I held my axe with only my right hand, and when I tried to bring the left up to hold it, I was unable to do so. I looked at it with great interest as it did not hurt. This was also a familiar feeling.
I was swaying where I stood. I saw Kettricken talking to the grandmam, who held Tempest against her side. A woman nearby was speaking quietly to Goldenrod, and she bore a resemblance to Tempest and her grandmam. Other Old Bloods spoke to the guards, and three Piebalds had surrendered. The guard who sliced the boy was pressing a cloth against his bloody arm.
I saw Foxglove standing next to me. She was speaking, and eventually the words started to filter in. She was reporting the ride over here to me as though I were her commanding officer.
“I’m here. I’m back,” I told her faintly.
“Oh, F- Tom! Glad to hear it. I forgot how you get in battle, but once I remembered, I knew to wait.” She took my axe from my right hand and set it down. She replaced it with an open waterskin. I took a pull, swished the water in my mouth, and spat pink. I took a long drink, the water easing the dustiness of my throat while Foxglove filled me in. “You did good work. Kettricken is talking with Mayberry, Tempest’s grandmam and the head of the community. She told us how you two showed up in the nick of time and had nearly gotten them to stand down all by yourself. Seems we showed up a bit too soon, rather than too late.” She grimaced. Rarely was that a problem.
I nodded limply and looked for a place to sit. She found me a stool and helped me over to it.
“Any wounded?” I asked.
“Ned’s dead. He was behind the Queen.” I nodded. That was the body I stepped over. “Other than that, you’re the worst of our injuries.”
“The cut isn’t that deep.” I looked again. It was hardly more than a surface scratch.
“You broke your arm,” she said bluntly. “Couldn’t get your axe free of a body, so you used it to block a club. It was broken by the time you got to us. You tried to help the Queen stand up with it, but she saw before she accepted the offer. Probably would’ve pulled you down on top of her and made my job much harder.”
I nodded again. That sounded right. “Would that Burrich were still with us.” I had almost never been tended to by a healer and was not looking forward to the experience.
“Would that he were. Blade would have been a fine alternative, but his second grandchild was born today, and he was attending to his daughter.” She eyed me as she said this. “If you’re stable, I’m going to get Mettle over here. She has training as a medic. Then we’ll send you and Kettricken back with six guards, while I stay behind with the rest. Her boy the prince gets in today, and she’ll want to be home to see him.”
“Of course,” I said agreeably. She took my words as command and went to fetch the medic.
Mettle was a large Tilth woman with hands the size of melons. She and I cursed our way through a basic splint and sling, which she strapped firmly against my body for riding. I blacked out twice during the process. My friend Wim had been a part of the party, and I was a little ashamed I hadn’t noticed. He rode a large courser, and between him, Mettle, and a trade stall, I managed to get up behind him without making a fool of myself. We all agreed that I would fall over if I rode unassisted.
Kettricken had somehow convinced Mayberry, her daughter Sage, and Tempest to join us on our return to Buckkeep. Mayberry claimed Ned’s horse, while Sage mounted Goldenrod, and Tempest clambered up on Myblack. I told her about the apple in the saddlebag.
We made our way back to Buckkeep, the horses alternating between cantering for speed and walking for stamina. I did not know if I passed out or slept, but it was a dark ride home.
I awoke in the infirmary with Nettle sitting next to my bed. She read a scroll in her lap. I tried to speak but only managed a broken groan. At my sound, her head rotated towards me. She set the scroll on the table and picked up the glass of water, holding it to my lips. I coughed a bit, but my crackling throat felt far better. She removed the cup and looked at me intently.
“Hello Nettle,” I wheezed.
“Oh, you’re actually awake this time.” She set down the cup and grasped my right hand.
“Was I not before?” I asked weakly.
“No. You would groan and mumble, and I would give you water, and then you would sleep some more.”
“What time is it?” I could not see a window.
“Very late. After the welcome feast.” I looked behind her for my Fool, expecting him to be there as well. She saw my look. “Patience and the Fool stayed with you during the feast, and I came later. Chade and the Queen thought it would be inappropriate for a girl like me to publicly miss out on a party because of a wounded guardsman. They only let me come after I had shown myself and danced for an hour. The Queen, Chade, and Dutiful had to stay at the feast the entire time, and they kept Skilling me for updates. Patience left, and the Fool wanted to stay with you overnight, but he looked like he might fall over. I offered to stay instead. Was that alright?” she asked uncertainly. I saw her nervousness. I squeezed her hand.
“That was good. Very good. Thank you, Nettle.” I was briefly upset that my family did not leave the welcome feast thrown in their honor, but I brushed the feeling away. If I ever did return as FitzChivalry and wound up in a similar situation, they would be able to visit. I idly wondered how long it would take before some well-meaning citizen attacked me in a misguided attempt to protect the crown.
“How are you feeling?” Nettle asked. I moved my legs to see if they would work. They moved just fine, and my right arm was the same. My left forearm was a mass of pulsing pain that I could feel growing sharper. The healer had replaced Mettle’s impromptu splint with a more robust one, and the sling was designed for that purpose rather than an old cloth someone had found.
“As well as can be expected. The willowbark is wearing off.” Nettle unfortunately read my mind and presented me with a cup of willowbark tea sweetened with honey. I took a sip to test the temperature and grimaced at the bitterness. Then I downed the whole cup, drinking as rapidly as I could. I handed it back, and she exchanged it for more water.
“Do you think you’ll fall back sleep?” she asked after I drank the second cup.
My body longed to be elsewhere and insisted it would not sleep until I was there. “Yes, but I would sleep better in my own bed. Never liked the infirmary.” Now that I was awake and doused with willowbark, I felt ready to do almost anything. I looked down to see that my guardsman’s uniform had been removed. Instead, I wore a plain shirt, leggings, and socks.
“Is that a… wise idea?” Nettle asked.
I shrugged my right shoulder. “Probably not,” I admitted. I sat up and rotated my body so that my feet were on the ground, using her proffered hand for balance. I was so hungry.
“Should I get someone?” She sounded worried. Did I look so poor as that? A broken arm was surely not that worrisome.
I didn’t answer her. I put weight on my legs, finding them sturdy. I stood, swayed, but then held steady. “I think I’ll be alright. Can I hold on to you?”
“Of course,” she said. “Let me leave a note.” She scribbled something on a piece of paper and left that on the side table, then pocketed her scroll. “Let’s go.”
We were slow not only due to my weary body, but because several late-night partiers stumbled around the castle, and we wanted to keep clear of them if we could. We eventually made our way back through the hallways, and I used my key on the door. The Fool had not barred it for the night, so perhaps he suspected I would want to be back.
The Fool was curled up on an armchair, a blanket around his shoulders. He held a cup of tea in his hands and stared at the fire. At the door’s opening, he stood and looked at us. After a second, he rushed over to help. He claimed me from Nettle and helped me onto the couch and her onto an armchair. He draped us both with blankets and handed us cups of tea. He sat down in the other armchair with wide eyes.
Nettle sipped her tea. I looked my lover in the eyes, wishing for a moment that my daughter weren’t there so I could collapse more fully into his arms. But she looked exhausted, so I softened my heart.
“What happened?” he asked.
“Good luck happened, I think.” I sipped my own tea to wet my lips. My stomach growled audibly.
The Fool rushed to our stash. He placed bread, butter, jam, nuts, smoked venison, and a slice of pink cake onto the table. He assembled a plate and handed it to me. Nettle reached forward to make a plate of her own. Based on the slowness of her motions, she was almost as weary as I was.
He waited until I had taken several bites before continuing. “You call a broken arm good luck?” His tone was dry, but his face was worried.
I swallowed. “Yes. I rode ahead with the girl because our two horses were the only ones able to continue. I almost had them surrendering without a battle. Unfortunately, that’s when Kettricken arrived, and the Piebalds attacked her. We defeated them, lost only one guard against a dozen, and the Old Bloods all survived. Sounds like good luck to me.” His eyebrows rose as I told the story. “Didn’t Kettricken tell you?”
“She did, but I didn’t quite believe it. You managed to calm down a situation?” I gave him a one-shoulder shrug. At his questioning look, I grinned.
“Ask the family that returned with us if you don’t believe me,” I offered. Perhaps intimidating a group of adolescents was not the most heroic act I had ever done, but they did almost stand down. “It was just poor timing. Then I needed to reach Kettricken to protect her, so I did. Apparently, that’s how I broke my arm.” I ripped a piece of smoked venison with my teeth and began chewing.
“Of course you did,” The Fool sighed.
“You don’t know how you broke it?” Nettle asked skeptically.
“Foxglove said I caught my axe in someone, and I blocked a club strike with my arm.” I saw flashes of the faces of those I injured and likely killed. They were so terrified. They were so young. I closed my eyes and willed them away once more. When at last I looked around, I saw Nettle’s own face had gone pale at my words. “I think we could have rescued the situation if they had not charged the Queen, but they seemed intent on killing her,” I explained. It was a weak comfort, but it was a comfort nonetheless. Nettle nodded slowly.
The Fool redirected our dark mood. “I brought back your weapons and clothes earlier. The clothes were practically destroyed.” He sniffed. I chewed and swallowed so I could reply.
“It’s a good thing Lord Golden isn’t maintaining my wardrobe anymore.” I resumed eating. The Fool sighed and reclined lazily in the chair.
“Does this happen often?” Nettle asked, the attempted levity of her voice not offsetting her worry. “You getting injured and destroying your clothes?”
The Fool snickered. I glowered at him. “Not on purpose,” I mumbled.
“Five times under my employ. Four times in six months!” The Fool bemoaned dramatically.
“The first few times were in the first two weeks,” I said hotly\ “While we were engaged on a very dangerous mission. You had me wear linen shirts.”
The Fool grinned then, leaning into the game. “I engage on dangerous missions all the time, and I manage to keep my expensive clothing intact!”
“Well, one of us is getting attacked by people, and the other is engaged in dancing and saying pretty words. Who do you think would ruin more clothes?”
“I really don’t think you want me to answer that question in the presence of your daughter, FitzChivalry.” He waggled his eyebrows at me, and I groaned. I set down my bread with my one working hand so I could throw a pillow at him. I turned back to Nettle to find her blushing. I caught her eyes, rolled my eyes and smiled, and after a moment of hesitation, she rolled her eyes back. We grinned at each other.
I drank my tea and found that somehow all the food in front of me was eaten, even the cake. I did not feel uncomfortably full despite the amount of food I had eaten. My weariness returned in full force. “I need to go to bed,” I announced. I tried to stand but found my limbs unwilling to do so.
Nettle stirred slowly, looking mostly asleep herself. The Fool stood immediately to help her up. “Stay put Fitz.” I stayed.
Nettle’s eyes were barely open as he helped her balance. “Thank you for bringing him back here to me, Nettle.” My beloved’s voice was rich with the depth of his gratitude.
“Of course, Fool. He wanted to come.” She smiled sleepily. She gave me a wave, then let herself out through the walls.
“Good night, Nettle,” I said belatedly.
The Fool sat down on the couch next to me and kissed me carefully. "Let’s get you to bed.”
He held my wrist on his shoulder and gripped my waist so he could support me as he stood up. Beloved walked us to our bedroom, and my feet mostly worked in our favor. He seated me gently on the bed and removed the clothes I had received in the infirmary. He replaced my leggings, but I refused to struggle with a nightshirt. I laid down, and he gently tucked me in. He then circled around and climbed onto the other side of the bed, and laid his body along mine, tugging my good arm around his shoulder.
He nestled himself back into me like two spoons in a drawer. I fell asleep immediately.
Notes:
We've officially reached the end of Act 1 (of my planned 3-4 acts). Thank you for making it this far: I started writing this fic at a really low point in life, and it's been incredibly helpful for my mental health.
On hiatus until June 9. Will update weekly (may need to skip a rare week) for 8-10 chapters before going on a second hiatus!
FYI, I am considering making my fic readable only to ao3 members to protect it from AI data scraping.
Come chat with me on tumblr (@smoky-solitude)!
Chapter 22: A Skinny Arm
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The late morning sun streamed through our windows, and I was alone in our bed. My mouth was dry, and my belly ached with hunger. Sitting up in a soft bed with only one free arm took far more energy than I expected, but I managed it. Then I managed to stand up and open the door to the sitting room. Nettle and the Fool were sharing breakfast as I expected, but I was both surprised and pleased to see Dutiful had joined them. They all turned to me when I entered, and their faces revealed great shock at the sight of me.
I glanced down, uncertain what surprised them so much. I was without a shirt, but hadn’t they all seen me shirtless before? I went to my clothes chest, found a robe, and threw it on. I tried to belt it closed with one hand but gave up after several failed attempts. I returned to the door to see them whispering to one another.
“What?” I demanded.
The Fool found his tongue first. “You seem to have lost a lot of weight since last night, Fitz.”
This time when I looked down, I saw hollowness where before I had a thin layer of flesh over the muscle I had been rebuilding. My right arm seemed thinner as well, though it was my left that had been injured.
I went to pick up my sword from the rack and found it much heavier than usual. “I’m weaker,” I commented, putting the sword back. My belly grumbled about the delay so I joined them at the table and tried to fill a plate as best I could with one working arm. The Fool immediately took over, leaving me with the task of drinking water and, eventually, eating.
“Is this normal?” Nettle asked after a moment.
“You mean, does FitzChivalry lose a stone of weight after taking a substantial injury?” the Fool asked dryly. “Only the once, and that was a Skill healing.”
“He hasn’t had any substantial injuries since,” Dutiful said quietly. He looked at me as though I was a problem he needed to solve.
“Tell me you didn’t heal yourself with the Skill last night,” the Fool begged me.
“Of course I didn’t. I fell asleep immediately,” I said around a mouthful of eggs. I felt half-starved and, compared to the food and water in front of me, had no interest in conversation just yet.
“How’s your left arm?” Nettle poked the sling.
I looked down at her finger, then set down my fork so I could remove the sling. The split fell off my shrunken arm once it was no longer held in place. I dug my finger into the thin flesh to investigate the break, and the bone felt smooth. I moved my fingers and wrist and bent my elbow with no issues. I carefully picked up the fork. My arm hurt not at all, though the fork seemed far heavier than one might expect.
“One moment!” I sputtered, using the Skill to look inwards. I examined my body for damage and found that it had consumed itself while my arm was completely healed. There was nothing wrong with me at all. I returned to the table and looked at the Fool. “My arm isn’t broken anymore. I have no injuries at all.”
I continued eating mindlessly. The last time I had been healed so dramatically, I had been fed only broth. This time, I was determined to eat as much as I wanted before someone insisted on feeding me broth with a damned spoon.
“What happened?” Dutiful asked, and I realized I had not greeted him after a month apart. He seemed more bothered by my arm than the lack of propriety, and I could not decide which I preferred.
I shrugged and focused on my systematic consumption. I needed to fill the gaping hole in my belly.
“Fitz do you…” The Fool trailed off. At Nettle’s and Dutiful’s inquisitive looks, he sighed. “Do you think it’s the Skill-healing from the spring?”
Dutiful’s head jerked back. “What makes you say that?”
The Fool shrugged, but I saw the lie in his eyes. He knew something, and I suspected he did not want to say it in front of my children.
My daughter and my prince. Cousins. Cousins who happened to look like siblings. The Farseer look was strong in both.
Dutiful looked to me, and I swallowed. I drank water to force it down. “Perhaps? I’m starving. The last time I had been this hungry was then. The only time I can remember being this hungry was then.” I took another bite and swallowed. I continued eating, and they all watched wide-eyed. Finally, I had to admit something to myself and to them. “Since then, I’ve been gaining muscle far faster than I expected after visiting the training yards. I thought it was because I was regaining what I had lost, but it didn’t come back nearly as quickly last fall.”
“You get bruises from training, and they’re all gone the next morning. And you’re almost never stiff the next day,” the Fool said. His eyes flickered briefly to the scar where my neck met my shoulder, where he had left a deep purple love mark weeks ago. It too had disappeared in a day.
“You eat a lot of food,” Nettle said at last. I glared at her, but I was unwilling to stop eating to say anything. “It’s true. You eat twice as much as anyone I’ve ever met, but you don’t look like it.”
I swallowed. “I’ve been building muscle,” I reminded her. I stabbed a sausage.
“Rapidly building muscle.” The Fool wagged his finger at me. He somehow kept the statement from sounding salacious, and I appreciated the effort greatly. “And healing bruises. And recovering very rapidly from alcohol consumption. And now the broken arm.”
“So,” Dutiful began uncertainly, but his tongue stumbled to a halt. He tried again, speaking more firmly. “So does that mean you’ll always heal like this, or will it wear off?”
I had not thought of that, and I considered the possibility while chewing. At last, the hole inside me seemed to be filling, and I could slow down at last.
The Fool’s finger traced little designs on the table. He answered faster than I did. “I don’t think any of us can know. We did not understand what we were doing, and we went too far. Perhaps this is the result of that overreach. The real question I must ask is, will Fitz heal back to thirty-three years of age for the rest of his life? Or will he age? If so, at what rate will he age?”
I struggled to swallow, setting down my fork. I gulped water to dislodge whatever blocked my throat. It did not work. “What makes you say that?” I choked out.
The Fool tapped his finger on the table. “What is aging if not imperfect healing? A body tries to restore itself but cannot do so perfectly. Think of a ship travelling through the ocean. It gets back to port, replaces some pieces, and sometimes they fit well, and sometimes they don’t. Only you pay your body with food instead of money. If you stay fed, you may always have the best supplies.”
“So if Fitz’s body is healing perfectly, then he won’t age?” Dutiful asked skeptically.
“That’s the question.” The Fool shrugged. “It’s impossible to tell yet. Thirty-four and thirty-three are not so different. Forty and thirty-three, however... Or fifty and thirty-three.“
So we won’t know until later,” Nettle said softly, staring at the table.
A sick blend of emotions bubbled up inside me, threatening to bring up everything I consumed. Dread at the possibility of outliving my children was at the top of my list, combined with a certain grim satisfaction that they might not need to experience the pain of my death. Creeping from beneath that weight was delight that my Beloved would not need to fear outliving me by quite as much, and a twisted realization that I might be at the whims of the Farseers forever. Perhaps, I mused darkly, I would be released from duty decades from now, an artifact of a bygone era.
I had outlived Burrich, but that was not surprising. I sometimes considered that I might outlive Chade. He was at least forty years older than me, but he seemed immortal. I had never considered the possibility of outliving Kettricken or Molly, and to outlive Nettle, Dutiful, and Hap seemed a particular form of torture.
I would never outlive the Fool. I suspected that if we saw my end was coming, he would join me willingly. We might even carve a dragon together, as Nighteyes and I once hoped to do.
“I would rather not think about this,” I said at last, voice barely above a whisper. I set down my fork, no longer hungry. “Not until we know for sure.”
“Then let us discuss something else,” the Fool said quickly. His hand twitched towards mine on the table in his eagerness to comfort me. I longed to take it.
Dutiful acquired a distant look before he focused on us once more. “Fitz, Chade reached out to see how you’re doing. He and my mother assumed you would be asleep still. They’re meeting now if you’d like to join them.”
“Does Hap know? That I’m alive.” I looked at my hands.
“I sent him a message saying the Queen had an emergency, and you were with the guards who went with her,” Nettle said.
“When you returned, I sent a message down to Hap saying you were injured but fine, and he responded saying he would come to Patience’s chambers tomorrow night as we originally planned,” the Fool said.
I nodded and stood slowly. “I should probably go see Kettricken and Chade then.” I went to my room to put on a clean set of plain clothes, which hung loosely on my thinner frame. Months spent rebuilding muscle undone by one broken arm. I returned to the sitting room, closing the door behind me, and hung the sling on the little weapons rack the Fool had carved for me, next to my sword and ax.
When I turned around, Dutiful pulled me into a tight hug, and I had no idea what to do. We had never hugged before. After a moment’s hesitancy, I hugged him back, refusing to feel awkward about it. I pretended it was no different than hugging Hap or Thick. “It’s good to see you, Fitz,” Dutiful mumbled into my shoulder. “We were so worried last night.”
“Good to see you too, lad,” I choked out.
It was as though my admission pulled the plug off his emotions. “I was so scared you were gone. We couldn’t find you! I looked, Fitz, I did and—” Dutiful cried into my shoulder, and I rubbed his back. I had not realized how strongly I had walled myself off during the battle. It was like when Verity was alive: there was someone who cared about me who suddenly could not find me.
“Hush, it’s alright. I’m here, Dutiful. Still alive. Still here.” I tried to comfort him.
“Thick found me,” he whispered. My heart froze in my chest. “In the Skill. He pulled me together and put me back, like before. Then he went looking for you and couldn’t find you either.”
“You lost yourself?” I wanted to scold him. He was the Crown Prince, and I was only myself. If it weren’t for Thick… My belly dropped, and I could not continue the thought further.
He nodded into my shoulder. I clung to him. “You shouldn’t have done that, Dutiful.” I spoke as his Skillmaster. He nodded again, smaller this time, but he said nothing. I did not try to get a promise out of him.
When we parted, I saw him surreptitiously wipe his eyes with his sleeve.
Nettle took the opportunity to throw her arms around me as well. I caught her as best I could in my weakened state, and she squeezed me and said nothing at all. She wiped her eyes more openly when we pulled apart.
“I’m alive, and I’m fine,” I told her.
“I know. But for most of yesterday, you weren’t,” she mumbled. I realized then that my daughter almost lost two fathers in less than two months, and Dutiful had almost lost the closest thing he had.
“I’m sorry I made you worry,” I said. “All of you.” I shifted in place, looking for something else to say. What would I want them to say if I could not find them? “I’ll try to be better about reaching out via the Skill in the future. I’m… not used to having people to reach out to, not via the Skill.” I missed Nighteyes keenly.
The Fool came over hug me briefly, his eyes telling me a message I did not understand. “It’s not your fault, Fitz. We should have trusted you would be fine. You’re a survivor.”
“But please try in the future,” Nettle sniffed, and Dutiful bobbed his head repeatedly.
“I will,” I promised.
Before I broke down in tears as well, I entered the spyways and walked my well-trodden path towards Kettricken’s chambers. After a moment of realization, I Skilled ahead to Chade to let him know. He sounded pleased and did not press me for more information. He knew he would have his answers soon enough.
I slowly made my way through the walls, pausing three times to catch my breath. When I finally reached the hidden entrance to the privy, Kettricken let me in before I even knocked. I stepped out and she clasped me into a hug.
She pulled back to loosely grasp my hands, eyes frantic as she looked me up and down. “Fitz, how are you so thin? Where are your sling and splint?”
I grimaced, uncertain how to temper my worry. “We think the Skill-healing from last spring is still on-going. I healed overnight.” I bore the weight of her stare. Eventually, she stepped to the side so Chade could take me by the shoulders, his sharp eyes inspecting me. Then he pulled me into a hug as well. I could not recall the last time I had been hugged by so many people in such quick succession. Perhaps never.
“It’s good to have you back, boy. Overnight, you say?” Chade asked. I proffered my left arm, and he touched it with both hands, his face relaxing as he inspected it with the Skill. “So it is. And once again you lost both fat and muscle as well. Curious. Did you see anything about healing months after the fact in the scrolls?”
“No.” I shook my head. “But we still have many more to go through.”
Chade patted me on the right arm, then used it to pull me to the table. “Well, we’ll look at this more thoroughly later. Come. Sit with us. We were talking about the people in Greton you helped.”
Apparently, the people of Greton had long suspected that Mayberry’s village was Witted and had purposefully not revealed this information to anyone from outside the two neighboring communities. The Piebalds had threatened to reveal the Witted nature of the community to the non-Witted town of Greton. The Gretonites had torn down all the flyers, burned them, and informed Mayberry when she led her traders into town early the following morning. The Piebalds started forming up later, angry that no one had been hung over water and burned by the non-Witted inhabitants of Greton. The Gretonites who came to the market were concerned for their neighbors but uncertain how to help without making things worse.
The behavior of the Piebalds disgusted us all. These two peoples had built a successful and respectful relationship between them. They provided an example the whole of the Six Duchies could follow. But the Piebalds wanted those with the Wit to suffer for not following them. Worse, they wanted that suffering to be at the hands of their neighbors as they were too cowardly to do it themselves. Mayberry had only been able to hold out for so long because the Piebalds wanted the non-Witted Gretonites to be the ones with the nooses, and they thought the crowd could be riled up enough to attack their neighbors. They wanted Greton to be the scene where an entire community of Witted folks died at the hands of non-Witted folks.
“But they didn’t get it.” I wore a satisfied smile. “They didn’t get what they wanted.”
“They didn’t. We’re fortunate that they have formed such an alliance.” Kettricken sounded proud of her people for the first time in a long while.
“We must spin this to our favor,” Chade said. “This may be a turning point in the issue with the Piebalds. We might be able to use this as an example of how Witted and non-Witted alike can co-exist peaceably.”
“We need to speak with Web and Mayberry,” I said, and they both nodded.
“I’ll send a summons to their rooms for a meeting in the small council chamber in an hour. Bring your sling.” Chade paused and belatedly added, “and Dutiful.”
“Will everyone be available in an hour?” I asked. He scowled when Kettricken shook her head.
“Dutiful and I have a public appearance for lunch, then he has Skill lessons. Afterwards, he will go riding with some of the younger nobles to rebuild his old connections while I have another meeting with the Dukes,” Kettricken informed us.
“Tomorrow then?” Chade demanded. We went through our schedules and found a time that would work.
Meeting scheduled, Chade hugged me once more. “It’s good to have you with us, Fitz,” he whispered in my ear, then took his leave. My eyes followed his back until the door closed behind him. I turned towards the queen.
“I suspect I’ll be torn between you two for the next few years, as I was torn between Chade and the Fool over this past year,” I told Kettricken, dreading the possibility.
“That may happen,” Kettricken said, “But keep in mind, he is a good advisor. I have learned much from him. We two were not often at odds until the past few years. If ever you disagree with me or agree with him, Sacrifice, you must speak your mind about it. We have agreed thus far, but if that changes, you must not let our friendship prevent you from being honest with me.” She grasped both my hands in hers and kissed my cheek as though to press her words into my skin.
“I’ll try not to. I’ve spent much of my life agreeing with, or at least not arguing with, the Farseer monarch. It will not be easy for me, but I will try.” It was the best I could offer her. Today, it seems, was a day for promises to be better. I feared I would only disappoint, but that did not mean I would not try.
“That is all we can ask for, FitzChivalry.” She released my hands, and I took my leave.
I returned to my rooms to find Nettle and Dutiful still with my Fool. Nettle told them a story of her brothers and their antics. I saw the amusement on Dutiful’s face and the tinge of jealousy in his eyes. I sat at the table and enjoyed listening. When the story was over, and the laughs quieted down, I informed Dutiful of our meeting the next day, summarizing what we three had discussed.
“I should have joined you, shouldn’t I?” Dutiful asked morosely.
I slowly shook my head. “You don’t have to attend every meeting we have. I am sure you’ll have meetings like this where I am not present in the coming weeks.” I wondered that Chade only mentioned Dutiful’s attendance at the meeting tomorrow as an afterthought, when the prince absolutely needed to attend. Unfortunately, on the day I needed to begin wresting power from Chade so that Dutiful did not inherit an empty crown, I was weakened from healing.
Dutiful sighed. “You did say it would get busy once more when we returned.”
“Missing the ship already?” Nettle teased him, and he pulled a face at her. I was pleased to see them so comfortable already, behaving practically like siblings.
No, not like siblings. Like cousins. Cousins behaved like this, didn’t they? When they were of similar age?
“Never. Just missing not being a prince.” He looked towards me. “Could we go riding in a few days? I’ll clear my schedule.” The desperation in his voice tempted me but I had to shake my head.
“I think not. I infamously have a broken arm and won’t be able to do much physical activity for awhile.” The concept did not enthuse me. Already I could feel my fingers twitching with restlessness as the time at which I usually did weapons training approached. I stood and paced around the room. “You have an appointment to keep soon, then Kettricken said you’re going riding before dinner?”
He looked much put upon. “Oh yes, riding with nobles I am not allowed to befriend.”
“I could join you,” Nettle offered and Dutiful looked like she single-handedly rescued him from a most unfortunate fate. She smiled. “Fitz, can I borrow Myblack?”
“You don’t have your own horse?” Dutiful asked. I too was surprised that Burrich’s daughter could go without.
“Chivalry is preparing him for me. We thought I might not ride much before Harvestfest.”
“Of course you can ride her,” I said. “She’s spirited, but I’m confident you can handle her.” She was Burrich’s daughter, I reminded myself. She would know how to ride any horse. Then I looked towards Dutiful once more. “I was hoping to speak with Web before the Greton meeting tomorrow. Will you see him before then?”
The boy nodded at me. “We were going to do Wit-lessons tonight in the Queen’s Garden.” Where I had no access through the walls.
“Could it be in Verity’s Tower instead? Just us two, Web, and Swift?” I wanted to see Swift before I wrote my first letter to Molly, and I wanted to demonstrate my willingness to learn from Web. What little I learned from him had already served me well.
“I can ask. I think it was just going to be us anyway. Civil is set on rebuilding his relationship with Sydel, and Cockle planned on playing in the Great Hall all evening.” Nettle curiously grimaced at his words, but I could not catch why.
“Oh good. I’ll see you after dinner then.”
The two of them stood up to leave, and I stood as well. Dutiful seized me in another hug, briefer than the last, and waited as Nettle did the same. Then they left together through the walls, leaving me alone with my Fool.
I turned around to find him right behind me. Unthinkingly I fell into his arms, and his surprising strength held me up.
“Come Fitz. None of that.” He deposited me in my chair. I began idly consuming the remaining tidbits from the meal. Somehow I was hungry again. “How are you feeling?” He asked me once I began to slow down.
“Overwhelmed,” I said plainly. “What was it you didn’t say earlier?”
His gaze was steady as it held mine, though I saw how much he wanted to look away. “Before I died, I had glimpses of what your life might be. I did not think of it at the time. I thought it was because I could not see much past my death, you see.” He was speaking in riddles again. I glared at him until he stopped. “I never saw you old, Fitz. Not in any future I saw.”
I pushed my plate forward and laid my head in my arms, unwilling to look anywhere at all. A cool hand caressed my back. I groaned into the fabric of my shirtsleeve. After a time, I sat back up and looked at him dolorously.
“What are you thinking?” he whispered as though it was a secret.
“I don’t want to outlive my children.” He made a quiet noise, and his silence somehow managed to get more out of me. “I never thought I’d live even this long, let alone…”
“The future is long now,” he said agreeably. “Do you see any positives to it?” His voice was timid, as though uncertain I would see any at all. But I had seen them earlier.
“It means we’ll have plenty of time to live in a cabin together once this is all said and done.” I took his hand and traced his jagged fingers.
The Fool smiled wistfully at me. “Of course we will. We can always make time for a cabin.”
“It means I need to spend as much time with my family as possible before they die.” Terror nipped the edges of my words.
He sighed at me sadly. “Only you could view living a longer life as one with less time in it.” I glared at him and started to tap my fingers restlessly as we passed the start of the hour I usually exercised in.
“I really can’t go out in public like this, can I?” I asked ruefully, looking at my skinny arm in accusation.
“Most certainly not. The change is rather dramatic. I think it might be even worse when you’re clothed.” He smiled flirtatiously as he said it, but his worried eyes roved over my body, fixating on my twitching fingers. “Would you like me to show you how I’ve been exercising in these rooms?”
“Yes,” I said immediately.
We proceeded to do the strangest series of exercises I have ever undergone. We stretched and moved and held difficult positions as my muscles trembled from exhaustion. The Fool assured me that this form of exercise was very popular among both men and women in the south and was sometimes used as a form of meditation. I was pleasantly exhausted at the end of it, but I could not imagine anything less relaxing or meditative. I laid spreadeagle on the rug at the end, wondering how I was expected to survive a month hiding indoors.
“This is the point when I would usually call a bath.” The Fool stood by the windows we had opened to add airflow to our rooms.
My eyes moved immediately towards him with interest. I had been bathed in the infirmary, but that did not remove the itchiness under my skin from having recently been covered in blood. Would he perhaps want to bathe together? My face reddened at the thought.
“Would you like me to call for Prudence, then?” He waggled his eyebrows at my clear enthusiasm, his fingers already seizing some seeds from the small bowl.
“Yes,” I said immediately. I wanted to rise from the floor, sweep him off his feet, and carry him to bed. My weakened muscles might not be able to, but he was always so very light, and it might be worth the attempt.
It took half a minute for me to get off the floor.
“Go to the bedroom so Flit and Prudence don’t see you. I’ll come get you when it’s time.” He shooed me away with a flick of his fingers, and I obeyed, tossing myself onto the bedspread to wait.
Notes:
Happy end of hiatus, everyone! I had an excellent break, and I hope you did too. The plan is to publish weekly for 10-12 chapters, then I'll enter another hiatus to wrap up Act 2 (note that the 3-chapter prequel fic will be part of this publishing schedule). As of right now, I will need to skip 6/30 and 7/21. I may move from Mondays to a different day of the week if IRL activities requires it.
During the hiatus, I collaborated on 2 Springfest fics, and I'm shamelessly plugging them here:
The Ballad of Beloved A Trojan War Fitzloved AU featuring blood, gore, death, and a Trojan Dragon. A darker fic that ends on a hopeful note. If you wish Fitz brutally killed Ilistore after she killed the Fool, this one is for you. Rated M for violence.
Dancing on the Edge of a Cliff A Western/Cowboy Fitzloved AU that's super fluffy, with lots of Papa Fitz, Beloved in their different aspects, dancing, coffee, and cards. If you liked FFBM Ch 16 (Dancing without Music), you'll probably like this fic! Chapters 1 and 2 are rated G, 3 is rated E (but I'll point out the E parts so you can skip them).
Please check out all the Springfest fics here! They're all collaborations between writers and artists, and they're all lovely <3 <3If there are things you'd like to see between this point in FFBM and Harvestfest, drop a comment, and I'll see if I can add it!
Chapter 23: Exhausted
Notes:
Hey, so I wanted to do a final round of edits before posting but I’ve been and continue to be booked af. So rather than post late, I’ll just post a bit under-edited. If you see a glaring issue that bugs you, feel free to drop a compliment sandwich in the comments. I’ll see if I can edit it this weekend.
I should be available to edit next week’s chapter this weekend as well, but if not, I might need to skip that week. I will be skipping 6/30 due to travel.
Chapter Text
The Fool gently shook me awake. I blinked slowly to find his face very close to mine. The way way light haloed his hair suggested it was still daytime.
“You fell asleep,” he told me. “I fetched lunch, and the bath is hot. I was wondering if you would want to join me.” His voice was shy as he made the offer. I was delighted by it, and, to show him, I grabbed to pull him down to me, kissing him once he was within reach of my mouth. He eventually pulled away laughing. “I’ll take that as a yes?”
I nodded enthusiastically. I sat up to wrench my shirt off, then stood to remove my leggings, smallclothes, and socks in one fell swoop. I turned to see the Fool’s eyes were wide and unashamed as he watched me. I sleepily claimed another kiss, then wandered into the living room and lowered myself into the tub in the corner, sighing as the warmth of the water surrounding me. My eyes closed automatically.
I came back to myself as the Fool approached. I saw him clenching the hem of his shirt, worrying the edge of it before he at last took it off. He stood before me in only his knee-length leggings, and my eyes bulged at the sight. I had never seen him wearing less. I reached for him with my hands. He stepped into them, and I wrapped my arms gently around his hips. He leaned down to run a hand along my jaw, and they trembled against my face.
“Is this alright?” I asked. “I can get out. You can have the tub to yourself.” I was loathe to move now that I was already comfortable, but I did not want to force my presence onto him and his daily ritual.
“It’s fine. It’s just… been awhile.” He said vaguely, waving his hand broadly. I nodded slowly and did not push him for further explanation, though every nerve in my body demanded I ask ‘since what?’
He slowly inched his way into the tub, gasping appreciatively all the while. I tried to help him with the process, but I had to settle for not being a hindrance instead. He eventually sat between my naked legs, leaned back against my naked chest, and wrapped my naked arms around his bare shoulders. I kissed his head and left my hands where he had placed them, though I longed to roam.
“This feels marvelous.” He relaxed into the heat of the water and my body both, and the enormity of his trust awed me. I kissed the shell of his ear, then gently kissed my way down his neck before placing my chin chastely over his shoulder. I watched as he cleansed himself with soap and a cloth. I experienced a great amount of satisfaction when he washed his neck to reveal the final mark I had left, the one that tipped him over the edge to orgasm. I kissed over it, licking once before returning my chin to his shoulder.
“You’re awful quiet,” he said.
“Mostly asleep,” I mumbled, nuzzling his neck with my cheek.
“You do seem rather tired.” He scrubbed for awhile, then spoke again. “I suppose that makes sense. Everyone needs extra sleep while they heal. In this case, you’re past the pain and into recovery.” I grunted in agreement. He handed me the soapy cloth and leaned forward. I cleaned his back as gently as I could. It was looking far better than it had been, but I could see how the skin stretched uncomfortably across the expanse.
“I need to get more practice at Skill-healing on purpose. Not only a middle-of-the-night sleeping endeavor,” I complained as I cleaned the rough edges of the scar.
“Didn’t you say you removed the Narcheska’s tattoos?”
“Yes. It was a lot of work. Difficult and tedious work. The Pale Woman had mixed her blood and some Skill magic in to the tattoo, and the ink did not want to leave her skin.” I finished his neck and handed him back the cloth. He rotated in my lap to scrub my chest. I was more than happy to accept the treatment.
“Do you think mine will be as hard?” He asked, avoiding my gaze, voice small.
“May I check?” I cautiously placed my hands on his knobby knees. He smiled at me.
“Knees, calves, and feet are also on limits in private, provided you don’t tickle me.” I immediately ran my hands up and down his shins and surprisingly muscular calves. “And yes, you may check. Please don’t do anything, though.” His gaze was shaky.
“I won’t,” I promised. I reached towards him with the Skill to see if I could find him without our link, and found that his mind’s slippery school of fish was willing to be herded. I inspected his hands, as crooked as I expected, with three regrowing nails. They would be a relatively easy fix. There were improperly healed fractures in his arms, legs, and feet that I knew must still bother him, and deep scar tissue forming in his back. It was not quite as deep as my old arrow wound, but there was quite a bit more of it. I pulled away from him, unwilling to explore elsewhere without permission.
“I think your hands won’t take long at all except maybe the nails, but I think your back will be slow going. I’ll need to do a bit at a time so that your flesh can replace the scar tissue without you withering away,” I said clinically. He made me lean forward to scrub behind my ears and my neck. I rotated to give him access to my back once he finished.
“What about the rest of it?”
“Your arms, feet, and shins need a bit of work, but otherwise I didn’t check. I figured if it was off-limited for touching, it was off-limitations for the Skill as well.”
His face twisted, and he made a twirling gesture with his finger. I turned away from him, and my eyes drifted closed as he scrubbed my back.
“Oh! It’s a birthmark,” he exclaimed, waking me. His finger was poking a spot with his finger.
“On my back?”
“Yes. I thought it was a pimple, but it’s not. Your skin is completely clear of any imperfections.” He sounded both appreciative and frustrated at the statement.
“Maybe that’s also a result of the Skill-healing,” I suggested sleepily. I could not recall having any blemishes since. He tugged me back towards him so I could lay against his chest. I went easily, appreciating how his body temperature had risen to match that of our warm bathwater. I kissed the underside of his jaw, and he handed me the cloth to clean the remainder of my body.
Once completed, I squeezed out the cloth and placed it carefully back on the little table with all its soaps and towel poles. I rotated around to kiss him languorously, enjoying the slow caress of our tongues together as I sprawled deliciously over his body. I could have stayed there forever, but he eventually pulled me away and began to work soap into my hair. I sighed and let him.
“You’re remarkably docile right now.” His fingers massaged my scalp, and my eyes closed again.
I groaned agreeably and nuzzled his jaw. “Sleepy,” I reminded him, my mind waking up to wonder about my day. Since I was not allowed to be seen and was easily exhausted, my schedule had emptied remarkably.
I realized I had made a grievous error. “Skill lessons!” I exclaimed as I jerked awake. I began to scrabble out of the tub. Everything was slippery, and the Fool did not help me at all. “I’m late!”
“Very late,” he said without any worry whatsoever. “In fact, I believe you’ve already missed them entirely.” I groaned aloud, sinking back down into the water. Chade and Dutiful were hardly back one day, and already I was slacking in my duties. “Nettle stopped by on her way to Verity’s tower, and when I told her you were sleeping, she and I agreed you ought to stay that way. She said to tell you that she could handle cleaning and organizing the scrolls with the rest of the coterie just fine. Your only meeting today is with Web, Swift, and Dutiful after dinner. Chade asked to dine with you in the workroom, but I told him that your attendance depended on your health, and I would not force you either way.” He grinned at me.
“Thank you for doing that.” At his motion, I dipped under the water to rinse my hair. He proceeded to rub a different bar into my hair, this one slick without being sudsy. I accepted it uncomfortably, unable to pin down why I still felt so uncomfortable.
“I wish you wouldn’t antagonize him,” I murmured at last.
“Who? Chade?” the Fool asked. I nodded. “Whyever not? He treats you like a weapon that he lays claim to, all because he taught you when you were young.” His voice was rife with insult on my behalf. I put my mouth under the water and burbled into it, creating little bubbles. How long had it been since I had a warm bath rather than a visit to the steams, a wet cloth, or a dip in a stream? Too long, I decided.
“I know. But I would rather be the one to remind him of that. You doing so only reminds me of how the two of you fought for my loyalty all last year, as though I could only be true to one of you. I did not like being fought over, Fool. It reinforced the idea that I was a thing to possess or won, rather than a person in my own right.” Once stated, I ducked my head under the water to escape, rubbing my hands into my hair to rinse out the strange slippery soap. I told myself I was not hiding when I stayed under the water longer than strictly necessary.
When I resurfaced, I rubbed my eyes to clear them and claimed one of the small towels to dry my face, carefully placing it back on its pole. I looked back towards the Fool to find him looking deeply uncomfortable.
“I wanted to comb that through your hair,” he said quietly. I blushed and turned back around. He reapplied the bar silently and started working the knots out of my hair with a comb. The slippery soap aided his efforts greatly, but it was still some time that he could run the comb through my hair root to tip without meeting knots.
“I’m sorry. I should not have said anything.” I bit my lip and tried to fix what I broke. A small part of me wondered if he would kick me out of the tub for my audacity.
“No, it’s good you did,” he said faintly. He asked me to rinse, and I dunked under the water again. When I emerged, he tugged my shoulders back towards his chest. I went willingly, but touch heightened our Skill connection, and it took a great deal of effort to block him out. I could not shake the unease that filled me as his thoughts roiled and shouted behind me. I could not reacquire my earlier sleepiness with such a tumultuous bed.
“What are you thinking?” I blurted out, leaning forward so I can see his face.
“Only my own accidental objectification of you. Chade and I really were like two children fighting over a favored toy, weren’t we?” His voice was laden with guilt and self-deprecation.
“It wasn’t so bad as that—" I started to lie, but his glare silenced me. He tightened his arms around my shoulders to bring me back to his chest. My recent weight loss made it easy to do so.
“I am sorry for my behavior last year,” he said. “I make no excuse. My impending death was no reason to treat you like a plaything or a pet, all while pretending I was doing my best to give you a choice in your actions.” He sighed and shook his head, his hair brushing against my shoulder blades as he did so. “I truly am sorry,” he murmured.
“It’s fine—" I began.
“It’s really not,” he said dryly, interrupting me once more.
I gritted my teeth. He was right. It had not been ‘fine,’ no matter how I pretended. I felt I had no ability to respond, to make it better. I knew he would not do so again, so it truly was fine now. Then I realized the obvious.
“I forgive you.”
He looked shocked at ease at which I said the words. “As simple as that?” He asked wondrously.
“As simple as that. Now, can we move on?”
He crooked an eyebrow at me, and his hands ran deliciously over my bare chest. “Of course, Beloved.”
“Good,” I said. Then, feeling daring, I placed a hand on his waist, looking him in the eye. “Now. We’re in a tub, and I would like to kiss you. May I?”
His eyes widened, and his mouth struggled to find the words. I had, it seemed, taken him by surprise. His head bobbed enthusiastically.
I leaned forward to more fully take advantage before the water cooled.
I tried to celebrate my need to hide by wearing the plain, comfortable clothes I preferred rather than the guardsman’s uniform or the fancy fripperies I often needed to wear in public. The Fool insisted on applying creams to my hair, scrunching it into my curls. By the end it looked nearly the same as it usually did.
“You’ll be alright for dinner?” I asked him worriedly.
“Most assuredly. Patience invited me to dine with her at the feast tonight, and I’ll be able to introduce myself as Lord Chance at last. She’s claiming me as some distant son of a friend that she met in Bingtown as a girl.” His eyes glittered at the thought of his new role. He powdered the marks on his neck away. I watched avariciously as the purple faded to match his skin while he told me of Lord Chance’s backstory.
We kissed farewell. He left through the front door, and I entered the walls and slowly climbed the stairs.
Chade awaited me in the workroom, a heavily laden platter on the table. He was sipping wine by the fireplace but stood immediately when he saw me. He walked over and gave me a stronger hug than he had this morning. I accepted it awkwardly, leaning in only once I felt the anxiety leaking off of him.
“What’s wrong?” I asked when he finally pulled away.
“Nothing whatsoever,” he lied easily. If we were not connected via the Skill, I would have believed him. As it was, I only quirked an eyebrow at him before turning to fill a plate and claim a glass of wine. I sat down in the other chair in front of the fire. The silence grew heavy between us as I began methodically eating, the great hole in my belly having returned once more. Even the short climb to the workroom exhausted me, and I could feel my muscles aching to be replenished.
“What makes you think something is wrong?” Chade asked at last. I swallowed and raised both eyebrows at him. I waited. He gave up in the face of my silent onslaught. “I just worried for you yesterday. We thought you were dead. We couldn’t find you.” He set down his silverware, his eyes dark pits of sadness. “I tried, Fitz, but I wasn’t strong enough. Nettle was torn between screaming and sobbing. Dutiful almost got lost. Even Thick couldn’t find you.”
I felt such a strange sense of satisfaction that they mourned me so strongly when they thought me dead. I quashed it. “Chade, I’m not dead. I’m here, just a bit thinner. I’ll be around for a while yet.”
He turned away from me as he ate, but I heard his whispered words. “I didn’t expect you to stick around after Aslevjal, not after the Fool died.”
“I don’t know if I would either. Luckily for all of us, he didn’t stay dead.”
“Yes. I remember, but I don’t understand. What happened? We couldn’t sense him with the Skill. He felt as gone as you were yesterday.” His voice was curious rather than demanding, and I sensed the effort he was putting in.
It rankled me. I was not so weak that I needed to be handled with kid gloves. I took several minutes to clean my plate and to remind myself that he thought I was dead for most of yesterday. “His mind was stored somewhere I could find, and I could mend his body with the Wit as Burrich mended my own.” I took a sip of wine.
“Where was his mind, anyway? You never said. He seems in far better condition than yours was after we got you out of Nighteyes.”
I went to get a second serving. “It doesn’t matter. We can’t repeat it, if that’s what you’re asking. It was incredibly lucky that the Pale Woman did not know the secret, or she surely would have prevented it. But now, if there is a next time, dead is dead.” I did not know why I kept such a thing from him. The crown was firmly on the head of Realder’s dragon. It was only that it felt like our secret, the Fool’s and mine, and it was not worth sacrificing such a thing to sate Chade’s curiosity. Still, he put forth a token effort to get it out of me, and I suspect if he hadn’t, I would have checked to see if he had been replaced somehow. Neither of us were bothered by the attempt or the failure.
“Well, I’m still relieved you stayed. Relieved and glad. Once he was alive again, I thought the two of you might go off together rather than return here,” he said gruffly, his eyes staring at the fire. I stared at him, wondering if he knew or what he knew.
Did he suspect the two of us?
Would it be so bad if he knew?
I offered the closest thing I had to the truth, uncertain if I revealed too much. “I offered to take him to a cabin somewhere to heal, but he insisted that he didn’t want to be isolated from everyone. He wouldn’t take me from my children.” Chade nodded as though it made perfect sense, and we moved on.
We then spoke of simple things, how Gilly was, our hopes for the Witted folk, new businesses that had sprung up in Buckkeep town that I thought he might enjoy. We gave each other a brief report on what had happened in the past month, none of which touched on the Fool or Dutiful. When we finished dinner, it was time to go to Verity’s Tower. Chade insisted on joining. I had to decide between either being late or letting him openly tag along, as I was certain if I rejected him, he would watch what happened through spyholes anyway.
I picked up a feather duster from the stand Nettle had placed in the corner and led the way.
We entered the empty tower room, and I was surprised to see substantial progress had been made on cleaning and organizing the scrolls. When I commented on it to Chade, he simply said that Nettle stayed awhile after the usual end time for lessons, seemingly determined to finish organizing them as soon as possible so that we could finally begin learning from them. I saw she had marked a few scrolls in the rack with red ribbon, the color we assigned to mean ‘urgent review’. I pulled them out to see they focused on healing and longevity, but I could see no mention about healings that persist long after the event.
“Is it that obvious?” I asked Chade, lifting my left arm. “Not for Web, but for the meeting tomorrow. I saw Mayberry yesterday, but I don’t know how good of a look she got at me.”
“She might notice if you were using larger muscles to smash in heads,” Chade said dryly. I scowled at him.
I heard the door to the tower open, and the voices of Dutiful and Web as they ascended the stairs. Chade stood closer to the door, and they nodded towards him. Web stopped suddenly in the doorway when he saw me, Swift running into him from behind. The Wit-master rushed over and grasped my arm in a warrior’s grip, his eyes large as he surveyed the ruins of my body. We could both feel the thinness of my muscle compared to when we last saw one another.
“That bad?” I asked the man.
“If I had not heard the story, I would have assumed you were injured a month ago.” He spoke in a low tone to me, and I saw the question plainly on his face.
“I woke up like this,” I explained. “I did not do it on purpose.” After Chade had implied to Web that I had intentionally taken Peottre’s delvanbark cake knowing the effect elfbark had on me, I was strangely determined that Web not think of me as degenerate as that.
“I believe you,” he said kindly.
The others chose that moment to approach. Swift’s eyes were wide as he came over, but he did not grab me as Web did. I sighed. “I don’t know if I can keep out of sight for a month, and I’ll look odd when I emerge anyway,” I muttered.
“We could say that we healed you with the Skill. It would not be too far from the truth,” Dutiful suggested. I saw desperation in his eyes and saw that he too wished for a solution.
“Why heal a guardsman?” I asked.
“You did masterful work for a guardsman yesterday,” Chade said speculatively. “Mayberry said you had almost convinced them to leave, and when they attacked the queen, you took out six of them, wielding your battleaxe one-handed for most of it. Any guard would expect a reward for such exemplary service.”
“Revealing that we can heal with the Skill before we have started formally practicing it may invite more trouble than its worth,” I said harshly. Chade frowned.
“Why not say it was an experiment?” Web proposed, his suggestion breaking the silence and startling us all. “Thick did good work on Aslevjal, but all were healed entirely, and some were almost healed too much. Perhaps in exchange for his exemplary service, including on Aslevjal, Tom here agreed to be an experiment in a more controlled Skill healing.”
Chade nodded slowly, a pleased look forming on his face. “The Skill-healing in the spring was almost an experiment.” He looked to the prince, but Dutiful was still uncertain.
We considered the idea. It had one major problem.
“If anyone wants to be healed in this way in the future, I am the only one capable of doing so,” I gently pointed out. I did not remind them how I was the one who removed the Narcheska’s painful tattoos, but it did scarcely needed it.
“Nettle said we’re studying healing next, for Skill lessons? After we finish organizing the scrolls?” Dutiful asked me, student to teacher. I nodded awkwardly, thinking of Web and Swift watching the exchange. I wished we’d discussed this earlier, but Web was the one who came up with the solution. Perhaps it was better we have the conversation now.
Dutiful nodded decisively. “Then let us say we offered the healing under the condition that we did not know exactly how it would affect you. If anyone asks for their own healing, we can say we weren’t satisfied with how thin the healing left you and wanted further practice before healing others. That would not be a lie.” With that last sentence, he sounded relieved.
We considered the tale from all angles, and eventually I agreed.
We migrated towards the Skill table, Web choosing to walk slowly alongside me. “You truly killed six people?” I heard the distress underlying the question.
“So I’m told. As Chade said, they were trying to kill the Queen.” I would not apologize for my behavior.
“You don’t remember?”
I shook my head slowly. “I almost never do, after. Why do you think I hate Starling’s song so much?”
“I assumed it was because you did not want to be seen as a hero.”
“I’m not a hero,” I reminded him.
He raised his eyebrow at me but did not say anything else, leaving me only to wonder.
I respected Web. He was willing to do what he thought was right, and he had never let my identity slip in the entire time we had known one another. It was Chade’s tongue that had slipped on Aslevjal and revealed me before all. If Web of all people considered me a hero, I felt strange brushing it off so easily. So instead I stacked his regard for me atop Chade’s assessment of Starling’s. That was another conversation I needed to have, and I hoped to have it once she returned from Lord Fisher’s estates for Harvestfest.
Once we were seated, I told Web about my goals in learning continuing to learn the Wit-magic, and I told him that I recently remembered techniques from Burrich, learned by accident when I was young. I said that Nighteyes had wanted us to learn more of the Wit, and only the whispers of some of those in Crowsneck kept us from staying longer and cut short our education. Then Web began instructing me.
Swift was clearly distracted by Chade, but Web did not take it at all amiss. Instead, he seemed to take great joy in incorporating Chade into our conversation, explaining things in such a way that even the un-Witted man could understand.
Given the mix of magic at the table, the conversation wound up on the differences between the Wit and the Skill, a topic I had spent years wondering about but had no one to discuss it with. Chade noted that he could feel no difference in how Dutiful or I Skilled compared to how Thick or Nettle, to our shared relief. Dutiful’s black-and-white Skill magic still sometimes felt tinged in the greenness of the Wit to me, but Chade could not see or feel it at all. To test a theory, I purposefully intermingled my two magics and reached out to Dutiful. Chade noticed nothing strange, but Web’s eyes widened as he sensed what I was doing. Dutiful and I exchanged a look that required no magic to interpret.
Web asked me to practice soothing Chade, and the old man agreed reticently. I reached towards him to understand him in the way Web had taught me, and the understanding made me aware of his deep anxiety about my decision to stay. He was deeply concerned that one wrong word would send me running away to a cabin with my Fool and that I would be overwhelmed as I continued in my new role. He seemed overly fixated on my recent injury as a potential catalyst that might send me to the hills.
“Stop being such a mother hen,” I teased as I soothed away his fears. “You’re worrying over nothing.”
“It’s hardly nothing if you’ve done it before, boy,” Chade grumbled, looking away from me. The emotions continued bubbling up in him despite my efforts.
“Web, it doesn’t seem to be sticking,” I said distractedly. I soothed the anxiety away, but it kept coming back.
The Witmaster gestured to Swift, who answered my question. “That usually happens if the trigger for the emotion is still ongoing. Right, Web?”
“Exactly. You can either add more energy to the soothing or remove the trigger. Given your recent healing and the cause of the emotion, I would say both options are not worth doing.” Web’s eyes twinkled at Chade’s glare. I pulled my Wit back to myself, feeling suddenly very tired though we had done very little of note. I went to acquire nuts and brandy from our stores.
“So I hear that Lord Golden somehow survived the ministations of the Pale Woman?” Web asked at last.
Chade took pity on me and chose to answer on my behalf as I systematically shelled and ate nuts. “Not exactly. He was dead when Fitz reached out to ask for help with a Skill-healing, but it seems like he managed to figure out a solution despite this.” He looked at me with interest as he said this.
Web trained his eyes on me. I shifted in my seat, drinking the brandy far more quickly than I ought. Even though I had used the very same tactic with Chade earlier, I was not immune to it, and after a time I admitted the short of it. “I managed to find his mind, but once I found him, he was no longer able to stay where he was. So I used the Wit to heal his body, then I put his mind back.” I knew my words to be overly vague, but they gave away only what I was willing to share.
Thankfully Swift was in the room, otherwise I am certain the others would have focused on the parts I was would rather not explain. “You used the Wit to heal his body?” He asked, eyes huge with excitement. I gave a short nod. “How?”
This I could answer easily. I described the way our bodies were composed of living things that were also susceptible to the Wit, and how I repelled the decay and replaced the rest.
“That’s what Burrich did in your grave that night? I saw him standing over you for a longtime as Nighteyes watched from the edge of the light,” Chade asked, his tongue remarkably loose tonight.
“That’s what I was thinking of when I did it, yes,” I admitted. “I think I saw him treat infections in a similar way when I was younger, but it was always disguised with remarkably effective poultices.” Swift’s eyes widened even further.
Web sighed. “Well, I’m glad you managed to rescue his mind from wherever it was stored. I would like it if you could teach us the magics you learned from Burrich, so that we can preserve their method.”
I felt ready to fall asleep at the table. “Not now,” I demurred.
“No. But perhaps Harvestfest if you feel well enough.”
I nodded vaguely, but when he insisted on scheduling a time, I could not give him any specific time. Instead, I told him he could get a message to me directly by slipping them personally under Lord Golden’s door, or indirectly via Lady Patience or the servant Prudence. Once assured, Dutiful led Web and Swift down the stairs of the tower.
“I don’t know why I’m so exhausted. I practically slept the day away,” I grumbled to Chade.
“The first day after a Skill-healing is always like that, I suspect. I certainly felt that way last spring, and I was working smaller fixes than a broken bone.” Chade helped me up from the chair when I struggled. We entered the walls with a candle and the duster. My recent awareness of Chade’s feelings encouraged me to hug him once more before we parted in the workroom.
I entered our chambers loudly by my hand missing the door handle out of the cell several times until the Fool opened it for me. I had foolishly leaned against the door, and nearly fell into the room, but he caught me. He slung my arm across his shoulder and practically dragged me to the bed. He sat me down, washed my hands and face, then stripped me of my clothes. I waved my hands feebly at him.
“You don’t have to do this. You’re still wounded,” I said faintly.
“Perhaps so, but you are far more likely to fall over than I am. What were you doing that exhausted you so?” He said while tugging a nightshirt on over my head.
“We practiced the Wit a bit and spoke awhile. That’s all. I was scarcely gone three hours, and a large portion of that was eating. I’ve slept all day.” I fell backward onto our bed. I rolled around to try and open the blankets and put myself into them. It likely took more effort than simply standing and doing so would take, but my slow mind did not remember how legs worked.
The Fool sighed exasperatedly and helped me with the covers. “You’re healing from a major injury, Fitzy,” he reminded me. “Of course you’re exhausted easily. You need to take better care of yourself, my love.” He generally fretted at me for awhile, checking my temperature and pulse needlessly, startling me awake ever time his cool fingers touched my skin.
“Come to bed, FitzChivalry,” I said into my pillow. I longed to feel his skin pressed against mine, warmed from our contact.
At the use of my name, he folded immediately. He changed rapidly in the darkness of our room and climbed into his side of the bed only to slide all the way over to mine. I seized him bodily and kissed his head before I fell into unconsciousness.
Chapter 24: Listening to the Body's Needs
Notes:
Explicit content in this chapter! If that's not your vibe, skip to the end from "removing my shirt was no imposition at all. "
Update 7/4: my laptop keyboard no longer works. I may need to take another week off because I planned to edit the next chapter this weekend and I doubt that’s happening. Not the final edit but like… the first edit.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
I awoke screaming.
It was too much to hope that my luck would hold out. The week between leaving the Fool at Aslevjal and returning to him, I had experienced many difficult nights, but I had no nightmares since. I had foolishly assumed that I was past that phase, that I was done. A week of talking and nightmares was all I needed to move on from the pain the overwhelmed me as a youth. The pain I gave up for seventeen years. I thought a week spent coming to terms with all the things that I had been unable to before, partially Forged as I was, had been enough. The two weeks since had shown me that I was capable of moving on and moving forward. There was a limply held hope in the corner of my mind, one that I tried never to look at less it fade, that it was enough.
I was wrong.
My skinny arm, my exhaustion, and my body’s weakness sent me into a too-real dream of the dungeon. It started with Regal’s laughter and his boredom at my pain. I managed to block the endless blows until Will’s prying eyes filled my vision and dropped my hands. Three weeks of trying facing my fears and obligations and self-doubt had not rescued me from the dungeon, where always I would be a terrified boy, flinching from attacks physical and mental. Would a part of me always be that wretch, the same way that a part of me had become a wolf?
I still don’t know. These wonderings came later. That night, I had other concerns.
My throat was ragged from screaming. The blankets held me tightly despite my thrashing, and my clinging sweat ensured they strangled me further. My lungs stuttered and my heart pounded. When my eyes opened at last, I saw not Will’s curious deep brown eyes, but instead concerned hazel eyes. I blinked in surprise, and I saw the Fool’s face above me, and I realized I was safe.
I was grateful to be so wrapped in blankets that I did not hit him or try to strangle him in my sleep. But then I saw a bump rising on his forehead. When he saw my eyes were open, he helped me free of the blankets. I seized him by the shoulders to inspect his head..
“What happened?” I asked dreadfully.
He smiled weakly at me. “It was my fault, Fitz, truly. I tried to wake you as you do to me, but you were flailing so much that you hit me with your head.”
I pulled him to me like a lifeline in a storm, squeezing tighter than I ought to have. I could not stop myself. I had hurt him, and it did not matter that I was asleep when I did so. He was in pain, because he tried to help me.
After a time, his rhythmic words pierced the cloud of my self-loathing, “You’re here with me and I love you so much, Beloved. I won’t leave. I don’t blame you. I love you so much.” My muscles wanted to relax but my mind wanted to do the impossible and somehow squeeze him even tighter to me. For his safety, I listened to my body. I slowed my breathing deliberately, and my rusty limbs loosened their hold.
When I released him enough that he could free an arm, his fingers carded my hair, the rhythm matching his litany. I did not know how long it took, but eventually I was lax under his hands as he stroked my hair and whispered his love for me. At long last his voice slowed, though his hand continued its motions. “Are you feeling better?” I gave a slow nod, concerned that acknowledging the feeling might cause it to flee from me. Thankfully it lingered.
“Was it the dungeon?” I nodded again, purposefully not thinking back to my dream or any other of the nightmares I had experienced lately. “Does it happen more often now?” His voice was dreadful.
“Yes,” I said, keeping the image back from my mind. They were words. Just words. Nothing more. “More than a month ago. But less than seventeen years ago.”
“Did I do wrong by giving your memories back to you?” he asked quietly. I shook my head emphatically.
“No,” I said as though he might miss my meaning otherwise. “Maybe they will heal in time, but I may have interrupted the healing process when I gave them away.” At least, I hoped that was what was happened.
Sudden panic sent me sitting upright. I checked my Skill-walls, and I found them to be impenetrable. At the very least, I had not sent my nightmares to all the Skilled people in the keep, but it did mean I truly believed I was being tortured in my dreams.
I came back to myself and looked once more at the Fool. I could not interpret all the emotions his face held, but none of them were good. I cautiously opened my arms to him, and he all but flung himself into them. I held him as he sobbed against me, and I found myself to be crying as well, though I could not say why I was doing so. When his sobs turned to hiccups, I began to sprinkle his face with kisses.
“Are you feeling better?” I whispered to him.
He nodded emphatically. “Much. I didn’t realize how much healing we both have to do. The thought of it overwhelmed me.” I nodded slowly as I too realized the immense task before us.
“But we’ll be doing it together,” I pointed out, and that brought a soft smile to his face.
“If there must be another my healing is twined around, I’m glad it is you.” His words echoed the ones he had spoken so long ago in Jhaampe, my back dripping from a fresh poultice.
“I’m glad as well,” I whispered. I pressed our brows gently together so as not to hurt their matching bumps. I laid back down, wrapped around him. I felt the gentle press of his lips against mine as I fell back into a dreamless sleep.
As I would soon come to expect, I awoke late, ravenous and thirsty. I tossed clothing on and emerged from the bedroom, blearily greeting the Fool and Nettle as they discussed the various forms that social invitations can take. At my entry, the Fool pushed a fully loaded plate to the chair next to him. I collapsed into it and ate mechanically, not paying any attention to their conversation. I then drank an entire glass of water. I went to the couch, placed my teacup on the low table, and threw myself onto the length of the couch face-first.
Nettle ceased talking at my behavior, but, after the Fool’s prompting, started again. I dozed off to the sounds of their conversation.
I awoke once more to the soft sounds of chair legs being pushed back over the rug. I rotated so I was no longer smothering myself with a cushion. Nettle came over to the couch and, seeing my blinking eyes, knelt by my head.
“Can I help at all?” She asked quietly.
“Can you give me better dreams tonight?” I responded without thinking. Then, my mind caught up to my mouth. “Without seeing my nightmares?”
She nodded slowly. “If you Skill to me just before you sleep, I should be able to. Will you come to Skill lessons this afternoon?”
The effort needed to answer that question was greater than I expected, and I found myself tangled in my own schedule.
“Maybe?” I said at last. “I’d like to be at the meeting with Mayberry this morning but…” My words trailed off. I was unable to come up with a reason as to why the task sounded so impossible to me.
“But it began already, and you’re in no condition to go,” she supplied. I nodded weakly. “It’s no bother if you can’t make it. I have them well enough in hand.” Her voice had a bite to it and left me in no doubt that she somehow had a Prince, a curmudgeonly assassin, and the strongest Skill-user I had ever met ‘well enough in hand.’
My daughter bullied dragons and had six younger brothers. Our coterie was no match for her.
I reached up to put my hand on the side of her face, and her eyes met mine. “I have no doubt you do,” I told her quietly, proudly. She blushed at my expression, and suddenly she was a seventeen-year-old girl again.
“Can I join you for dinner?” She asked.
“Of course. In Patience’s chambers. Hap will be there.” I patted her cheek with my hand, feeling very old as I did so. I had seen grandparents make such motions to small children but had never experienced it myself. She did not seem to take it amiss. Instead, she leaned down and kissed my cheek, then disappeared with a twirl of skirts.
The Fool knelt by my head, though I could not have said how much time had passed between the Nettle’s departure and his arrival. “Hmm?” I asked inquiringly.
“I can see why you were so upset after the Skill-healing in the spring. Kettricken only fed you broth and warmed milk, didn’t she? I remember you demanding meat, but we all thought you were going to make yourself sick.” At the very mention of meat, I began to salivate. “I’ll see what I can get you for lunch then. I think we ought to lean into your instincts of what your body needs right now. To do otherwise would only keep you from healing completely.”
I could have kissed him with delight. When I realized I could, I greedily pulled him onto me, claiming his mouth with mine and wrapping my arms around his waist. He responded enthusiastically and practically fell onto me, his legs slotting between mine while his hands seized my face.
“Fitz?” His voice was soft and very close.
“Hmm?”
“You fell asleep while we were kissing.”
“I did?” What a strange concept.
“You did. You were kissing me very slowly and then you stopped altogether. It’s been at least five minutes since then.”
As I regained awareness, I discovered that I had pinned him under me in sleepy ardor. I very carefully rotated us so that he could escape my avaricious clutches. When he was finally freed, he lay atop me rather than leave. I rested my hands lightly on his lower back.
“I don’t know why I’m so sleepy,” I said. “Yesterday, I was just fine.”
“I think you overworked yourself yesterday in your effort to convince yourself you were ‘just fine.’” He spoke wryly, his hands running along my shrunken arms and torso. “Let me see…” He tapped his lip with the tip of a long finger. “You climbed up to Kettricken’s rooms for a meeting. You collapsed into my arms afterwards yet still insisted on exercising with me. Then you slept for several hours, and you were half asleep in the bath. You climbed all the way to the workroom for dinner, then to Verity’s Tower. There you practiced magic, and you collapsed again when you returned. And you had a nightmare in the middle of the night.” He raised an eyebrow at me. “You and I must have very different definitions of ‘just fine.’”
I blushed deeply at his outlining of my day. I had truly wandered through it half dead all while insisting otherwise, and I was fortunate that no one tried to take advantage of my weakness. At least, not that I could remember.
But he wasn’t done yet. “Fitz, if we’re listening to your body about how much and what type of food you need, I suspect we ought to listen to it about how much sleep you need. And you seem to need a lot.” He tapped my nose.
“So what should I do?”
“It means if you want to have dinner with Hap and Patience tonight, you should probably sleep or at least rest until you’re no longer tired. Preferably in bed rather than strewn across the couch.” His hazel eyes pierced mine as he doled out my punishment.
“Why can’t I sleep here?” I asked petulantly.
“Anytime someone comes in, you’ll be disturbed from your slumber and want to pretend you’re ‘just fine.’ If you’re in bed, you can sleep without disturbances. You’ll heal faster there, Beloved.” I wanted to protest that I was not an invalid he needed to nursemaid, but I had managed to fall asleep while kissing him. That would be impossible if I were at all well.
“Fine. Get off me,” I grumbled, determined not to enjoy the treatment. Despite my irritation and the lateness of the morning, bed sounded deeply appealing to me.
The Fool climbed off me spryly, then pulled me to my feet with barely a grunt. “You’re healing quickly,” I said, surprised.
“You did a lot of work with the Wit, I think, and I’ve had a month of well-fed convalescence on top of it. And I believe Whites heal quicker than humans do.” He helped me towards the bedroom. “Our bodies, at least.”
“Small blessings,” I said. I had seen the differences between us up close when I had healed him, and I had mostly come to terms with them.
He pulled back the blankets and tucked me into the bed, and he kissed me on the head. When he turned to go, I grabbed his hand, uncertain why I did so. He waited expectantly for me to say something, but I had nothing new or interesting to say.
“I love you.” I settled on saying something true.
His face softened at my words, and he bent down to kiss my lips. “I love you too,” he said. “Now please sleep. You need to heal.”
If he said anything else, I did not hear it.
I slept straight through the remainder of morning and well past lunch, and I awoke only when the sun shone in through our westward window. I stretched languidly in bed, enjoying the pleasant feeling of having nowhere to be. Then my stomach loudly demanded attention, and I rose with a sigh. Was it possible to be simultaneously starving and tired of eating? If I was not already, I had no doubt I would be soon.
The Fool had loaded a plate for me on the table in our sitting room. I visited the privy and washed my hands before picking it up. I saw he was working at the desk in his private room. While he had invited me to join him in there on occasion a week ago, I had yet to take advantage of the opportunity. I cautiously approached the open door, and he waved me in. I sat in the armchair by the south-facing window and ate carefully so as not to spill.
He scribbled away at the desk, and I had ample time to admire the way the light reflected off his hair in bands that bespoke a slight wave in what otherwise appeared to be straight hair. I self-consciously patted my own head, which was thick with curls that sprung almost jauntily and went every which way. I had cut it to the scalp almost a year ago and it was barely the length of my hand when I pulled a curl to straightness, and it sprung back to be almost half as long when released. I looked forward to when it would be long enough that I could tie it back into a warrior’s tail once more without the front half flying free.
He set down his quill and crossed the few steps between us to thread his fingers through my hair. “I do so love your curls, Beloved,” he said, directly countermanding my thoughts. I leaned into his gesture and, for the briefest of moments, I loved them too.
“Who are you writing to?” I asked curiously.
“Friends,” he said vaguely and waved his free hand dismissively. I tried to hold back my look of dismay, but it did not escape his keen eyes. I saw realization dawn on his face as he recognized the firm line he had drawn between us. He looked guilty. “Down in Bingtown. Althea and Brashen. They captain the Liveship Paragon together.” Ah, the insane ship he had carved with my face. It still unsettled me, but I reminded myself that I understood his reasoning. More, I had forgiven him for it. “Jek told me they were pregnant when she visited. I expect they’ll have their child soon. I remember checking in with them in the spring, and I suspect it’ll be a boy. I’m also writing to Althea’s niece Malta, who lives in Trehaug with the Rainwilders. You met her brother Selden last spring, remember?” I nodded jerkily at the memory of the boy. His fingers twitched nervously, and I realized my nod was not enough for my lover.
“The Elderling boy?” I asked belatedly.
“Yes. All Rainwilders acquire some Elderling aspects as an affliction from living along the Rain Wild River. Even Bingtowners have issues on occasion, usually with newborns. But Tintaglia has overseen Selden’s changes personally. I expect we will see more like him with Icefyre returned to the world.” He said the words quickly, as though he was trying to clear up his previous vagueness by providing as much information as he could think of. I was glad he told me, but I had nothing intelligent to say in response, nor any questions to ask. I mostly appreciated his simple honesty. Perhaps that was enough.
“Thank you for telling me,” I said, and his smile showed me that it was.
“Did you sleep well? Do you feel better?” His eyes scanned me intently, but I did not know what he looked for nor what he saw.
“I do. Thank you as well for leaving lunch for me. I had only a moment of wakefulness before my body began making demands.” I gestured with my fork and nearly empty plate.
“We’ll do our best to fulfill those demands as best we can then.” He leaned against the window as I cleaned my plate, then offered to take it. “More?”
“Not yet. Is it nearly dinner?”
“You have a few hours until then.”
“Oh good.”
He left briefly to place the plate on the tray. When he returned, he leaned against his desk to look at me. “Did you know that Chade assigned Riddle to you on a more permanent basis?” If there had been food in my mouth, I would have spat it out. Chade truly must consider me a king if he assigned me a guard of all things. “I see that you don’t,” the Fool said. “I asked Riddle to manage meals for us until you’re better. I told him that a convalescing man has no true need of a guard in his own chambers, but you would reach out if you needed him.”
“What use would a guard have of another guard at all?” I scowled. For a man so concerned with propriety, or at least the appearance thereof, this seemed a remarkable oversight for my old mentor.
“Who knows?” He shrugged. “At the very least it means meals are dealt with. Like Patience, I think Lord Chance prefers to dine in private rather than in the hall, but I have no desire to have a member of the kitchen staff bring us meals just yet.”
I nodded, grateful that I would not need to pretend to be a servant or guard for the time being. “Anything else of note?”
He handed me two letters. “These were slipped under the door.” I took them and, before I even opened one, saw him begin to fidget.
“You want to see what they say, don’t you?” I smiled crookedly.
“Yes!” he exclaimed. “Can I?” I patted my lap and spread my arms. He immediately came over and sat sideways on me, draping his legs over the arm of the chair. He adjusted himself so he too was facing the letters and would be able to read them directly.
“I applaud your attempt.” I kissed his cheek, unbothered in the slightest. He blushed at the treatment and made no effort to leave. I opened the first letter to reveal Web’s request to meet at some point soon for additional Wit-training ‘for both of us.’ I vaguely remembered asking him to slip a letter under the door. I tucked the letter back into the envelope and set it aside.
“Do you know something of the Wit-magic that Web doesn’t?” the Fool asked.
“Apparently. The way I healed your body with the Wit was something he had never heard of, and I believe I can replicate how Burrich used the Wit as well. When he set my arm, Web said that he had not seen the technique since he was a boy and thought such knowledge was lost to them.” I opened the next letter before I realized my lover had stiffened in my arms.
“You told them how you healed me?” he asked softly.
“Only the method,” I spoke soothingly. I turned my complete attention back towards him. “Dutiful and Chade knew you were dead, and that I brought you back to life with the Wit, not the Skill. It is a very different technique from the SKill, but accomplishes the same thing, and it’s less exhausting besides.” I massaged his shin as I said this, hoping the gentle touch would help calm him.
“It would be good to train healers who use the Wit as well as the Skill,” he said slowly.
“Especially since the Wit is far more common, and the non-Witted may view those with the Wit and less dangerous if some are adept healers.” I said evenly. With ample sleep and food in my belly, my mind had awoken and found the benefits. Still he looked concerned. “Beloved,” I said his name in Mercen. “You know I will not allow them to… to inspect you or test you. I doubt they could find you with the Wit if even they wanted to. Web and I can simply find someone with a wound and heal it with the Wit.” To seal my words, I moved my forehead towards his, and he allowed the two to meet. I gave him time.
“Thank you Fitz,” He breathed the words as he pulled away from me. He poked the next letter. “What’s the in next one?”
It was from Dutiful outlining how they would announce that Tom Badgerlock was healed with the Skill over the lunch I had slept through. He recommended I behave however I like and not to worry about peoples’ stares, though I might want to prepare myself for questions on it. I stuffed that one back in its envelope as well as well.
“Did you agree to that?” He sounded skeptical.
“It seemed the best thing to do, but it sets a precedent that we might regret.” I rubbed his shin thoughtfully. “And it means we’ll need to move quickly so we can learn Skill healing more formally. We’ll likely need to have a formal call for those with the Skill next year so we can begin training more Skill-users.”
“Will you train them as well?”
I grimaced at the thought. “Perhaps. It would be between me, Chade, and Nettle. I think it will depend in part at how quickly they catch up to me, but I suspect Chade will be too busy or too short-tempered to be an instructor.” The man had been an excellent teacher in the art of assassination when I was a boy, but it had been only the two of us, and I had been a quick study. Perhaps Nettle would be ready by then, but we had less than a year.
“Do you think Nettle would be ready in less than a year?” He asked, echoing my unspoken thought. I raised my eyebrow at him, and he wiggled eyebrows and fingers. I rolled my eyes.
“Possibly. I think the real question is whether we need someone who is a Skillmaster in truth before we take on more students, or if several journeymen Skill-users with differing skillsets would be enough. Nettle seemed confident in her ability to lead the coterie in Skill lessons both yesterday and today, though she has far less formal experience than the rest of them. We have mostly been cleaning and organizing scrolls, however, which is not the same thing as wrangling Skill users.” I worried for my daughter even as I believed in her abilities. It was strange that such feelings were not mutually exclusive.
“Kettricken also instructed her to prioritize her Skill-lessons over all else, whereas you, Chade, and Dutiful are all trying to balance the Skill with other priorities. Besides, you said Nettle was industrious and determined to organize the Skill library effectively. She has at the very least skimmed many of the scrolls already.” In this, the Fool had chosen to believe in my daughter’s abilities far more than I had. I was shamed by my relative lack of confidence in her. “And you have said in the past that she is second in power only to Thick.”
I sighed. “You’re right. I just don’t want to force her into this role if she does not want it. I would rather do it myself if she finds the job undesirable.” I would certainly not enjoy the job but needs must.
“As a good father would,” the Fool said softly. When I turned to look at him in astonishment, he immediately claimed my mouth with his own, kissing me deeply and passionately. He threaded his fingers through my hair to bring me closer to him, and I was at his mercy.
When we parted, I was panting and red with want. I put my arm under his knees and the other behind his back. I tried to stand with him in my arms to find that I was too weak to even lift him with me. I landed on the cushion with scarcely a sound, and I doubt I had gotten very far above it, if at all. I growled in frustration while the Beloved chuckled at my inadequacy.
“What did I tell you about listening to your body?”
I glowered. “You weigh barely anything! I should be able to carry you just fine.” I tried a second time. I barely rose from the cushion. I removed my arms from their positions and crossed them in front of my chest instead.
“I weigh more than air, that’s for certain. Come, what were you going to do with me anyway?” He brushed my hair back from my face.
“I wanted to carry you to bed and take advantage of the hours we have between now and dinner, but it seems I don’t get to do that.” I tried not to whine but doubted my success.
Beloved surveyed me for a time, the roving of his eyes making me redder. It felt as though he was trying to decide if I was worth bedding, frail as I was. I was listening to my body as he wanted me to, though this was not a need, exactly.
Was I being too persistent in my passion? Perhaps he only wanted to bed me once per week or even less frequently. I could accept that, but it would be nice to know. I did not want to exhaust or bore him with my desire.
He stared at me long enough that I almost apologized for my audacity, but he came to a sudden decision. He stood up very quickly, then knelt between my legs, grabbing each of my thighs. “Hold on,” he warned. I grabbed his shoulders instinctively as he began to lift me.
“Beloved.” I protested weakly. “You’re not well enough to—”
“Hush. I know what I’m well enough to handle. Now slouch down a bit so I can see.” His tone brokered no argument and silenced me immediately. I slouched without question.
He carried me easily through the doors to our bed, kicking the door closed behind him. He deposited me on my side where I had not pulled the coverlet back over the sheets. Without any self-consciousness, he straddled me and pulled off his shirt. My eyes were as wide as saucers as I placed my hands on his waist, and he finally blushed at his behavior.
“Are you sure about this?” I asked cautiously. I did not want to reject him, but I didn’t want to obligate him.
“For myself, I am very sure. I was concerned about your strength, but I’m hopeful that sleep and food have helped you heal.” His hands rucked up the hem of my shirt. “I am going to have to insist on being on top today,” he said with a leer. I looked away at his expression, and I felt not a little nervous at his implication.
“What… What does that mean, exactly? For me?” I croaked the words, and his look grew bolder.
“That depends if you want to try something new or not. I will happily swallow your cock.” His clipped tones triggered a sizable reaction in my smallclothes. “Or I am more than happy to use my hand,” he purred, reaching under my shirt and petting my belly. My hips bucked under him.
But we had not hit on my greater concern. “But what about you?” I asked, running my hands up his sides. I was just able to reach his chest without lifting my back off the mattress. He leaned forward so I could better grope him. I thumbed small circles on his nipples and cradled the slight swell of his muscles in my palms. He had said that if his shirt were off, what was under it was very available to me. I had no reason to hold myself back.
The Fool’s breath grew heavy from my actions, and I took great pleasure in his responsiveness. “I think I’ll be just fine, Fitz.” He rubbed his arousal against mine. He was harder than me already, and I caught up in what was distinctly not a competition.
“If you’re sure,” I breathed out. My body was certain, and I thrusted a bit into him. He groaned. “I don’t want to be a selfish lover. I want to take care of you too.”
He froze at my statement, so I did as well. I lowered my hands and waited anxiously. Was what I said wrong?
I must have said the words aloud for he responded as though I had. “No, it was right. Very right. I just...” He paused, and I looked up at him pleadingly. “Not all lovers are as selfless as you. As giving as you.” I tugged him down and kissed hm, hoping to bring him back from wherever he had gone.
“Well, I’m here now, and I’ll be as selfless as you like.” At his raised eyebrow, I corrected myself. “As selfless as my body can handle.”
“Well, thankfully we have forever.” He kissed me luxuriantly. “And if today your body requires you be a bit more selfish and my mind requires me to be a bit more selfless, you can always return the favor in the future.”
And oh how I wanted to flip him then, to devour him whole and make him scream our names so loudly that even the thick chamber walls proved too thin to silence him. But my body was too weak, and he insisted on being on top today. I settled for pulling him down to me and mapping the inside of his mouth with my tongue as my hands traced the supple muscles of his sides. He pulled back for air and to hastily remove my leggings, which took a particular form of teamwork to achieve. After such an effort, removing my shirt was no imposition at all.
He knelt between my legs and looked down at me, his eyes heavy-lidded and his hands running up and down my legs.
“Like what you see?” I asked awkwardly. His eyes caught mine and burned.
“You have no idea,” he said, then bent down to sheath my length in his mouth.
It took all my energy not to thrust into him. I sank my hands into his hair, careful not to exercise any control on his head as I did so. His tongue was unbearably warm as he sucked me deeper, and some skill in his throat allowed him to take me entirely into him, ripping a moan from my throat.
When he wrapped a hand underneath to massage my balls, I pulled my hands off his head to clench the mattress, kneading it aggressively with strength I was not allowed to use on him. I nearly shrieked in frustration. I was hurtling fast towards orgasm, and I was only holding myself back through force of will. I feared finishing embarrassingly quickly, that he would not be able to use my hardness in some way for his own release, that he might stop without taking his own pleasure.
As though reading my mind or sensing it in some movement of my body, he pulled off me. Without pausing, he rose back up to my mouth, his sharp tongue soft as it met mine. Instinctively, my legs rose to bracket his hips as he drove into me, our cocks aligned with only his leggings between us.
I felt dizzy with the heat rising between us, at his arousal so close to my own. If I had not been so awake, I would fear passing out from how overwhelmed I felt. Our hips worked together as though we had done this more times than I could remember, and dimly I did remember.
Be here, be now.
I wrenched myself back.
Suddenly I was here, underneath my Beloved as his mouth descended my neck and sucked a bruise onto my shoulder. His hips thrust into mine, our cocks rubbing together at each movement.
Suddenly I was now, his hands slipping between us and loosening the ties of his leggings, his voice whispering into my ear, “Please, can I?”
“Yes, yes, yes,” I was saying, in response to both his question and his hand as he freed himself. He took both of our cocks in hand. I watched with rapt eyes at the way he stroked us, my hips thrusting in time with his. My mouth kept repeating the same word over and over to let him know the depths of my approval.
Then I looked up and saw he was watching my face with his blown pupils and mouth agape with longing. His lips were bruised from loving me selfishly and selflessly. “I love you,” I gasped, words so breathless that I doubt he heard them, but his eyes was locked onto my mouth as I spoke. He saw. He knew what I said.
He cried out as his orgasm overwhelmed him, his face so looking so free of all care while his eyes stared into mine and his cock pulsed against me. The warmth of his spend burned on my nipple and saturated my chest hair. I joined him, my body exploding more pieces than I could imagine, and all I could see was his warm hazel eyes crinkling in delight as I disintegrated beneath him.
I managed to gather up the pieces of myself to find him pressed along my side, his head perched on his hand. His eyes patiently watched as I returned to him. He brought his lips to mine, and we kissed leisurely as the white lines of our pleasure cooled on my chest.
His face was the picture of satisfaction as he pulled away, and I grinned at him, pleased that I could give him this much at least. Then a glint of mischief sparked in his eyes, and he brought his mouth down to where our twin lines of spend crossed on my body. I moaned as he licked me clean. As we were after the act, I had no compunction in flipping us over so that I could kiss the taste from his mouth.
We separated only when I could no longer hold myself above him. I fell onto his body, enveloping it entirely, feeling absolutely certain all was right in the world.
Notes:
Fitz's healing process is inspired by my experience after a tonsillectomy as an adult. It was terrible. Days 11-20 post-surgery, I was either starving or asleep, and I was easily exhausted by everything, but I was told that after day 10, you're fully recovered since the healing is done. I was not fully recovered
Chapter 25: Accomodations
Notes:
Sorry for the huge delay, everyone! I have a working keyboard once again (yay!), so I can edit and write. This chapter was a bit strange for me to write? But hopefully it turned out all right. We're playing fast and loose with the editing these days.
The next chapter will be posted 7/28 or the Monday after.
Chapter Text
We cursed as we nearly ran into one another, sprinting around our suite like two panicked chickens who have scented a wolf and forgotten where the coop was. My hair was still damp from when we discovered just how far our spend had sprayed, and I tossed the shirt that discovered the infraction into our laundry basket.
Poor Prudence. I could only hope her sense of discretion extended to the pursuits of those she cleaned up after. If she had not discovered our activities already, I had no doubt that she would soon be the third person who knew of our relationship.
The realization pierced me with panic.
“Does she know?” I asked, voice shrill.
“Who?” The Fool turned towards me, eyes wide in terror.
“Prudence. Does she know about us?”
“That’s what you’re so worried about? Not that we’re at least fifteen minutes late for dinner with your children and the two most perceptive women in all of Buckkeep?”
I supposed that rather put things into perspective.
I grabbed my second nicest shirt and tugged it over my head only to find that I had not unbuttoned the neck enough. My head could not make it all the way through the neck hole and my hands were stuck in the sleeves.
Now I even looked like a damned chicken.
The Fool heard my muffled panic and came to rescue me, cackling hysterically all the while. He did up my buttons himself and handed me a doublet to put on top. He returned to his little vanity to apply makeup with abandon on the love mark on his throat.
I needed to be more cautious about where I placed my marks, I scolded myself half-heartedly, and it was not enough to tamp down the wave of possessive satisfaction that swept through me at the sight. The feeling had made its way through our Skill-link all the way to him, and he glared at me. “Put on your damned doublet, FitzChivalry.”
Right. I stuffed my arms into the sleeves and haphazardly did up the buttons. Why were there so many buttons?
Where are you? Nettle’s Skilled message found me with my walls down just enough.
Running late, I responded wryly. Surely this was obvious.
We’re all here. Even Hap who got lost. Twice.
Again?
Apparently, Nettle Skilled messaged included an underlying thought that son was a bit of an idiot. I was not in the appropriate frame of mind to correct the slight.
I’ll have to come through the hallways if Hap is already there. I’ll probably be stopped on the way. Having resigned myself to being late, I slowed down enough to get my buttons done up properly. They were off by one and I needed to restart.
Want me to tell them that’s where you are? Nettle offered very kindly.
No, Hap doesn’t know I have the Skill. But I’d appreciate it if you implied as much.
You really should tell him, Nettle chided me.
I know. But I can’t right now as I am running increasingly late for dinner. Buttons done, I looked over to see the Fool still in front of the vanity. I walked over to use the other mirror and tried to smooth my hair. It bore a faint resemblance to a bird’s nest.
You haven’t even left yet?! I did not deign her question worthy of a response. I heard her sigh and break the contact.
“Come on, everyone else is there,” I told Beloved, who looked deeply put upon.
“I can’t believe we fell asleep! I have never been this late on accident before.” He patted powder furiously over his throat, and all the energy he put into it created a great cloud. Surely half of it was in the air rather than on his neck.
“Welcome to a life without prophecies. Come, is your throat covered?” I could decern no difference, though he continued to apply powder.
“Well enough,” he grumbled and set down the chunky brush. His fingers twitched to clean up the vanity spattered with powders and paints.
“Come, we’re late enough already. Hap is already there so we’ll have to go through the hallways.” I seized his hand and dragged him to the door of our suite. He straightened my hair as I waited for a servant to pass by.
“And now Guardsman Tom Badgerlock and Lord Chance are seen together in Buckkeep,” he said dourly.
“Both are affiliated with Lady Patience, we won’t be too out of place.” The servant passed, and I opened the door, locking it quickly behind us and headed toward my mother’s chambers.
We were stopped by no fewer than three people that I did not know who ostensibly wanted to congratulate me for my bravery in Greton. In truth they wanted to get a good look at what someone who was recently Skill-healed looked like. Only one was particularly tenacious, asking if I would be so kind as to roll up my sleeve so he could see how little scar remined, and we managed to escape onlywhen the Fool feigned sudden intestinal distress. Lord Chance was stopped only once by an acquaintance who simply wanted to greet him, and we had to beg our leave as we were on our way to see Lady Patience, and we were already quite a bit late, but yes cards tomorrow would be acceptable.
I knocked three times on Patience’s chamber door and opened the door without waiting for a response. Both of us looked as harried as we felt, and any suspicions Patience had were covered by her concern over our appearance.
She kissed my cheek in greeting but wasted no time at all to scold me. “You should have been here a half hour ago! And you’ve shrunk too! What happened, Tom?” She eyed my slight form. I tried not to slink back from under her gaze.
“I was healed with the Skill in exchange for my service in Aslevjal and Greton. Unfortunately, it was a bit of an experiment, and they seem to think they went too far.” I told her the public reason.
Unfortunately or otherwise, Hap chose that moment to fling himself onto me, and weak as I was, we tumbled to the ground with a crash and a groan. Patience was shocked enough to shriek, and the Fool reacted too late to save anyone at all.
“Tom, I’m so sorry!” Hap exclaimed as he climbed off the top of me. “I just... I’m so sorry,” he repeated. I had never dropped him before.
“It’s fine Hap. You’re not ten anymore.” I blamed his bulk wholeheartedly as he inspected me for injury.
“Oh Hap, Tom is just skin and bones. He has nothing to catch you with!” Patience exclaimed, refusing to grant me any dignity or lies to hide behind. “Help them, Fool!” She gestured towards us. He helped Hap off the ground, and the two of them pulled me up easily.
“You’re going to have bruises for sure,” Nettle whispered.
“Maybe tonight, but not in the morning,” I grumbled. That did not stop me from rubbing the spots where Hap’s bony elbows and knees had dug into.
“Tom, what happened?” Hap tied to brush me clean of invisible dirt.
“The Skill healing. Healing a broken arm in a night takes a lot of energy, and apparently eats your body,” I said honestly.
“But why would you do such a thing for a broken arm?”
“They offered and no one knew what would happen, son. Now please, let’s go sit down.” I patted his arm then turned to my mother, bowing precisely as a guardsman might. “I apologize for the delay, Lady Patience. We had no way of knowing how many people would want to stop us on our walk over.” I received the slightest of eyerolls in response. I offered my arm. She took it politely and led us to the large table where Lacey waited.
Unfortunately, everyone was deeply interested in what happened two days prior, including the battle that I could hardly remember. It was their preferred topic of conversation as we ate dinner. I could describe the ride, the decision to go ahead with the girl Tempest, and how I had interceded only when it looked as though tensions were beginning to escalate. Of the battle and what came after, Hap wanted more than the snippets I could provide, and eventually I snapped at him, “Why do you ask Captain Foxglove or the girl? They were there. They will remember better than I can.”
“But you were also there, Tom! How can you not remember?” Hap asked, voice cracking with frustration.
I sensed the Fool tired of going over the same short snippets I could recall. “It’s just something Tom experiences at times,” he said.
“But why?” Hap insisted, sounding not a little like when he was eight and I needed to remind him to bathe.
“It only happens when I think I might die. I focus all my energy on surviving,” I did not shout, but it was a near thing.
The hollow silence was worse than the questions.
Patience broke it.
“Well, we’re happy you survived Tom. Though I would appreciate it if you avoid getting into such situations in the future. I rather like having you around again,” she said primly. She did not ask any more of me and instead turned toward my boy. “Well, Hap, why don’t you sing us a song that you’ve learned this week? Maybe something that isn’t a battle.” And so my mother redirected everyone’s attention onto my boy who tried valiantly to sing a song that he’d only half memorized.
With everyone else distracted, the Fool tapped my foot with his and very cautiously placed his hand atop one of mine clutching my legs under the table. I loosened it, rotated just enough that he could place his fingers in mine. I clasped his hand and tried to calm myself. I focused on my breathing as Hap finished one song and then, at Nettle’s request, started another. I still did not feel myself at the end of it, but the Fool pulled Hap into wood carving, with Patience and Lacey eagerly watching. Nettle placed herself next to me as they did so, and we watched the smooth draw of knife against wood together.
No longer the subject of intense scrutiny, I continued to graze on my half-finished plate.
“Are you well?” Nettle looked me up and down.
“Fine,” I lied, glancing at her only briefly before turning back to my plate. My knee twitched abominably.
“You don’t seem fine,” she noted.
“Hap is a minstrel now,” I said below my breath.
“So?” She whispered in turn.
“That means he wants to write a song about it.” I had noted his detail gathering, his hungry eyes, the way of holding his head as though he were embedding every word I said in his mind so that he could recall it and turn it into, Eda and El forbid, something memorable. Something catchy.
“And what’s the problem with that?” Nettle scoffed. I turned towards her and raised my eyebrow.
I’m supposed to be dead, and Tom Badgerlock is supposed to be a nobody guardsman, I Skilled to her. I don’t want another Antler Island Ballad.
Oh.
Exactly.
Why doesn’t he know who you are?
He’s never been good with secrets. I looked towards my lover, my son, and my mothers. They turned wood into art.
How can you not have told him yet? We’ve been training together for weeks, and he’s known you for years. Nettle looked aghast at the thought.
I glared at her. Nine years. And I had planned to live out the rest of my days as Tom Badgerlock. Not as myself.
You really thought you’d never return? She looked at me with hurt in her eyes. My hand rose to her shoulder instinctively, lightly touching it before abruptly pulling away. I was deeply aware of Hap’s ignorance in that moment.
I… hadn’t thought that far, Nettle. I just knew that if nothing changed, I would not need to return as myself. And nothing changed for a very long time. I sighed forlornly. “I’m sorry, Nettle,” I said the words aloud simply. I felt as though I were simultaneously apologizing for her entire life and for nothing at all. We watched the carving in silence for a time. Every once in awhile, I took another bite from my plate. My body demanded it.
“I wish you had. Thought further, that is,” Nettle said quietly.
“I wish I had too,” I agreed miserably. I switched back to the Skill. I wish I’d planned better. I was your age when you were born, you know. I had no idea you existed beforehand, and your parents were married soon after. My anxiety was building once more within me, and my hand slipped under the table to dig fingers into my leg.
I know. I counted back after you told me. I don’t blame you. She gently placed her hand on mine atop my leg, unbothered by the clenching. My fingers loosened immediately at her touch, grabbing at her hand instead.
I’m trying now. It’s a bit difficult to plan very far, given how much things are changing lately. But I plan on being near to you for as long as you’ll have me. I gave her an awkward, crooked smile, and she returned it.
“I’d like that too, I think.” Her hand tightened around mine, and relief nearly drowned me. My daughter wanted me around.
We stayed like that for perhaps half a minute before Patience called out to us, and we went to join the others.
My head hit my chest, and I jolted awake once more. It was still early, but this was the third time it had happened. The Fool was telling a story of what I could only assume was from his time in Bingtown as Amber, though he did not reveal that detail. Despite my intense interest in the topic, I could not manage to stay awake. My weariness had repeatedly rolled over me like a riptide, pulling me out to the deep ocean of unconsciousness. I had wisely claimed a seat behind everyone else in hopes of keeping my lapses unnoticed.
This time, I heard the Fool’s voice catch and felt his eyes on me. He had finally noticed. I was sure that he would find some way to wrap up his story to a hasty conclusion so he could take the killjoy bastard back to his rooms.
I only drifted once more as he finished the tale, waking only when he placed his hand heavily on my shoulder. “I apologize. Tom has been like this since the Skill-healing. It seems that it took a lot out of him, and he requires more sleep.” He turned towards me and adopted a hint of Golden’s clipped tone. “Come on Badgerlock, let’s get you back.”
I leaned on his arm more than I expected when I stood. I received a quick hug from Hap, though the others abstained due to my boy’s presence.
“Will I see you for sword practice tomorrow?” He seemed doubtful even as he asked.
I considered my energy levels. “Maybe? If I feel better?”
“I can help,” Nettle volunteered. “Perhaps Wim or Blaine could teach Hap, and we could practice together.” The look Hap gave her unfortunately was that of a boy being offered one-on-one time with a girl, rather than a brother being offered help by his sister who offered partially out of obligation. I had no ability to correct him without telling him the truth of who Nettle was to me. Nettle had no interest in him, so the secret would keep.
“Sure Nettle, if you have the time,” I said.
The Fool’s eyes met mine, then he looked towards my daughter. “Breakfast tomorrow?”
“Of course.” She curtseyed farewell, looking far more graceful than she had weeks ago. We sketched bows at her and Patience, then we left. We travelled the corridors as quickly as we could, and we were only stopped once by someone who recognized me. My lover talked circles around them, and we were back in our rooms in no time. I hardly remember undressing, let alone getting into bed.
Following that night, I was forced to follow Beloved’s advice and listen to my body. I slept when I was tired, ate when I was hungry, and accepted Nettle giving me sweet dreams instead of nightmares.
I found that the people who made up my world generally accommodated my limitations. The days I was awake for it, Kettricken, Chade, and Dutiful met me for breakfast in the workroom so I would not have to climb all the stairs to her chambers. Once we four even met in the Fool and I’s shared chambers, and Chade and my Fool were remarkably civil despite their frequent clashes over the past year. My old mentor did not say a word regarding our sleeping arrangements, though I saw him glancing between the two closed doors. Kettricken and I were given the occasional opportunity to demonstrate to Dutiful when to listen to Chade’s advice and when and how to tell him that he was out-of-line. At one point, he said something so obviously in poor taste that I wondered if he realized what we were up to and wanted to aid our instruction. It did not seem the thing to ask.
After the breakfast in our chambers, the Fool thanked Chade for making Riddle available to us, and Chade assured us that I could consider Riddle as my man much as Burrich was my father’s. I liked the man and certainly felt more camaraderie with him than many guards, but I do not think anyone could be to me as Burrich was to Chivalry. I could not fully trust him, knowing that anything I told him would surely make its way back to Chade.
I managed to catch up on the other tasks that I had put off: I wrote two letters to Molly, sending them via couriers headed in her direction. I had lunch with Foxglove, and we caught up on all that had happened since I had died, though I was necessarily vague. She asked me to meet with Blade, and I promised to do so when I was feeling better. She seemed to understand my reticence. I visited Patience and Lacey when I felt well enough, and my mother kindly did not push me to visit more often.
I met with Web and learned as best I could, though we steered clear of practicing the magic. Instead, I learned more of the theory underlying our magic, and he told me a few stories. I had collected a number of Old Blood tales during my travels, and I found the relevant scrolls and wrote down what I could recall from others. We bent our heads over them. Some of the stories I had gathered even he had never heard of, and we discussed potentially combining these tales into a book to spread knowledge and decrease fear of the Old Blood.
Otherwise, I was with the Fool. He encouraged me to join him in his exercise, pressed me into learning to dance with him, and taught me Mercen. He also ensured I had ample amounts of whatever I wanted to eat. We joined through the Skill thrice, and we were both pleased to see that the great pit of guilt in my mind was slowly closing.
He seemed to be looking around for something, however. Something he thought would be in my mind but wasn’t. When I asked about it, he dodged the question, saying only that I had mentioned something to him once, and he wanted to look at it, but I could recall no such conversation. I assumed I had been drunk or perhaps distraught, as I had no reason to doubt him.
And I slept. I slept early and woke late and often took a nap in the afternoon. My body rebuilt itself slower than I would like, but far more quickly than anyone expected. But through my exhaustion, I somehow slept through several of the Fool’s nightmares, waking up after the fact as he burrowed himself into me like a cat digging into a coverlet. I held him as he trembled, quietly reminding him that he was safe and loved, and I kissed his tears away.
We also were intimate with one another, though not as much as I might have liked. With the increased social visits to our chambers, we were forced to restrain ourselves to the bedroom, though we might begin on the couch or the comfortable armchair in his den, as he had started calling it. He still felt uncomfortable in his own body, and I tried whatever I could to make my desire clear, but, after falling asleep while kissing him that first day, I would try to gracefully demur when I thought I might do so again.
I managed to attend every other Skill lesson and found my daughter indeed had Dutiful, Chade, and Thick well in hand. She had them reading and organizing the Skill scrolls, the later they switched toward reading the scrolls focused on healing to better understand the effects of my Skill-healing last spring. She impressed me further by working the coterie on practical Skill lessons: she helped Thick with his walls, Chade on his strength, and Dutiful on his caution. They moved slowly, but Thick had proven he was able to find anyone who lost himself in the Skill. He, meanwhile, seemed never to get lost as long as a dragon was not involved.
Thick and Dutiful were particularly receptive to her older sister attitude, and her stubbornness was rival to Chade’s. Based on how they described our healing work on Aslevjal, she decided that we would wait until I was well for us to practice healing with the Skill, and by that point, no one was willing to stand against her. Chade did, however, disappear for an afternoon and returned the next morning with a bloodless face and a large bag of Skill scrolls. Nettle and I wore matching scowls as he laid out the contents of the bag. She set him to cleaning and organizing the scrolls as she worked with Dutiful and Thick, saying that the scrolls were his responsibility and if he was confident enough to go through the pillars without assistance, surely he did not need to practice with the rest of them. He caved after three days of oily hands, and we finished cleaning the scrolls as a group on the fourth day.
Hap and Nettle joined me during my daily visits with Myblack. Hap was overconfident in his abilities to handle her based on his meager experience riding our old pony, and she threw him three times before he agreed that she was beyond his abilities. Nettle impressed my boy greatly by holding her seat through Myblack’s complaints, and she started taking Myblack on a daily ride through the hills around Buckkeep, Riddle riding with her as a guard at my request. I told him to protect her as thought she was the prince himself, and I was pleased that he took it to heart. Sometimes she joined the prince’s larger group outings. They gained much practice at Skilling while ostensibly in conversation with others.
I rejoined Hap and Nettle in weapons training. Wim, Blaine, and Riddle were happy to help with my children, and both had improved dramatically while I had been out. I was still able to beat Hap, and in fact I barely needed a practice blade. A dodge and a well-timed shoved did just fine, but at least now the shove needed to be well-timed.
Eventually I was able to hold the practice blade for long enough that I could practice with Nettle again. On that day, Dutiful showed up to practice with his old training partner Delleree, and I believe my children learned quite a bit watching the speed and ferocity with which the two of them fought. Apparently, Blaine and Delleree often tied when they clashed swords, and she looked at me with fresh eyes when Blaine told her of my skill with the ax.
While Dutiful and I were carefully conversing as a prince might with a highly capable guard, I saw Hap glance between us with furrowed brows. I suspected we looked similar enough to one who knew me when I was younger and unbearded. I Skilled as such to Nettle and Dutiful, and they were both frustrated that Hap did not know who I was.
He’s terrible with secrets, I told them. It’s like he exhausts himself when he holds things inside, and he’s unable to think about anything else until he tells it.
Nettle and Dutiful were conversing openly as we three had our true conversation over the Skill. A public friendship between them was approved by the Queen and Chade since they trained in the Skill together, and somehow a rumor had spread that Nettle would lead Dutiful’s coterie when he would be crowned king.
You must tell him at some point. Nettle seethed. I swear, Fitz, he makes these moon eyes at me when he thinks I’m not looking. But he’s practically my brother.
He’ll figure it out sooner or later. Dutiful focused on the crux of the issue. He’s nearly figured out that you and I are related simply. All because we stood next to each other for what, five minutes?
You two have the same expression when you fight, Dutiful. But Fitz, he’s your son. He knows you. You raised him. He deserves to know who you truly are. Nettle’s tone allowed no room for argument, but still I tried to bargain.
I planned to do it after he returns in the spring. I was standing by the water barrel and taking far too long. I went to work against the pells for a time.
Do you really think he won’t figure it out before he leaves? Dutiful asked plainly. I could tell he agreed with Nettle, but he kindly respected my right to parent my boy as I saw fit.
I sighed. I don’t know. I could feel Nettle’s frustration practically boiling over.
Dutiful continued to press me. Do you think he’ll be discrete if he realizes?
I thought about it for long enough that Nettle’s rage almost exploded once more. I had to answer my Prince honestly.
Yes. He’ll keep it to himself and come talk to me first. He won’t shout it from the rooftops. I hit the pells harder than I expected, and my muscles wearied quickly. I kept going.
So there’s no reason not to tell him! Nettle declared her victory. To demonstrate how thoroughly she considered herself to have won, she cut the connection and went to ask Riddle for a practice match.
Dutiful lingered in my mind. For what it’s worth, I think you’re both correct. If I were king… He sighed. If I were king, I’d say there is no reason to put it off. But in truth, Hap may be hurt if he finds out by accident, then it might be worth it to tell him on purpose. I felt stupid when my mother finally told me who you are... But Fitz, I won’t order this. If you need me to, I can stay away from him until you leave, so he’s less likely to realize. I sensed how badly he did not want to stay away. He wanted to spend time with me and get to know my boy. His jealousy had faded into a strong desire to have another cousin, especially one without a royal drop of blood in his body.
I was unmanned by his willingness to sacrifice his desires for my fears. Further, I did not want to hurt Hap, and I wondered if he would view this as he had when he had discovered Starling was married by accident. He was hurt thinking that she and I had played a joke on him. But he had not gone around telling everyone that Starling had made her husband a cuckhold. He had kept that secret, and it seemed not to bother him anymore.
No, you’re both correct, I admitted at last. I will tell him. I’ll need to find a good time, and I’ll let you know when I do.
Thank you, Fitz. Dutiful’s relief was genuine, and he closed the connection between us. I lowered my axe, exhausted, and went to return it to the weapon shed.
I went to reclaim my boy from Wim. The guardsman was far more patient than I was. He had trained his three children to fight and viewed Hap as a particular challenge. It helped that Hap was cheerful even when he was laid out in the field repeatedly. Fighting did not come naturally to him, but he was happy to be learning at all.
Hap was slowly moving through a series of blows against the pells with Wim correcting his form every so often. The boy stopped as I approached, his sword drooping in tired arms, but he did not set it down. Wim clapped my shoulder and went to get water.
“I’m getting so much better, Tom! Look!” He showed me the series Wim had been working on with him, and I did not have the heart to correct three of his mistakes.
“Much better,” I said. “I was wondering if you’d have a free evening in the next week or so. We could go hunting and camp together, just us two. Like we used to.” With Nighteyes, I did not add, but my boy’s face filled with recognition. It broke out in a broad grin.
“I’d love that. I think I should be able to in… three or four days? I’ll check with Sawtongue and let you know tomorrow.” I clapped his shoulder, but he seized my hand before I pulled away. “You’re feeling well enough for that? You’re still… well…” The words trailed off, and I knew what he was saying. It had been a week and a half since that ride to Greton, and I was thin despite a voracious appetite.
“I’ll be fine. It’s not cold outside, but we’ll bring extra bedding. Now come, let’s work on that swing of yours.” Wim soon returned, and between the two of us, he soon had the motions down properly.
Chapter 26: The Bastard's Son
Notes:
I knew when I started this fic that I wanted to have the scene where Fitz actually tells him who he is. I imagined it would be much different than telling Nettle or, honestly, anyone else.
Happy Monday y'all!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
I had loaded a saddlebag with provisions to complement any meat we hunted, and another saddlebag with enough blankets that we would be warm tonight. The boy and I had both grown up sleeping rough, but, while I saw no need for a tent in the balmy weather, I also saw no need for us to shiver at night if we did not have to.
Hap appeared as I was saddling Myblack, his nervousness causing her to sidle when I reached under her belly for her girth.
“You make her nervous,” I told him. I reached once again to grab the end. I threaded it through the loop for the breast collar before attaching it to the saddle.
“She makes me nervous.” Hap quipped, cautiously offering Myblack a hand. She dodged it casually. I looked over at him and raised an eyebrow. “She’s just so… opinionated. And she doesn’t like me.”
“Did you bring an apple like I said?” He looked at his feet as he shuffled him. “How about you go get a few from the kitchens?”
He set down his bag but didn’t move. “Are you sure we can’t just walk to the camping spot? Are we going all that far away?”
“You’ll need to get used to horses someday, lad. Most of them aren’t Clover. Bards play not just in taverns, but in nobles’ houses as well. They ride with them on hunts to entertain them and document the day.” I tightened the girth. Myblack and I both grunted.
The boy sighed and left. I managed to get Myblack fully tacked by the time he returned, his pockets bulging with bribes. He offered her one, and she took it rapidly out of his hand, biting half off while the other half fell into the packed dirt. He picked it up and lightly dusted it off with his sleeve before he held it to her. She mouthed it more delicately out of his hands, her eyes thoughtful as she eyed my boy.
I mounted Myblack and helped Hap up behind me. She whuffed from the increased weight and danced in place. Hap’s arms were so tight around my belly that I could barely breathe, and a quick glance confirmed his legs were nearly the same.
“Stop digging your heels into her sides,” I reminded him.
“I know. I’m not nine anymore,” he grumbled as he did what I asked. Myblack settled down, and he loosened his arms as well. I took a full breath, and we rode through the gate. I soon turned Myblack onto a narrow track off the road to Buckkeep Town. I hadn’t been this way in quite some time, but I used to go every day for a winter.
“Where are we going anyway? I thought you wanted to hunt,” Hap mumbled into my shoulder.
“I wanted to show you a few places first. Places I thought you might want to see.”
“What sort of places?”
I thought a part of me was growing accustomed to this unveiling of secrets. I had told so many since my return to Aslevjal. To Patience and Lacey. To Molly. To Nettle. To the Fool, I had dredged up secrets I had hidden even from myself.
Yet this secret was simultaneously incredibly small and impossibly large. For the span of a year, what might have been the longest year of my life, it had been my greatest secret. One nobody knew. Then everybody knew, and the details didn’t matter, not with a secret that size.
But those details mattered to me. And I suspected they mattered to Hap.
“Tom? What sort of places?”
“Places I thought you might want to see,” I repeated. Hap let out an exasperated sigh into my back but did not repeat the question.
It wasn’t far, especially on a horse before the snows came. The old pig cottage was tumbledown from the start, and time had not been kind to it. It was practically collapsed now.
“This is it?” Hap asked doubtfully. He dismounted and walked up to one of the stones that had tumbled away from the building. It used to be past of he wall. He prodded it with his toe. I hopped down and followed, pulling Myblack’s reins over her head to hold them loosely.
“This is it.”
He walked around it, giving it more attention than such a ruin deserved. He stopped at several places to crouch down and look closer, prodded more rocks, and eventually picked up a small one. He tossed it up in the air, caught it, and glanced at me before he tossed it again. “What is this place, Tom?”
“It’s where I brought Nighteyes after I bought him. Six coppers.” Hap’s head snapped towards me, his jaw dropped and eyes wide. He missed catching the rock, and it clattered to the ground.
“You bought him? For six coppers?” The tone of his voice slid from surprise to insult, and I could not blame him. I picked up the rock and handed it to him. He looked at it briefly before pocketing it.
“I only had seven in my pocket, so it was good I could haggle him down.” Myblack bumped her nose into side, and I rubbed the roundness of her jaw. “Convenient too that a storm rolled in and his birds escaped their cage. He was mostly fur and bones. I don’t think he would have lived much longer.”
I looked up to see Hap looking at me much like he looked at Myblack. As though he wasn’t certain if I would spook or bite.
“I’m not upset, Hap. I’ve just never brought anyone here and don’t know how to go about it.” I gestured towards the pile of rubble. “And it’s nowhere special, not really. But I thought you might want to see it.” I walked towards where the entrance used to be, and Hap followed to stand by me. The building had always been small, but it looked so much smaller now that it wasn’t standing.
“Why did you buy him?”
“I was angry. He was angry.” I shrugged. “I could no more leave him in that cage than put myself in the cage with him. And I couldn’t just steal him.” I gave my boy a smile, and he chuckled at the absurdity. He had never seen me steal before. Common-born Tom Badgerlock wouldn’t steal, but FitzChivalry Farseer was not above such things.
“So I took him out of the cage, made him understand that I was in charge and he was not to attack me. Then I carried him here. It was abandoned, yet close enough to Buckkeep that I could visit every day. It was still standing, of course.” I went back to the little yard. “We used to tussle here. There was snow on the ground.”
“Tom? Do you…” Hap paused, sucking in a breath. He held it, his eyes wide and brows knit together. I waited.
“Were you and Nighteyes Witted?”
How odd, that he felt the need to ask. How odd that it was so difficult to answer. I tried to say the words, but it was as though my tongue were out of my control, my body frozen so I could not so much as nod. I cleared my throat repeatedly and looked up at the sky. Thin streaks of clouds split the blue sky like nails drawing lines in the dirt or skin.
“Yes,” I croaked.
“I think I always knew.”
“Does it bother you?” I looked away from the gouged sky to catch his mismatched gaze.
He shook his head. “No. If anything, I feel relieved. He was a wolf, but he wasn’t… he wasn’t only a wolf, I don’t think.” He glanced at me nervously. “I don’t know any other wolves.”
“You know me,” I reminded him.
“Is that how it works?” My curious son believed me so readily. He looked around the cottage with far more interest, picking up parts of the wreckage. I doubted he would find anything of Nighteyes’ after so long.
“There’s an exchange with the bond. He became more human, and I became more wolf.” I didn’t want to get into the details, not just yet. But it was a start.
Hap pulled the rock from his pocket and compared it with the others as though to check that it was indeed the best one. He pocketed it once more.
“Ready?” I asked. He nodded. “Come. There’s another place I want to show you.” I mounted Myblack, and Hap climbed up behind me. She accepted her burden with a whuff. I guided her back to the road, taking a different route than he and I had taken all those years ago.
We rode in silence until I directed Myblack up the mountain, following a narrow trail to the old shepherd’s hut. Once we were at the little shack, thankfully still standing, I spoke more. “I didn’t want to bond with him. It was dangerous in Buckkeep, in all the Six Duchies. I had many responsibilities that did not align with visiting a wolf every day, having him always in my mind. He was very… distracting. It was hard to think of cause and effect, of politics and Forging, when the wolf cared only about the hunt and pack.”
“But you did anyway?”
“I tried not to. I helped him gain weight and tried to teach him how to hunt, then I brought him here. There were mice that could feed him as he worked his way to larger prey. He viewed it as a betrayal of pack. So I used my Wit to push him away, broke the bond between us. Then I left.” I directed Myblack downhill, and Hap silently held on.
I stopped her at that old spot.
“I was attacked here. Three Forged ones, hungry. They wanted meat and thought I was easy prey. I had only brought my belt knife. I thought there were no Forged ones so close to Buckkeep.”
At my gesture, we dismounted. I sat down in the spot I had sat in before. Hap sat next to me, where Nighteyes had been.
“One of them took a bite of me. I still bear the scar.” I pressed my hand on it, remembering how I ripped myself free of ravenous teeth. Remembering how I spat out beard and flesh afterwards. “But Nighteyes came, and he fought alongside me. Afterwards, we sat here. He had been stabbed, and I wanted to care for him. This is where we bonded in truth. Where we became brothers.”
Hap licked his lips and looked around. “You would have died without him?
I gave a half-smile. “Many times over. That was only the first. He always did have a knack for saving me.”
“He saved me too, Tom. Every day after Starling dropped me off, you two saved me.” My boy leaned against my side. I draped my arm across his shoulders and pulled him closer.
“I think you saved me too,” I whispered.
We sat in silence for a time before he bumped his head against my shoulder. “Are there any other stops?”
I shook my head. “None worth going to. Not today.” I stood and gave him a hand up.
“Where did you want to go now?”
“A place he and I used to visit sometimes.”
We mounted once more, and I led Myblack to a little clearing next to a stream far from town. We picketed her there. Hap took his bow and quiver before we went into the woods. It had been awhile since either of us had hunted, and we lost the first few rabbits through poor coordination, but eventually we had a brace of three that we brought back. I cleaned them as Hap started a fire, and soon we had them roasting. We both sat on the springy ground.
I had pulled out apples, bread, and cheese, and the bottle of brandy from beneath it. The apricot, at Beloved’s insistence. He’d smirked as he handed me the bottle, saying it was something FitzChivalry drank, but not Tom, not really.
I opened the bottle, and the nostalgic smell of it filled the clearing.
“Whoa,” Hap said. “What’s that?”
“Apricot brandy. The Fool likes it. It’s from Jamaillia.” I took a small sip before passing the bottle over. Hap took a swig, his eyebrows going towards his hairline, then he took a longer drink.
“I can see why he imports it all that way.” Hap passed the bottle back, and I took another drink before corking it and setting it on the ground.
“Tell me how your apprenticeship is going,” I said as I laid out a picnic on the grass between us.
Hap never tired of talking of it, and this day was no exception. He spoke of the vocal training, to be quiet without whispering and loud without bellowing, and how to breathe between stanzas so that it did not sound like he was gasping for air even when he might be. He pulled out the pieces of wood that were slowly becoming a harp and showed me how they would eventually fit together. He spoke of Sawtongue’s lessons on managing a crowd, and grinned when he spoke of the lessons on catering music selection to the audience.
“I did not tell him of my error with Lady Patience,” Hap admitted.
“But you understand your error now?”
“In detail.” He scrunched his nose distastefully. “It seems so foolish in retrospect. So obvious.”
I grunted and uncorked the brandy to take another sip. Then another. And another.
“Tom? Did I say something wrong again?”
I shook my head. “No. Of course not.” I recorked the bottle once more and set it deliberately further from me.
“Then why are you drinking brandy like that? Like you’ve practiced drinking with the only goal of getting drunk. But I’ve never seen you drink like that.” Hap’s eyes bore into me, and I held down the tide of anxious laughter that threatened to spill out of me. Of course he did not know. There were so many things he did not know about me. What little he knew of me was so riddled with holes that it might as well be a lie.
“I learned to drink like that when I was eleven or so,” I said quietly.
Hap looked sideways at me, a question in his eyes. One he did not dare utter.
We never spoke much about my childhood, and I wondered if he had long since given up learning anything about me. With sudden realization, I understood that he hungered to know more: each time some mention of my childhood came up, he looked at me like I offered him something he craved. Not like a minstrel looking for a story, but like a boy wanting to know his father. I had seen that look on Nettle’s face and, on a rare moment of weakness, my own. Yet Hap wore that expression despite my having raised him.
I ran my hand over my face, smearing it downwards. It had been like looking into a mirror when Hap had been enraptured with Svanja. This was worse.
I cleared my throat and gripped my hands together.
It was time. Long past time.
“I should tell you a few things, son. About me.” I did not look at him when I said it, coward that I was. I heard a sharp intake of breath, but that was all. A quick glance confirmed his look of starvation. I could not bare to see it.
I took a deep breath, reaching for that old lie. Time to reveal it as such. “I was not born with a white streak at my temple but chose the name Badgerlock later.”
Hap’s brow furrowed. “Your parents didn’t name you Tom Badgerlock?”
I chuckled a bit. “Not Badgerlock. But I suppose my parents did name me Tom, though that is not well-known.”
“Why would it be well-known?” Hap’s puzzlement was obvious, and I could not blame him. I was not taking the direct route, as I did with Nettle. Nettle knew me little, and I was forbidden from telling her the entire truth in that first meeting. Hap knew me well, but he did not need to know the whole truth, nor did it seem right to give it to him. The misery, the pain and fear. That constant awareness of the tenuousness of life. He was not a royal bastard, merely the adopted son of one.
Still, I could not help but fear. I feared that look of betrayal in his eyes when he learned who I was. Last year he felt betrayed when he thought I knowingly cuckolded Starling’s husband, thinking I knew and didn’t care, that she and I had laughed at him for his stupidity. He had begun to question everything I had ever told him at this perceived lie.
He had been right to question.
I had lied about my entire being to him. I lied about it to everyone, but how could he not take it personally? He was the one I raised. The one I taught about honor and honesty and the importance of hard work. How could he not be betrayed?
Worse, I had selfishly dragged him to the middle of nowhere to tell him this story, and he could hardly walk back to town this late at night and so far away. In a way I had trapped him here with me. In another way, I had trapped myself here with him.
I did not answer his question. Instead, I seized his hands with my own and stared into his eyes in earnest. “I want you to know that I planned to live the rest of my life as Tom Badgerlock. I did not lie to you on purpose. I truly wished to be Tom Badgerlock for the rest of my days.”
“Tom, you’re scaring me.” Hap’s hands wiggled in my grip, uncomfortably sweaty. Perhaps it was my hands sweating in his. I abruptly released him, and I returned to clenching my own hands, hard enough to hurt.
“I don’t mean to.” I whispered the words. “I never did.”
“Are you alright, Tom?” Hap asked. “This isn’t like you.”
I barked a laugh. Of course it was not like me. It was not like Tom or FitzChivalry to be honest about such things. “I suppose not.” I shook my hands before placing them loosely on top of my knees.
“You don’t have to tell me, Tom. It’s fine. I don’t need to know whatever it is you’re trying to say,” Hap said bravely. His eyes told me he lied. They were still so hungry.
It was not his hunger but his words that unmanned me. Here he was willing to give up what he wanted to know, what he deserved to know, because I was too much of a coward to say the damn words.
“No. I owe it to you.” I said slowly, looking towards the dying flames of the fire. I added two logs to build it up again. Then I said it quickly so I could not stop myself. Like jumping off a dock into the ice edged sea instead of wading in at the shore. There was no point in going inch by inch, stopping to acclimate along the way. Such a slow entry made it too easy to return to shore with dry hair.
“I am FitzChivalry Farseer.”
My words were met with silence. My boy was frowning, his eyes like flame.
“I’m not a child, Tom,” he said angrily. “You don’t have to lie to me. This isn’t funny.”
I held Hap’s gaze. “I’m not lying.” I said it as sincerely as I knew how, with all the tricks Chade taught me to pass a lie as a truth. To pass a truth as truth was, at times, far more difficult.
Indeed, a part of me wanted to laugh at the irony, that I would to tell the truth and not be believed. That I could construct the lie that was Tom Badgerlock so well that the truth became absurd. I had tricked a child for nine years, and he refused to believe that Tom Badgerlock was only a puppet and a shield.
“But—” Hap’s lips quivered. He looked away. “But you can’t be him, Tom. He’s supposed to be dead. A hero. A villain. A legend. You can’t be him. You’re Tom. Just Tom.”
I shrugged my shoulders. “If only I were, Hap. But no, I was only ever myself. A boy and then a man, trying to do the best I could. Others tell the tales they wish to, and these tales only grow more fanciful with the telling.”
“But—” Hap started. He shook himself, and his voice firmed. “But Starling wrote that song about FitzChivalry. She knows you. Why would she write that song if she did? Why hasn’t she written more songs if you are him? She’s known you for years. It’s ridiculous. You can’t be him.”
“Starling wrote the song before we met based on what her brother saw on Antler Island. Supposedly I stepped over him while swinging my axe. She has written more, but I have asked her not to sing those songs. And Kettricken decreed she not sing them. She could not disobey a direct command from her Queen.”
Hap’s mouth open and closed like a fish, looking for words and only finding air. I passed him the waterskin, and he glared at me. “Tell me something only he would know,” he demanded.
I raised an eyebrow. “How would you know it is true, let alone that only he would know it?”
“Tom!”
“Oh fine.” I tapped my fingers on my knees, thinking. “I was dropped off at Mooneyes when I was six by my mother’s father. I was taken to Verity who turned me over to Burrich, who was Chivalry’s man. I lived in the stables with Burrich for three years before I moved into Buckkeep.”
Hap looked angrier somehow. “Everybody knows that!”
“Do they know how little I remember before that day?” I asked. His expression only grew angrier.
I looked towards the night sky, searching for a secret that was mine rather than the crown’s. “Burrich knew of my use of the Wit because I bonded a puppy immediately. His Vixen’s puppy Nosy. When he found out, he cut the connection and I had no idea where he went. I went to the Mountain Kingdom when I was fifteen with the wedding caravan, bearing an herbal scribe and the herbs contained within. Nosy was there. He was old, but he remembered me.” My boy still looked doubtful. I weighed the edges of the truth.. “I was injured in the mountains, and I almost drowned in the pools there. Nosy dragged me out.” I held out my hand to show the scars my old companion had left behind with his dull teeth.
Chade and I had put the scars back into my skin in the spring, and the old assassin had not understood why I was so precise as to where each mark needed to go. I had not explained. That
Hap still looked skeptical. “Those could be from any old dog,” he said.
“It is a story only I know. The royal advisor Chade is the only one left who knows it. But Burrich knew it, and Verity.” My voice cracked at the naming of my uncle. Hap did not know what my uncle meant to me. He had no personal affiliation with King Verity. He looked confused at my blunder, but I not speak any more.
We sat in silence for a time, eating our meal. At one point I reached for the brandy and took a sip, and Hap’s open hand was ready to receive it. He took a long pull from the bottle and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He held on to the bottle, examining the golden color of the liquid in the firelight. His mouth worked as he searched for the words.
“Fine,” he said.
“Fine?” I could not believe my ears.
“Fine. I believe you, insane as it is. I, Mishap the Red Ship Bastard, was raised by the legendary Witted Bastard FitzChivalry Farseer in a cabin in the middle of nowhere with his companion wolf Nighteyes.” He took a long pull from the bottle and handed it back. I did not drink.
“Hap,” I said warningly.
“What?” He was sullen.
“That’s your name. Not Mishap the Red Ship Bastard.”
“Are only royal bastards allowed to have epithets?” he snarked. Then he deflated, his head dropping forward. “I’m sorry Tom. It’s just…” He trailed off, his eyes staring helplessly towards the fire. The smoke was blowing towards him, and water beaded in the corners. He wiped his eyes with his sleeve.
“I know. I should have told you sooner. I’m sorry.” I reached out an arm, and he leaned into my side. My boy. My pack. The pack Nighteyes and I chose, though Nighteyes often insisted the Farseers were pack too.
“Why did you wait so long? Why now?” Hap said quietly.
“As to why I waited so long… It is only in the past month that I realized I could not go back to being Tom Badgerlock again. I had hoped to.” I squeezed his shoulder. “I had planned on telling you next spring but… Dutiful asked me to tell you sooner. We waited a long while to tell him, and he said he felt stupid when he learned. He didn’t want you to feel stupid.”
“Perhaps I ought to thank him,” Hap said ponderously.
“You’re welcome to.”
“You look alike. I thought it was a Buckkeep thing. But most people from Buck do not look as alike as you.”
“My mother is also from the mountains,” I reminded him.
“You’re cousins?”
I nodded.
“I thought you were without any family besides me.” And I heard the jealousy in his voice, that I have such a large family, unacknowledged though I was.
“They think of you as family,” I said quickly. “Dutiful wants to get to know you better. Nettle too.”
“Nettle?” Hap sounded confused.” Burrich’s daughter? Since he raised you, she’d be your adopted sister?”
Ah.
I coughed. He leaned away to look at me, to inspect my face. Then his eyes widened, and I saw recognition in them.
“She’s mine by blood. With Molly,” I muttered.
“Fitz! She’s my age!” he said, aghast. “Why have I never met her?”
“Nighteyes and I thought it safest she be raised as Burrich’s daughter rather than FitzChivalry’s bastard.” I said what I always said, and tried not to sound defensive as I did. I took a sip of brandy.
“Oh.” He reached for the bottle, and I passed it back. “What’s with the apricot brandy?” he asked innocuously.
“The Fool likes it. When I told him that I was telling you who I was, he gave me a bottle and said it was something Fitz drank, not Tom.”
“He knows?”
“Of course. He’s been my closest friend for decades.”
“Does everyone know?”
I snorted. “Hardly.” But then I realized. “But more people know than it used to be. It’s still a secret, and I have been very fortunate that the many people who know it have treated it as such. They refer to me as Tom unless they are certain they are alone.”
“I’ll keep it a secret,” Hap promised easily. Tension eased from my body at his words. I nearly fell over without it to hold me up. I leaned into my boy instead.
“Thank you Hap.”
“So who named you Tom?” he asked wonderingly. “That’s not in any records anywhere.”
I snorted. “Patience did when she came to Buckkeep. Made it seem like she chose it at random, but she, Chivalry, and Verity all referred to me as the Tom-cat in letters.”
Hap looked contemplatively at me. Then he smiled teasingly. “I suppose you are a bit cat-like.”
I had never heard something so ridiculous. “Wolf-like,” I corrected firmly.
“Sure,” he said agreeably. “Insisting on doing things yourself unless you’re exhausted, then complaining afterwards that you didn’t need help. Aloof with people you don’t know and slow to trust anybody. Indignant and judgmental over random things, like someone saying you might be a bit cat-like. How wolf-like of you.”
I scowled, and my boy burst out laughing. His body shook enough that I had to rescue the brandy bottle before he dropped it.
“How wolf-like,” he sputtered out. I stood up and prepared the bedrolls as he cackled, my cheeks burning. Perhaps my boy hadn’t known me as FitzChivalry Farseer, but he did know me well.
He was still chuckling sporadically when I finished preparing our camp.
“So when I sang that song…” He began slowly.
“Patience felt she had to react as though I were dead. She views you as family. As her grandson, I think.”
Hap looked delighted. “She does?” I nodded, and he looked wonderingly at me.
“And Nettle views you as a brother.” I could not help pointing out.
“Right,” he said awkwardly. He sipped from the bottle. “Tom? Can you tell me more of your life when you were younger? When you were FitzChivalry.” He stumbled over the name.
“Sure,” I said. And I told him the story, beginning with my childhood. It was not as detailed as the story I told Patience or Nettle. I did not reveal my training as an assassin or any Farseer secrets. Though he may be my son, he was not a Farseer, and I was grateful for it.
I told him of being a bastard and being Burrich’s boy. How uncomfortable I was when I moved into the keep, and the lessons I learned. How I enjoyed Fedwren’s lessons most, but how I could not be a scribe. I told him of the Fool’s jests and mockery, and how we two became friends, though I said not a word of Prophets or Catalysts. Hap was particularly amused when I told the tale of meeting Patience. Of the Skill, I only said that while I was a promising student, I did not pass Galen’s training. He frowned at how vague I was about my trip into the mountains to meet Kettricken. I could only shrug and answer, “Farseer secrets,” to many of his questions. I eventually saw understanding in his eyes.
I spoke of Verity the King-in-Waiting and Nighteyes, and our efforts in the Red Ship War.
“So that’s why you said it was difficult to concentrate as well with Nighteyes. You were enmeshed in all that, and the wolf had different priorities.” Hap was sprawled before the fire warming his front as the night cooled off.
“The wolf did not understand the ways of man, no. It was difficult to explain. He knew of pack, but we don’t think of the Six Duchies in the same way. He certainly did not understand the Forgings or Regal’s motivations.” Hap did not need to understand the politics either, but he did understand bullying. He did not like Regal.
I also followed the Fool’s old advice and told my boy of Molly.
“What?!” Hap shouted. He stood up and paced around the fire. “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”
“This is Fitz’s life. Not Tom’s,” I reminded him. “And I remembered how everyone tried to convince me I must stay away from Molly, yet I thought I knew better. When I told you there were no safe ways to avoid conception, you did not listen. I doubted you would listen if I told you more. And it would have opened… well, it would have opened this conversation. I was not ready.”
“But you could have…” He gestured vaguely, but the words did not come.
“I know. I could have tried harder.” The brandy was mostly empty at this point, and we were both tipsy. I took a pull from the waterskin to wet my mouth. “I should have. But I didn’t. At least you didn’t get Svanja pregnant.” I pointed out. “Molly asked me at one point what I would do if she were. I told her I would find her a place and see them when I could. My work was important to the Six Duchies, and I needed to fight in the War. She was upset I would not drop everything and come away with her.” Hap’s look was unreadable, but it implied nothing good. I tried to defend myself. “I’m a Farseer, bastard though I may be. The War was terrible for our people, and I could not abandon them.”
“So you abandoned her?” Hap was aghast.
“I did not,” I said firmly. “She left without telling me. I didn’t know about Nettle until much later. When she left, I thought she met another man. She did not try to fix that misunderstanding. She told me there was someone else who was first in her heart as my king was first in mine. And she left.” I had found a leaf on the ground and slowly picked it to shreds. A bad habit, Chade had taught me. One that makes it easy to be tracked when being pursued. I tossed the detritus into the fire, a far clearer sign of passage.
There was a reason I have eaten so much raw meat in my life.
“The stories all say you killed the King,” Hap said softly.
“No.” I said immediately. Loudly, into the little clearing. I quieted my voice. “I didn’t. But I was there when he died.” And the story continued. I did not give details about my time in the dungeon other than to point out which of my scars came from my time there. I told him how I escaped in Nighteyes before I was unburied and reborn.
“The tales are true?” Hap sounded shocked. I could not blame him.
“They are. Such a thing is taboo in the Old Blood community, though we did not know it. Afterwards, when I returned to my human body… Well, Burrich forced out minds to be separated, but it was still some time before I could remember that I was not a wolf.” I had picked apart another leaf.
I told Hap of my life with Nighteyes, and how we eventually traveled west after Burrich left. I spoke of the horrors of the road, but I did not linger more than was necessary. My son was not my mother, who willingly bore the weight of my suffering to ease my load, nor my daughter, who needed to know things as a Farseer bastard herself.
No, this was my son. Mine and Nighteyes’, whom we raised as best we could. I did not want him to bear the weight of my suffering when my story was heavy enough. In some ways, it felt as though I was telling my boy an adventure. I did not leave out the dirt or the raw meat, but I left out the Farseer secrets, the poisonings, and the details of the beatings.
He gasped when I told him how Nighteyes went to join a pack for a time, and he was delighted when I reached the part of the tale where I met Starling, and ecstatic when I described how she tracked me down and we began traveling together.
“I often wondered how you met,” he said. “I assumed you were friends when you were children.”
“No. And I did not trust her at first. I learned not to trust anyone. But I was sorely in need of help, and she did as best she could to help me. She gave me a place to sleep. Cut my hair. Told stories that gave me a dramatically altered appearance. Called me a hero when everyone else thought I was a villain. I wound up telling her far more of myself far sooner than I had. I regretted it later.” Hap raised his eyebrows at me, and I kept telling the story. I spoke of the smugglers, the old woman Kettle, and our capture. How we escaped and separated only to meet up in Jhaampe after I had been shot. How Starling gave up my daughter in exchange for joining our party, and how I had offered my life to the Crown in exchange for my daughter’s.
I was vague in the journey that followed. Hap did not need to know of Skill roads, Kettle’s backstory beyond her Skill, or Starling’s suspicions about the Fool. I gave him a hard look and forced another promise of secrecy out of him before I told him of the quarry, and of my King and Kettle working to finish the stone dragon. How I used the Skill to see Molly and Burrich entering a relationship, and how soon after that, Verity and Kettle became a dragon and flew to the coast. I told my boy that Nighteyes and I found a way to wake the rest of the dragons and send them after, with the Fool leading the way atop Girl-on-a-Dragon.
“That makes no sense,” Hap said, sounding frustrated.
“The Skill is a strange magic,” I said. I tried to explain the magic to no avail.
“But this is true?”
“Yes. You can ask Starling if you’d like. Tell her you know I’m Fitz and you want to know more about what happened in the quarry.”
“Why can’t you tell me?”
“Because I have the Skill and Starling does not. Because I was distraught, and she was a bard gathering details. She was there, and I was distracted. She can explain in a way you could understand.” I finished off the rest of the brandy and gestured with the empty bottle.
“Tom…” Hap shook his head. “Fitz. Why is there no song about this? Surely she’s written one. That’s why she came with after all.”
“Because the Queen decreed that she not sing it. And the Crown takes care of Starling for her sacrifice.” We had somehow circled back around to the start of the conversation, and my thought process began to spiral as well.
How many times had I told this tale? How much had I left out each time? Was it true each time, with details omitted? With certain aspects emphasized, others diminished? During my attempts to write the history of the Six Duchies, I found myself struggling to tell one singular story when every person alive experienced something different. But I had experienced my life, and somehow in my attempted honesty, I managed to tell my story differently each time. Even Kettricken and Chade, who had been there or to whom I had reported along the way, did not know all of it. Given the return of the memories I had long ago stored in Girl-on-a-Dragon, I was not certain even I knew the truth of my own life.
After all, I had long lied to myself that I remembered nothing of my mother or my time in the Mountains before I was dropped off in Moonseye. I knew now that this was a lie. I had taken those memories I said I did not have and put them in Girl-on-a-Dragon, and they too returned to me. They were not as sharp as the others I had Forged away from myself, of Molly and Burrich, of my time in the dungeon, but they were sharper than they ought to be. They were untouched and untrodden. Placed high on a cabinet out of sight to gather dust. But one need only wipe the dirt off to find Keppet.
“What happened next?” Hap interrupted my reverie, and I jumped at the interruption. We were speaking of the Mountains and the Quarry and the dragons. Not of the meaning of truth, of the lies we tell ourselves in order to continue living in the present rather than being stuck in the past. So often I fixated on the past that it seemed impossible that I should not remember all of it. Yet there were so many truths I did not think of. Memories I avoided, words even that my mind slid past like a fish in a stream. Memories I could not grasp, try as I might. And I so rarely tried.
“Tom?”
I shook myself free of the thoughts. Shelved them for another time. Perhaps the next time I had them, they would not be so dusty.
Instead, I found the thread of the tale. “I stayed behind in the mountains,” I said. “For the winter. We went back to the Quarry in spring, and then we left. We went to learn the Wit with Black Rolf for a year, then we traveled for four more years, as far as we could go. We made it to Bingtown on a boat and tried to walk back. Nighteyes struggled with boats, you see. Then I saw with the Skil that Nettle and Burrich were sick with the Blood Plague, so we hurried back. By the time we got to their house, they were fine. Healthy. So we left without being seen and sought shelter for the winter in that cabin. And we stayed. Starling soon found me there and dropped you off a year later.”
“You didn’t go talk to them?” Once again Hap was upset with me, and I could not blame him. I shamed myself.
“I did not. I did not want to ruin the life they had built together.”
Hap sat silently for a time, quiet enough that I thought he might have fallen asleep. I was about to wake him when he spoke. “It’s like I replaced her, isn’t it? You raised me, because you couldn’t raise her.” His words blindsided me. I opened my mouth to speak, to tell him of course not, but he kept going. “Is it wrong I’m happy you didn’t go to them? If you did, Starling wouldn’t have brought me to you. If you had stayed, maybe she wouldn’t even have rescued me.” His words started breaking apart as he began to sob. I reached over and wrapped my arms around him, uncaring as his tears soaked my shoulder.
“I did not replace her with you. You’re yourself, Hap, and you’re mine and Nighteyes’. We raised you because we wanted to. Only because of that. I promise you this.” I rubbed my hand placatingly on his back, and eventually he quieted.
He slipped into a doze. I gently shook him awake.
“Come. It’s well past midnight. Time we slept. The sun will be rising soon, and there are no walls to block its light from our faces.” I stood and helped him up, then guided him to his bedroll. As I had not in a long time, I tucked him in and kissed his brow.
“Good night Tom. I love you,” Hap said muzzily.
“I love you too Hap. I’ll see you in the morning.” I went to my own bedroll.
Notes:
I had hoped to post earlier but I could not. Next chap will posted next Monday or potentially the Monday after that!
Chapter 27: Selfishness
Notes:
OK so technically the start of this chapter belongs at the end of the previous chapter (What can I say? I wanted more Hap), so I'll probably pop it where it belongs in a month or so.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
I woke to the insides of my eyelids reddened from sun, and I opened them to look at the blue sky. I had slept past dawn, and, while shocking, this was not the greatest surprise of the day. No. That spot was held by the knowledge Hap knew the truth of my identity and did not hate me for lying to him for so long. Like so much of my life lately, this too seemed impossible.
Impossible as the world may be, I took the time to revel in it. The Fool often mentioned how unlikely it was that I should survive childhood, and each time I survived a near death experience brought us further into the realm of impossibility. It was only when I brought him back from the dead that his magic broke from the impossibility of it. If I could usher in such a world, perhaps Hap being understanding in the face of my falsehood is not so unlikely. He was a good lad. Nighteyes and I taught him to care and be kind rather than to fight. He reacted to such a truth with far greater compassion than I ever had to similar revelations.
I had spent a decade teaching my boy. Last night, he had taught me something else well.
I rotated in the bedroll to watch Hap sleep, feeling foolish for it, but there was no one to judge except myself. And for once, that dark voice in my head lay silent.
Eventually the rising heat drove me from the bedroll to check on Myblack. Hap still slept, though whether it was a byproduct of our late night or the rare opportunity to do so, I could not say. I took the time to prepare a simple breakfast. It was the sounds and smells of my cooking that woke him, and he blinked blearily at me.
“Good morning, Hap,” I greeted him as casually as I could in the face of my lingering anxiety.
A grin split his face. “You’re making breakfast?”
In response, I placed a simple wooden plate of bacon, biscuits, eggs, and cheese and a mug of tea in front of him. He sat up in his bedroll, placed the plate atop his lap, and began to eat. I had the same meal. He chewed slowly, glancing at me repeatedly. I saw his memory of last night return, and instead of accusation, his face held only curiosity.
“So Tom… You went by Fitz growing up?” he asked through a mouth full of food.
I swallowed. “Eventually. Many people in Buckkeep called me ‘boy’ or ‘bastard’ depending on how they felt about me.”
Hap nodded simply. He understood what it was to be judged for something outside his control. “Can I still call you Tom?”
“Of course.” I could not help sounding baffled. I never imagined he would call me ‘Fitz’ instead. “Just know that if others speak of Fitz, they’re talking of me.”
Hap let out a breath. “Oh good. I feel I’d mess up if I had to choose between the two. Say the wrong name in front of the wrong person.”
“All at Aslevjal found out when Chade called me such, just before we freed the dragon. That said, only my family and the Fool know. And Captain Foxglove. She recognized me when we rode to Greton.” At the bright look in his eyes, I fixed a firm look on him. “No songs about me, Hap. If ever you loved me, never write a song about me.”
“I won’t Tom. I promise. But—” He hesitated, looking at me with an aspect of confusion. “Your family, meaning…” His eyes adopted a faraway look as he came to terms with it.
“Queen Kettricken and Prince Dutiful. Nettle, Molly, Patience, and Lacey. And Chade, though I don’t anticipate you conversing much with him.” Though that did not mean Chade would not know everything my boy did.
“Advisor Chade?” Hap said with some confusion.
“Ah. That is…” I trailed off, dropping my head into my hands. “A secret that I should have kept as such. Chade is Bounty’s Bastard. King Shrewd’s brother.”
Hap’s mouth dropped open. “He’s that old?”
I nodded. “Now you must promise me—”
“I know, I know,” he said placatingly. “Not a word about anything we’ve spoken about. Not to anyone.”
“Good,” I said. Hap held out a hand to take mine when I finished. I passed it over and saw him looking at me speculatively. “But Tom… I don’t understand why you can’t come back as yourself. Surely it’s old news.” I snorted. It was older than him, but that scarcely made it old. “What? I’m asking. Why not?”
I should not have been surprised that I never taught my boy enough politics so that he knew the answer himself. Still, I was. Like when Hap proved useless at fighting, I had not raised him in an environment that would teach him through experience.
I tried to soften my words. “Because over half of the Duchies would want the kill me, and a sizable portion of the rest would want to crown me.” Hap gaped at me, but he had been a bard apprentice long enough to sense a story. I had told enough truths last night that I doubted I could handle another.
“Come, son. We ought to head back. You have lessons with Sawtongue, and I’ve Skill lessons to teach.” I saddled Myblack and packed the saddlebags while Hap washed the plates in the stream. He did not hesitate when he climbed up behind me.
“You ought to name her something better, you know. Midnight or Minx, maybe?” He patted her side.
“Why not Blackie?” I added sarcastically.
“That’s awful. But still better than Myblack. Every time I say her name, it makes it seem like she’s my black, but she’s your Myblack. It’s a terrible name, Tom. You can do better than that.”
“It’s fine,” I muttered.
The entire way back to the keep, Hap did not drop the topic, suggesting name after name. Witness, after the black stones on the hill and all that she had seen as my horse. Cosmos, for the way she would sidle in circles like the stars at night. Ebony for her glossy coat. Obsidian for her sharp teeth and hooves. Onyx for a gem in the rough. Cinder for her fire.
I rejected all of them, though I felt my stubbornness eroding.
I dropped Hap off at the Pelican’s Pouch then made my way up to Buckkeep. I groomed Myblack before going to see my Fool. He was seated at the desk in his private room with the door open. I crept in as quietly as I could before wrapping my arms around his shoulders. He did not startle in the least, though I did not know if he heard or sensed me. I kissed his ear before nocking my chin over his shoulder. He wiggled in my arms.
“Did he take it well?” the Fool asked.
“Well enough. He wanted me to prove it by telling him something only Fitz would know.”
“How would he know you were telling the truth if it was something supposedly only you would know?” The Fool sounded as baffled as I had felt.
“Your guess is as good as mine, lover.” I nuzzled his ear, but he did not move. Instead he had frozen in my arms. “Did I say something wrong?”
“You’ve just called me ‘lover.’” He sounded faint.
“Well, that’s what you are to me, isn’t it?” He nodded. “Then what’s the matter with it? I think of you as such. Should I call you something different?” At his expression, I realized my error. “Do you hate it?”
“No, lover is fine,” he said faintly.
“All right.” I placed my hand on his cheek so I could draw his face towards me and claim a kiss. He responded with sudden enthusiasm, throwing his arms around my neck and pulling me down to kiss me at an improbable angle. I stumbled around to the side of his chair and fell to my knees, cursing the curved wooden arm of the chair between us. One of my hands sank into his hair while the fingers of the other tugged the hem of his jerkin. He leaned into my touch, so I snuck my hand under his shirt to feel the smooth skin of his belly.
By the time we separated, we were both breathing heavily.
“Lover is perfect.” His face was glowing, and I could not stop myself from kissing him once more. He pushed me away, laughing. “Don’t you have a place to be?”
I rolled my eyes at him, but his words drew my attention to Nettle at the edge of my walls. I sighed. “Yes.” I kissed him once more before I checked what my daughter needed.
Weren’t we going to do weapons training this morning? she asked.
Of course. It’ll just be the two of us. Hap has to catch up on lessons he missed last night.
You told him? Her excitement was obvious.
I did.
Well come to training and tell me!
I’ll be there shortly. I broke the connection and reluctantly removed my fingers from the Fool’s hair. “It seems I have to go.”
“I’ll see you tonight?”
I kissed him again. “Tonight,” I promised.
Weapons training went well, with Nettle asking so many questions about Hap that we could hardly call it weapons training. I took lunch with the guards, then went to the tower for Skill lessons.
They went better than expected. I decided it was time to move on from theory and reading to instead practice healing with the Skill. I started with visualization. I shallowly cut my own skin and had each of them examine the wound, to describe the wound and describe how they might go about healing it. I had Chade demonstrate how to heal such a minor wound, then I re-cut myself twice and asked Thick to heal only one of the two. It took several tries for him to refine his Skill so that he only healed one. Nettle and Dutiful both struggled with the technique, but I was confident they would learn eventually.
The afternoon was spent lurking in the walls watching a meeting Tom Badgerlock had no reason to attend. I Skilled Dutiful my observations and recommendations, though I checked with Chade here and there to confirm some of the details that I was uncertain about. Dutiful took my suggestions and made them his own, successfully navigating not only the political ramifications of each decision, but he did so in such a way that everyone left the small council chamber feeling as thought they had gotten the better end of the deal.
I brought dinner to our rooms, and I ate with only a hint of impatience. Soon enough I dragged my Fool to our bedroom, my fingers and mouth tracing his collarbones, ribs and belly. I wanted to go lower, but he protested.
My Fool was seated on the edge of the bed. I knelt between his legs, my head on his thigh as I looked up at his face. We were both shirtless, and he was not covering himself with his hands or arms. I counted this as a huge win despite the trajectory of our conversation. We had butted up on topic grown sore between us over the past few weeks. I rarely pushed the issue, but by this point, I felt he was using me as an excuse, and I was not interested in being used.
“Fitz, I don’t see why you want to.” Beloved had a hand between my shoulder blades, rubbing my back gently.
“You like doing it to me. How is it so hard to believe I might want to do it to you?” I saw that he was hard underneath his leggings, but I didn’t want to push or coerce him. How could he not believe that I truly wanted him by now?
“Just look at me, Beloved. Look!” He gestured at his ridged scars with his crooked hand. I looked.
“Not like that!” he exclaimed. I raised an eyebrow at him.
“Not like what?”
“Like you want me.” He did not look me in the eyes when he said it. A tightening in his jaw told me he meant it.
“Beloved, I do want you. How am I supposed to look at you any other way?” I tried reasoning with him, but he only shook his head. “Do you know what I see when I look at you?” I asked gently.
“I don’t suppose you’ll tell me?” he asked dryly, torn between frustration and vanity. No matter how much I reminded him, he seemed to long for confirmation even as he pretended he did not.
“If you like,” I teased him, and he rolled his eyes at me. I moved away from him on the floor, stretching my legs between us and leering openly. He was seated at the edge of the bed, limbs loose and long and outstretched before him. His fine hair fell straight down like a waterfall, curling the slightest bit at the ends as though it struck rocks below. His face was unlined under the scars and his sharp eyebrows curved gracefully upwards. His fingers were crooked and they clenched uneasily in his lap. His hazel eyes shocked me still, and I often found myself lost in them if I did not pay attention.
Sometimes he wanted me to objectify him, point out all the parts and pieces of him that I loved (and that list was long), but sometimes he wanted something less tangible. My Beloved was vain in body and soul. Broken as he thought he was, I needed to provide the glue to mend the cracks.
“I see my dearest friend,” I began. By the way he softened entirely, I saw that I chose correctly. While today he complained about his body, he was more concerned about the changes to his soul. “Someone who cares for me unconditionally, despite my usefulness rather than because of it. I see someone who has fought endlessly for me to have control over my life and my decisions. I see someone who carried me through the snow and gave me a safe space to recover. Someone who kept me alive even after we fought, even when he heard the wolves calling for me. Did I ever thank you for that? I’m glad you did.” And I saw him practically falling off the bed with longing.
I got to my feet, and he backed away, securing himself more fully on the bed. I climbed on top of him, lightly pushing his chest backwards. I caged his body with mine. His wide hazel eyes stared up at me, his hands rising instinctively to the backs of my thighs.
“If you had not brought me back, we would not have saved the world. I would not have realized how I feel about you, and we would not be here.” I kissed him, and his mouth chased mine when I pulled away. I was not done speaking. “I see the kindest, bravest, most selfless person I’ve ever met. I have never seen someone do anything so brave as you have, time and again. You never learned to fight, but you led a scourge of dragons to battle to protect our home. You impress me every day.” I kissed him again.
“Even now?” He asked in a small voice.
“Especially now. You forget that I know the demons you face, Beloved. I ran away from my mine, remember? Yet here you are, fighting all the same.” I nuzzled his cheek, brushing away a tear with my nose.
“But I’m still so broken,” he said, his voice clogged.
“So am I,” I reminded him. “But we’re healing, aren’t we?”
“We are,” He agreed unwillingly.
“Good.” I nipped his nose. “So can I please suck your cock?”
Beloved burst out laughing, wet and wheezing beneath me. Even now I loved taking him by surprise, and I was finding it was far easier now that he could not see the future. “You really want to?” He asked at last.
“Of course I do. I’ve asked how many times?”
“About a half dozen, I think.”
“And you’ve said no every time. Twice you rejected me with my spend in your mouth.” I had been desperate with my desire form him, but he had waved me away, telling me that I was too tired from the healing. He was correct the first time, but I think I could have managed the second.
“Well, you are still recovering.” He sputtered out the same tired excuse.
“And am I not the one most knowledgeable about where I am at in this recovery? This is my body that’s healing.” I rubbed myself along him as demonstration. He shivered pleasinglys.
“You often do too much while you’re healing, and it slows the whole process down,” he said faintly.
“If you want, you can do most of the work. I’ll just hold my mouth open.” I smirked as he reddened.
“The first time you do this, you should be in control.” He declared his conviction very firmly, and I rolled my eyes. I had heard it several times before.
“Then let me be in control. If I tire, I can always use my hand.” I had done so very successfully the one time he let me, and I was eager to try again. He had been gorgeous as he unraveled under my hand, his mouth open and gasping, neck tendons taut, and fingers digging into my flesh hard enough to bruise.
But I saw that I was losing him somehow, somewhere along the course of our conversation. He was lost in some deep insecurity. I tried to bring him back here with me. “Beloved, you want this. I want this. I don’t understand why you’re so reticent. It’s your body, and I respect your wishes, but can you please explain to me where this is coming from?” I rolled off him, propping my head on my hand. I waited as he drummed his fingers nervously, looking anywhere but at me.
“Well,” he began, still refusing to look at me. “I’ve only willingly been with one other person before.” I noted the stipulation with some degree of horror and strove to keep my face as still as possible; my emotions firmly held behind my Skill walls. “And it was… it was...” He glanced at me and swallowed. He did not finish that sentence. “But I was not a good person at the time.”
“This was in Jamaillia?” He had implied as much before. He had told me how, after he left me in the Stone Garden, he had gone to see his old friend Satrap Esclepius. He came into a court with far more excesses than even Buckkeep during Regal’s days. His destiny down there had been far less imminent, and he had been in the throes of adolescent urges and thought it was not too great a thing to partake in such pleasures. ‘I argued with fate and I lost,’ was all he had to say about his role as White Prophet down there. He said it in such a way that I did not ask for more.
“It was,” he said cautiously. I was relieved to have puzzled out this part of his past, but I could not help but feel jealous of his previous lover. A part of me, large enough to shame me, wanted to shout at him. To accuse him of not being true to me in our years apart. But why would he have been? I had offered him nothing beyond friendship, nor had I remained true, choosing to bed Starling during the years between and Jinna once he returned to me.
But who was this person? A woman? A man? My belly froze. I wanted so badly to be his first, but he told me in our quarrel—
No.
He was with me now. He chose me. He preferred me, though I could not help the anger that arose that this… this person’s memory lingered over our bedding.
I tried to find something to say that was not accusatory: I did not want to recreate our quarrel. Once was enough, and I did not think I could survive a second one. Not with that icy pit of guilt still looming in my mind.
“Why does you not being a good person then have any bearing on us now?”
He sighed heavily, eyes still studying a tapestry on the far wall. “I suppose a part of me is scared that if I take without giving back will recreate an old pattern. He… he did not mind, as you do not mind, but I fear I will return to selfishness. To becoming a selfish person once more. Without my prophecies to keep me to the Path, will I fall into excess again?”
A man. Of course it was a man. Was he taller than me? Cleverer? Less prone to fits of melancholy? Did he put on those Jamaillian clothes with all their buttons without complaint? Was he unscarred and unbroken? Did he shave, as the Fool preferred me to be shaven? Could he be himself without fear of discovery?
No. No. Stop it.
That is not what mattered. This man, he did not matter.
Beloved did. And he feared becoming someone he did not want to become. I knew this fear, knew it intimately.
I remembered Lord Golden’s behavior repulsed me in some ways, too close to Regal’s for comfort. I wondered if he had been worse in Jamaillia. He must, to fear it so.
I brought my hand down onto his cool belly, and he looked at me at last. “Do you really think that might happen? That you will… revert to who you used to be?” I asked softly.
He chewed his lips but held my gaze. “Not truly. But still, I fear I have been selfish with you in other ways.”
“How?” I felt I had been the selfish one between us. So often was he the giver and I the receiver.
Beloved rolled onto his side to better face me. He used his hand to comb my loose hair back over my shoulder, then placed it on my bearded cheek. “Do you still not remember that first night in the Elderling tent on Aslevjal? The weeks we dug for Icefyre? Or when you comforted me in the marketplace?”
I frowned at him and searched my memories. They were blurry, and I had glimpses of what may have happened, but they were faint, like I was trying to remember a long forgotten dream. “I thought we slept, mostly?” I offered him at last.
He shook his head slowly. “We did not sleep. Not exclusively.”
I was taken aback by such a concept. “Did we talk? Cuddle? I don’t remember that. Not at all.” At his look of guilt, I could not help but demand, “Why don’t I remember?”
“I asked you to forget. I begged you to.” Now his brows were drawn together, but I could only shake my head slowly at him.
“I don’t remember that at all.” I chewed my lip nervously. “Did we fight again? When we talked? I’m sorry for what I said if we did.” I blurted out the words. He smiled softly at me.
“No. We did not fight.” Beloved ran his thumb across my cheekbone, and I leaned into the motion. “No, I fear it is because of what we did.” At my questioning look, he continued. “Those nights, we put your memories in a box in your mind. You made it with a lock for you and a lock for me. I’ve asked you about it before, but you never remember. I’ve been searching for it, Beloved, when we join with the Skill, but I can’t find it. I thought perhaps your memories would return on their own eventually, but it seems like your mental construct was too effective.”
What a strange concept. I tried to think about it, but it was like trying to hold water in a bucket with no bottom. I could not remember, and apparently I had my past self to blame. “I get déjà vu sometimes,” I offered. “When we kiss or… Oh.” I realized suddenly what it was he asked me to forget. Realization filled me. “We bedded each other back then? Those nights?”
“We did.” His hazel eyes watched me. “Three of those nights.”
“But why did you want me to forget? It seems the sort of thing I should remember, don’t you think?” I think I would have felt rage if I was not so deeply confused.
“I…” A look of guilt flashed across his face. “You’ll see once you open it. You agreed, Fitzy. You wanted it. But… I’d rather you remember yourself rather than me tell you something that you’ll probably forget.”
“Well… where did we put the box?” I could not recall even seeing the thing when last I had rummaged around in my mind.
“Oh, it was just on the floor in that cavern where I live in your mind. I suspect,” he sighed. “I suspect that icy pit of yours swallowed it up, and that’s why neither of us can find it. I’ve looked everywhere else.” At my look of panic, he pet my shoulder placatingly. “I only looked for the box, Beloved. I did not pry.”
“You think it’s down there?” I dreaded that pit fiercely. It had shrunk over the past few weeks, but it was still there. Still frozen. Still with some pull that threatened to drag me into it if I was not cautious.
“I think so.”
“So… should we go get it?” I wanted nothing less. I wanted nothing more.
“Can we?” He sounded doubtful. “I would like to.”
“I think so. I’ll need your help to get out, though.”
“I’ll help you,” he said immediately.
“Just like that?” I smiled at him.
“Just like that.” He smiled wetly back. “Besides, it is my fault it’s there. I should have been paying more attention as to where we put it.”
“I should have been too,” I murmured.
“You were a little distracted. Your task was far greater than mine,” he argued. I just looked at him. “Fine. We’re both at fault,” he grumbled. I rolled my eyes.
“Can we do it now?” I asked, suddenly desperate to know what he remembered, and what I forgot. I yearned and dreaded in equal measure.
“Do you have the energy for it?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.” I
He divested his hand of his glove. The marks on my wrist tingled with excitement, ready to join with the whole of him rather than learn about the life history of my shirt cuff.
“Impatient, aren’t we?” He teased me, and I scowled. Still, I practically ripped my shirt cuff away from my wrist. He met my eyes and held them as his fingers lined up with their counterparts.
He ran through my veins like fire, the heat of him filling my lungs and belly. He should have felt like too much, but the edges of him aligned perfectly with the edges of me. I thought I would become used to the way he filled me, the way our souls rushed headlong towards one another, so determined to merge and become one being. A part of me feared such a thing even still. I liked my Beloved as he was and, while I knew I could love him if he became a little more like me, I was concerned. I had merged too closely with Nighteyes, which had sometimes led to great difficulty between us.
I did not truly want to become Beloved any more than I wanted him to become me, but the urge was still there. The call of perfect joining through the Skill.
I was both pleased and terrified to realize that I could not tell which of us originated that thought or how long we had joined together. I found the parts of me and unwound them from the parts of him, but it was like trying to separate one clear liquid from another in a glass. Frustrated, I dyed myself blue and made my soul heavy so I would fall out of him.
We need to find scrolls that describe sex in the Skill, I told him once we had separated.
Oh can we? His flash of desire dropped me. At my collapse, I felt him build hasty Skill walls to keep himself in check.
I meant to better learn how to separate ourselves after joining. I don’t want to leave too much of myself behind, and suddenly I’m the one tumbling and playing cards with lords and you’re the one scowling and hitting people with axes.
That would be a sight to see, he jested, but I felt the undercurrent of his concern and knew he was taking me seriously.
But yes, such scrolls would have another purpose as well. Once my concern was recognized, I felt no need to avoid teasing him.
Careful Beloved. Teasing is my job, not yours, he told me primly. I opened my eyes and kissed his lips, and he jumped in my arms. His eyes opened to look at mine. I could see the edges of him around his body, a halo of white and gold.
“Come, we have a box to find,” I reminded him. We dove back down again.
We stood at the edge of my pit of guilt. It was perhaps half the size it used to be but still quite deep. I suspected I would feel guilty about leaving him to be tortured to death for the rest of my days. I did not like looking at it, but with a task in mind, it was far less uncomfortable than usual.
I strolled around the hole, trying to see if there was a box inside. Beloved kindly showed me an image of what this box looked like. I thought I saw a spot of color down below and I cautiously lengthened my incorporeal form, spooling myself into a rope. It was a bit strange to do, but I did not question my magic at this juncture.
Can you hold one end of me? I asked idly. He tried to reshape his mind into something that could hold on that was more effective than hands alone. It took some effort, but he succeeded as I knew he would. He took the end of myself that I offered.
This is going to be so unpleasant. I stood just at the edge of where I felt the pit’s evil pull.
I’ll help you as best I can, he promised me.
Pull me up when I tell you to?
Of course. I won’t keep you down there a moment longer than I have to. I felt him tug me slightly and knew then that his surprising physical strength was echoed here as well.
Of all the people to drag me out of a pit of guilt of my own making, I’m glad it’s you. I smiled at the thought.
A pit of our making, Beloved. he reminded me sweetly.
I wrapped him in a hug, then, before I could stop myself, I pulled away and dove in.
I immediately felt myself unravelling. Of course I could not even properly twine my own soul into a rope. The Fool would be better off if he let go and left me here. Perhaps he could go find a new lover, one worthy of him. One who would have found a way to both rescue him from the Pale Woman and release Icefyre into the world. One clever enough to find a solution for the stunted dragons so that he never needed to go to Aslevjal, never needed to visit the OutIslands at all. My Fool could have stayed safely down in Bingtown, making beads and toys and talking to ships, passing time with his closest friends like Jek. Or he could have stayed in Jamaillia, with that selfless man with a clean unscarred face and clothes with too many buttons. The Fool wouldn’t have had to drag himself up to this frozen country he despised full of people who abused him and thought him strange.
—itz, don’t believe— I barely heard my Beloved’s Skilled words through the entrance to the pit. What was even the point? The entirety of my soul was this pit, a useless hole in a useless person. Better I had died in the dungeon, then my wolf could have lived a life clean of Farseer rot, and Burrich and Chade would not have had to mourn my death again and again. Mourning my death once was already once time too many for one such as I. It was surprising that they had not immediately moved past the death of such a useless bastard, dusted their hands of at being freed of such dead weight. Then they mourned my life that I made the wrong decision again and again. They tried their hardest to teach me, but still every decision I made was wrong.
-ved! Beloved! Get the- I was no one’s beloved, not really. The Fool had loved me only because he had to. Fate tied us together, my perfect White Prophet and his useless Catalyst. What had he done to be stuck with one such as I? Nor was I Molly’s, but thankfully she had managed to get freed of my pitiful grasp on her. She belonged with Burrich far more than she ever had with me, and she was better for it. He was the better man for her, and we both knew it.
There must be dozens out there who were better for the Fool than me, though I doubted any would be worthy of him. After all, I had left my Fool to die, too weak to even fight to stay with when she separated us. Couldn’t even get my jaws on the Pale Woman’s throat when she was inviting me to kiss her. Useless bastard, useless assassin, useless lover. I had never done a single thing right in my life. I had even failed repeatedly to die properly.
You are not a pup any longer, Changer. Why do you do this? My wolf’s voice was clear over the torrent of self-loathing in my mind. It cushioned me from my fear and hate and brought sanity back. The sudden change was so dramatic that I could not think any thoughts whatsoever, cut off as I was. I could scarcely find anything else. Perhaps that was all I was made of: self-loathing and selfishness, a dash of uselessness for flavor.
Still, my wolf asked me a question, and so I groped for an answer. I found only the simplest one and hoped it was correct. Because I’m in this pit?
Yes, the pit of despair, which surely tells only truths. The bite of his sarcasm soothed me immensely, expanded my mind towards self-compassion. Why is it that insults and teasing given lovingly always made me feel safe? Had it been like that before the Fool came into my life?
I’m here for a box, I reminded both myself and him.
Then get this box and leave. There is no point rolling in these bones. They are practically dust, you have rolled in them so much. His presence disappeared, but the distance he had created between me and my guilt remained.
I looked around and, just next to me was a colorful hexagonal box. A carving of Nighteyes faced me from one side. I looped myself around it and felt a lock spring open, so I clamped the lid closed with myself. Then I rebuilt the rope of my soul, weaving the loose bits back together.
Pull me up! I called to my Beloved, and slowly I began to leave the pit. I looked around during my ascent, seeing all fears etched into the frozen walls, oozing down the sides. My brief trip had ripped open scabbed wounds in the walls. They bled freely, filling the bottom with a pool of loneliness. That was where Nighteyes had found me.
When I emerged at last, the Fool’s mind leapt onto mine, enveloping me entirely with his love. So too did I feel his arms tighten around my neck and tears pool on my chest. He surrounded me with all of himself as best he could, his overwhelming affection for me soothing me, washing away the thoughts that nearly ended me. I found myself sobbing into his mind and body, disturbed by the strength of such concentrated self-loathing.
You couldn’t hear me, Beloved, my fool cried. I called to you, but you could not hear me.
I’m sorry. It was just so loud. Like nothing else mattered. I had no other explanation, but it seemed like that was enough.
I found Nighteyes. The instant you went in, it was like he awoke from his need to defend you. I sent him down to help. I wanted to go myself, but then we would have been stuck. He sniffled into me, eyes swollen from tears.
You did exactly right. He knew what to do. Eda knows, he’s done it enough times before. I quickly quashed my instant feeling of unworthiness. My wolf chose me. He was the one who can determine if I was worthy of him, not I.
I looked at the box I nearly lost myself for. Most of the sides were carved with dragons like the inside of the Elderling tent. Only the top held a carving of Nighteyes. One lock had a charging buck across it: this one was open. The other lock, clasped shut, featured a rooster.
Now, shall we open this box that I nearly lost myself for? I looked at it with curiosity, impressed at my workmanship. I could not believe I had constructed something so beautiful.
Yes, He gestured and the rooster lock opened immediately.
I was more than a little intimidated. What might I find? Are you sure I should do this?
I’m sure, Fitzy. You need to see. I would feel much better knowing you remember it all as I do. Beloved pressed a kiss onto my mouth, pulling my attention away from my inner world for a time.
“I promise you’ll like it,” he told me with shining eyes. I kissed his brow and turned back to the box.
Well. If you promise.
I reached out and lifted the lid.
And I remembered.
Notes:
So I'm of the opinion (as I believe many in the fandom are) that the name 'Myblack" is a symptom of Fitz's Forging that limited his ability to connect with other living creatures (per the Fool, 'you couldn't even connect to a horse.') With that in mind, I'm vaguely considering giving Myblack a new name? Eventually? As a symbol of growth? But it seems wrong? If you have an opinion, feel free to let me know/vote on an option here.
This fic is paused until 9/8 as I post A Box with Two Locks. Please read it before chapter 28!
Hope you enjoyed the chapter!
Chapter 28: Becoming Whole Once More
Notes:
Heyhey! If you haven't read A Box with Two Locks yet, I strongly recommend you do so. I will provide some summary of what happened during that fic, but I think it'll be better to read it directly.
Have you read it? OK, good. Please read the rest of the note!
If you're not super into box!fitz, that point of weirdness gets resolved this chapter. FFBM!fitz and box!fitz are pretty different people (I tried to make that especially evident in boxfic 3) so it didn't make sense to me to not actually see box!fitz one last time and to explore the personal consequences of the box.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
This was completely different experience than regaining my memories from Girl-on-a-Dragon. Those memories had still been in my mind, but my connection to them was severed. Their return had been like having an entire wing of a too-large house grow dusty and moldy: I could roam the halls and pretend that I hadn’t forgotten how to clean.
This was like opening a door in your house that you never knew existed and found someone had been living there. And that person, strangely, was also me.
Once the box was opened, the first thing I felt was the Skill yanking us two together, intending to make us into one person. Both of us held back through force of will. I had no desire to join fully with a stranger I had never met. But, like when I joined with the Fool, it felt wrong to hold back. We were the same person, and two ought to become one. We never should have been separated in the first place. Both of us wanted to make it so, but we were two even as we were one.
We would become better and more. This is right. But not yet.
The next thing I felt his (my?) deep relief that he (I?) was freed. It roiled off him like he was shouting his joy to the stars. In fact, it was only in my mind that he shouted, but because I too was there, I could not help but flinch at the sound.
He sounded like me.
The third thing I felt how difficult it had been for him (me?) to be trapped in that box in the bottom of that pit. The box had provided some protection, but it had not been a pleasant month for him.
Lost in that abyss, bereft of the world around him, he thought far more time had passed than it had. He had given up hope long ago.
As we held ourselves apart, memories and thoughts still seeped between us, our essences striving for one another. I could not differentiate his thoughts or my own. My own thoughts were frequently too much for me to disentangle, and two of me created twice as many.
We stood together in a maelstrom of ourselves. We had only ourselves to hold onto in the onslaught, yet we needed to hold ourselves apart.
After some difficulty, I learned how to control which memories and thoughts went to him, and he learned the same. We began to exchange memories like children trading notes under the distracted watch of a scribe. Despite all the self-loathing I had ever evinced in my life, we both handled the other’s memories gently and with kindness. The storm between us was pain enough without the rage one feels when finding a stranger living in one’s own house.
I was impressed by his audacity. He had been afraid when he had claimed that second kiss with the Fool (Beloved, he reminded me), but he had still claimed it nonetheless. And when Beloved had been terrified what would happen to me after his death, this other version of me had promised that he would forget. It was as the Fool had told me before I had relocated the box: he had felt so freed by the potential of forgetting that he did everything that I had always been too terrified to even think of doing.
“Fitz?” Beloved’s eyes were huge as they looked at me. I saw wariness in the set of his shoulders and the tightness in his mouth.
“We’re sorry, Beloved. This is complicated. We need to take some time to sort this out,” we said. I saw him frown at our choice of words.
“Oh. Alright. I’ll… just give you time then.” And Beloved left us on the couch. We heard a door open and shut behind us. He had gone into his private room, and he had closed the door behind himself.
A part of me, of us, ached at that barrier. We almost stopped what we were doing to check on our lover.
No. This is more important. He will understand, I insisted.
He was stubborn, and my legs began to twitch. I almost stood up, but when I did not move, he sulked.
Look through my memories. You’ll see, I promised.
I sorted through his memories as quickly as I could, but it was difficult not to linger. When I viewed a memory of his, it was not as though these events had happened to someone else, but to me. I had been the one brave enough to kiss him a second time. I had built the box to imprison myself. I had worshiped Beloved’s unscarred body and taken in stride his surprising confidence. I lingered over Beloved’s repeated requests for my consent, my own strange confidence that I would be well-received for each thing I attempted, and the careful way Beloved and this other version of me hid their activities.
That first night they shared together made me blush and sparked bright jealousy. Jealousy nipped at my heels, and I tried to remind myself that he was me. Beloved had been bedding me.
But I counted myself lucky if Beloved removed his leggings in my presence.
I had never seen the Fool naked. If his shirt was off, his leggings stayed on. If his leggings were off, he held his shirt clamped tight to his belly. This other version of me had assisted Beloved as he bathed himself with a wet towel.
Beloved had not been tortured to death yet, I reminded myself. Well did I remember how difficult it was to be touched as all. I should count myself lucky Beloved had been willing to bed me at all.
It did not help.
I’m glad you brought him back, he whispered into my mind.
Of course I did. I couldn’t just leave him like that!
He assented. There was an awkward silence between us, and I should not have been surprised. How far are you? He asked.
Just the first night. You did so much together. I could not hide my jealousy.
He sent me the idea of a shrug. Yes. Both of us were very excited when we realized I would forget. It was not unlike being on carris seeds. We thought there would be no repercussions.
But there were, I accused.
I think you know there were. Keep going? I hesitated, suddenly unwilling. I thought briefly about stuffing it all back in the box, but knew it to be futile. Helpless. I was always so helpless.
Without a word, he surrounded me with a sense of comfort. You can be brave, I know you can. I’ve seen it. His confidence in me felt unearned, but it seemed ridiculous to disbelieve him. To doubt him was to doubt myself, and I had learned the importance of honesty recently.
I sighed. I can. You made it through the most difficult part. The rest should go faster.
You made it through the easiest part. I’m sorry.
Don’t be. I’m glad you could give him the comfort I couldn’t in what he thought were his final days. I’m glad it was you if it could not be me. I spoke truthfully. Better him than anyone else.
I continued sorting through the memories. When the other me had agreed to forget the night and put it in a box, he had not realized that he would be brought out again. But Beloved had been terrified the night we had gotten to the camp where we began to dig for Icefyre. Skill-deadened, I had drifted off to sleep after his tale of flying, but Beloved had cautiously awoken me and asked if I could do him a favor. If I could forget something. He had described the box in his mind, and, half-asleep, I searched for it. I opened it with my mind and his secret. It seemed that because the Box was entirely in my own mind and only constructed with the Skill, we hadn’t needed to connect via the Skill to open it.
When he emerged from the box, he immediately wanted to comfort Beloved, to help our lover as best he could. He accepted the pain of being temporary, only allowed out at night in the safety of the Elderling tent, but eventually the promise to forget was a curse rather than a blessing. Their activities, their love, had no future, and Beloved was still convinced he would die. He was terrified of being locked away in that box forever, but he had acknowledged our lover’s greater need. So he ignored his own fears, hidden his anger as best he could from himself.
But Beloved died, and I brought him back to life, and he had been brought out again. That first night I comforted him as best I could by the fire, Beloved had cautiously brought this version of me out of the box once more. I had thought myself capable of doing whatever he needed that night, but truthfully he had not needed me. I was not capable at the time. He had needed someone he could kiss without fear, who would love him without reservation, who could make him forget what had happened to him in the dungeon for a little while.
But then Beloved wanted to put this version of me back in the box once more, despite all that he had feared come to pass. Instead, our lover had feared I would not live the future that he saw for me, the one that he took comfort. Beloved had convinced me when he admitted his concern that I would be overwhelmed by too many new memories since he planned to return to me my memories from Girl-on-a-Dragon before we left the garden.
And this version of me had acquiesced, though he had not been happy about it. In fact, he had been terrified and enraged. But he nevertheless believed, as I once had, that Beloved was correct in this decision as he had thus far always been the victor on the rare occasion when we disagreed. But the Fool and I had discussed our quarrel, and I had won when I convinced him that he was not responsible for my feelings. It was a strange way to win an argument, but I had.
He was wrong to do that to you. To put you away in the box when you didn’t want to. I thought the words as I thought them, not realizing I was directing them towards him.
He was aghast. But… he’s always right. When I did not respond, he practically shouted. He sees the future!
We’re outside the future he sees, remember? And he has made mistakes even when he could see the future. It was strange to teach something to myself like this. How far along are you?
You did a lot. He grumbled. He had lived perhaps two nonconsecutive days whereas I had lived more than a month since he had last gone into the box.
Take your time. I may have taken advantage of his silence to revisit the nights he and Beloved had shared in far greater detail. I felt lecherous doing so, but they were my memories after all.
I heard his snicker in my mind when he realized what I was doing. Done yet? I prodded him.
He left me to my vices.
He returned to me at last. You did well with our Beloved. Better than I would ever thought we could do. And with Nettle. With everyone, really. I glowed under his compliment. If he in all his selflessness could appreciate what I had done and how I had done it, then perhaps my month had been well-spent.
Thank you.
He is far more reserved with you in bed than he was with me. You think it is because of what happened on Aslevjal, but I wonder if it is because it matters now. I heard the pain in his words and, like he had done for me, I tried to wrap him with a sense of comfort.
We should find the part of our mind that hates us and gang up on him. It would be two versus one, so we might be able to defeat him.
I think we’re doing enough right now to defeat him.
A pause.
Beloved hurts now, I think. We pushed him away.
Both of us beg him for love and sex. Perhaps he thought it would be a simple thing to open the box, and we would be rejoined in only a few moments, greet him with a ‘hello lover’ and ravish him. I had never called Beloved lover aloud, but he had. Perhaps our lover wanted to hear it from me again.
I said, You convinced him you weren’t bothered by the box, and the switch from me to you was always immediate. Of course he would think that. But he treated you poorly, and you let him.
You… you’ll tell him? What if he can’t take it? He sounded so worried, more worried for Beloved than for us. He feared that Beloved might leave us for Clerres or elsewhere, but I knew better.
Do you think he wants us to treat him like he’s fragile? I rationalized with myself.
No. Are you certain there will be no consequences for telling him? He fretted. I am so unused to thinking of consequences.
Fortunately for us, I think about them all the time.
Ah yes. Should I bow, my liege? And now I was teasing myself. This was ridiculous.
His mental laughter aborted suddenly. But I can’t help but wonder: will I disappear in you? Will I cease to be?. I was desperate to comfort him as I so often wished to be comforted. I enveloped him with myself in my mind, holding him just far enough that we would not merge.
Perhaps this was a learning experience for both of us. For me.
You will not cease to be. We will become one, and we will continue living life. It will be my life in Buckkeep rather than yours, but it seems to me like you would prefer that after two weeks of nights.
I felt not only assent, I felt the depth of his longing. Oh, he so badly wanted to live in the world. He wanted to talk with our pack, ride Myblack through the woods, smell our home, make marks on Beloved’s skin.
He wanted to leave some sign of his passage.
We already do. Would you like to say goodbye? As yourself?
He did.
I retreated into my mind, and he came forward. Our body jolted, and he looked cautiously around. He beelined for the apricot brandy.
He poured a small glass and took a sip, releasing a sigh of satisfaction. Then he paced around the room, drinking slowly. He inspected my cluttered desk, the carvings taking over the mantle, and the little vase of morning glories on our table that I had gathered from the gardens yesterday.
Our lips curved into a smile as we remembered the way Beloved wept at the sight, throwing himself onto me so ferociously I nearly dropped them. But once I caught him, I spun him then dipped him to the ground in a dancing move he had insisted I learn. I had pressed my lips against his grin and his lips softened sweetly under mine.
He lightly touched one of the flowers and took a deep breath into our lungs. “This matters,” he said aloud. His voice was quiet to my ears but loud to his. For as long as he had existed separately from me, he spoke only in whispers. “I matter.” He tried to convince himself.
You do. It does. I told him.
“It’s strange how different we are, and how similar.”
You lived in stolen moments. I regained our lost memories and tried to build a world I wanted to live in. A kinder world.
“Thank you.”
You’re welcome. Now stop dawdling, FitzChivalry. You have a lover to speak to. I teased him lightly, and my words lightened his heart and his steps.
He walked over to Beloved’s door and, after a great deal of hesitation, knocked on it.
“Come in,” Beloved’s soft voice rang from within. For the first time in either of our lives, we turned that doorknob and opened the door. He sat sprawled across the armchair, eyes reddened and shirt cuffs darkened from tears.
The unboxed version of me took in the room that he had only seen in my memories. But memories alone could not wipe away the strangeness of standing in the doorway to that room. “May I come in?” he asked uncertainly.
Beloved looked a little confused. “Of course you can.”
He thinks you’re me, I pointed out.
He walked into the room slowly, crossing the space to kneel before the chair, while Beloved watched with trepidation. “Hello lover.” The words were scarcely out of our mouth before Beloved flung his arms around our shoulders, tears cascading down his face.
“I’m so sorry. I tried.” His words were just barely comprehensible between the sobs. “As soon as I could, I tried. But you kept remembering and then forgetting, Beloved, and the box wasn’t there. It fell into that damnable pit.” He cried for a long time, the weight of his guilt clear.
“I know you did. You tried very hard, and I wasn’t here to help you. Thank you for doing that.” He soothed our lover, reaching awkwardly through the Skill bond to comfort him there as well.
Now was not the time for a difficult conversation.
“What took you so long? It’s always been so fast before.” He sniffled into our chest, and our body stiffened under his hands. The way he looked at us made it clear that he knew he had said something wrong, but he did not know what.
“It slowed down each time, remember? Each time we opened the box. This time is no mere quick replacement of one for another. But I’m not going back inside that box again, and we needed to understand one another first.” He spoke quietly still, unused to loud words. Beloved’s eyebrows drew together in confusion.
“Of course you’re not going back in the box. I would not do that to you again. But what do you mean?” He looked at us uncomprehendingly. I saw his fingers twitch and felt his Skill, but whatever he felt, he clearly did not understand. This did not surprise either of us. We barely understood it, and we were living it.
“We’re not the same person anymore. Too much has changed. So we held ourselves apart to understand who we are and learn about the other. We still need to merge,” he explained.
“Then you haven’t yet?” Beloved’s eyes were wide as he looked into our eyes. Whether he was looking for me or him, I did not know.
He shook our head, “No. He asked if I wanted to say goodbye first, and I do.”
“But Fitz, you’re not going anywhere,” Beloved’s confusion only worsened, and I felt it shift very slightly towards anger. I gave a warning.
He smiled at our lover. “I’m not, but he’s lived so much more life that I have since I first created that box. I’ll only be a small part of the past few months. Important, but still small.” We saw Beloved’s dawning understanding, watched the bob of his throat as he swallowed.
I wondered who between us our lover preferred, if he would evince such concern now.
Hush, he told me, and I hushed.
He leaned forward to kiss the tears from Beloved’s face, then brought their mouths together. I felt strangely voyeuristic as I watched through our eyes, and he obliging closed them as he deepened the kiss. Beloved wove his hands into our hair, pressed his tongue into our mouth. Our eyes began to tear up as the kiss developed as we mourned a world in which we had never grown so far apart that merging felt as much a loss as it was a gain.
Still, he was glad to exist in a world he could leave a mark. He pulled away from Beloved’s mouth to kiss down his neck, Beloved’s head tilting back, and his breaths coming out quickly. We very precisely sucked a bruise onto his throat. Above the collarbone, above the neckline. Something for him, so that we would see the mark he made. We knew Beloved would cover it with his paints, but those could be washed away so easily.
We pulled away and smiled broadly at the mark he had left behind. “Proof.” We sounded satisfied. Beloved opened his mouth as though to speak, but no words came out. He closed it and pressed his lips again to ours.
“We’re going to go on a ride now,” the other me said plainly, taking simple delight at the ability to do what he wished.
“You’re leaving?”
Beloved sounded blindsided by the very thought that we might want to leave the suite, exist in a world that had other people in it. If I had not felt the way this other version of me rattled the cage he had built, I would not have believed it either.
Always, always I wanted to be with the Fool, but right now, we wanted to be around other people far more. We wanted to move our body, see the sun and the changing leaves, smell the fish from the harbor, the grass in the fields, even the dirt on the road. We wanted to be away from the Elderling tent.
The switch in our behavior and our desire was dramatic, but he had done so well in hiding his distress from Beloved that I suspected our lover had no idea it existed until now. He did not have the skills to put his frustration at Beloved into words, but I had learned something of honest, serious talks recently. We hoped we would be able to have a conversation rather than a quarrel.
“Yes, we’re leaving, but we’ll be back in a few hours. I want to see the woods around Buckkeep,” he said, an understatement so severe I think any would call it a lie. But Chade had taught us to lie well, and we thought Beloved believed us.
He nodded his head slowly. “Alright, if that is what you wish.” The other me prickled with anger. We had not been asking permission. We had merely been informing him of our intentions so he did not worry.
Hush, I told him. This is not a conversation either of us want to have with him right now. He hushed.
“I do,” we said. Then he hesitated, stumbling over the appropriate farewell. Everything seemed so inadequate. Too final or not final enough. “We’ll be back in a few hours.” We repeated the words. They were accurate enough.
Beloved sucked in his lips with worry, and we raised an eyebrow at him. “Should I wait up?”
It was two hours before sunset. “I don’t expect to be back soon.” We stammered out the words, concerned that Beloved would fall apart. Last he had seen our lover, he had been terrified and distraught, so I did not blame him for thinking so.
To my lack of surprise and my other self’s great surprise, Beloved nodded slowly. “Perhaps I’ll go to the great hall, see if Nettle is there with Riddle or Sydel.” As Lord Chance, his apparent youth, incredible attractiveness, and status as low nobility granted him into nearly any social circle he wished, but I was glad that he had kept his friendship much more limited than when he roved the halls as Lord Golden. Glad that he chose to spend time with my daughter and her friends without me.
Our throat clogged at his simple acceptance, and we kissed Beloved once more. “Goodbye, lover,” we whispered into Beloved’s lips.
Then we stood and walked away, grabbed our sword and belt and left the suite.
As we walked through the halls, we put on the belt and sword. He wanted to greet everyone who so much as glanced our way, and I blessed our shyness that he did not. I do not know how we would handle such a sudden change of character after tonight if he were to do so. We headed towards the kitchens where he acquired an evening picnic for one wrapped in waxed canvas and some apples at my prompting. Then we walked to the stables, nodding at those we knew.
He stopped to chat with Wim, smiling perhaps too broadly and speaking too excitedly, but Wim’s eyes twinkled. He clapped us on the back. “Give my best to your secret lady.” Then he winked and walked off.
We blushed furiously and ducked our head as we crossed the yard.
What was that? He panicked.
You were very happy. He assumed. It’s fine.
But he knows about us! About me and… His thought trailed off as he reviewed our memories.
I chuckled. And someone. But he does not know it’s Beloved or Lord Golden or Lord Chance. He suspects something due to an inconvenient love bite, but it’s fine. He’s kept it to himself.
He was silent as we walked the rest of the way to the stables.
I haven’t ridden much since Greton, I said as we got the tack out.
Myblack should be less spirited than usual after last night.
Yes, but our body is weak. I wanted to ask him to be careful with it, but with his mood I feared he’d injure us if only to prove he could. He heard the words I did not ask and the caution I did not evince. He understood.
He was cautious approaching Myblack. My horse recognized that we were not the same as the person who had been visiting her daily and riding her occasionally over the past month. The apples helped, and I reminded him to use our Wit to calm her if he needed. He saddled and mounted her, then went through the gates.
He rode for far longer than I expected, first through Buckkeep town, snuffing the scents and taking in the sights. He spoke to those few who recognized us. Then we rode into the forest and hills inland. Myblack enjoyed the change of pace, picking her feet carefully over the new route. He turned in our seat to see Myblack’s hoofprints sunk into the soil behind us, a satisfied grin settling on his face. Then he sped up, encouraging her to move. He wanted to see how fast we could go.
Eventually we wound up in a grassy clearing with a pleasant stream crossing through it. He hopped off Myblack and tied her to a tree with plenty to browse from.
He stood on a large stone on the bank. He took a deep breath, then another. The he shouted with all the strength of our lungs and rage in our heart, loud enough to hear an echo. There were no words to his noise, but our throat was hoarse by the time he was done.
Then he turned and calmed Myblack. He pulled out the little picnic package and carefully unwrapped it before him. He had not eaten anything at all since those plums a month ago. He consumed the simple meal with more careful relish than I had seen anyone do save Thick. He chewed slowly to taste each bite, washed the food down with wine from a skin, and simply enjoyed being in the present.
You really do live like a wolf. I wondered at him, impressed by how thoroughly he lived in the moment, careful not to think about what might come next.
It kept me sane. You saw how upset I was. To be forgotten each time felt like dying or never having existed. One of those. Both. I don’t know. Then I was pulled out again like a child’s plaything. I wanted to make another box and put it inside my box so that I’d stop thinking about it.
You could have told him about it. He would have listened.
Yes, and then he would have felt worse than if I had never kissed him that first night. The entire point was that he felt braver going toward what he thought was his death, so that he had those memories to support him.
We never believed he would die.
But he did. I’m glad I did it. That I gave him those memories. He was so stubborn that I wanted to shake him, feeling a strange camaraderie with Chade in that moment. My mentor had so often been on the receiving end of my obstinance.
And Burrich.
Burrich is dead now. I apologized for it, even though he saw it in my memories.
We died once. We can feel camaraderie with a dead man.
We’re not dead now.
No, but soon I might as well be. He dropped our head into our hands.
Do you really believe that?
He sighed mightily. Yes. He could not lie to me and knew it. No, he said sulkily.
This is a nice clearing. We should bring Nettle here.
Could we? I would like that.
Of course we can.
Do you… do you think I could stick around long enough for that?
I don’t know. Do you?
I suspect… I suspect not. He sighed once more.
We really were dramatic, weren’t we?
We burst into laughter. This was the strangest mirror, the strangest way to view myself. The laughter echoed in the clearing then caught off abruptly. Despite his shouting, he was still so uncomfortable with making noise.
We glanced towards Myblack. She had run out of grass near the tree, so we stood and let her loose. The grass in the clearing was luscious, and she had to navigate a feast. The sun was sinking low, and we would need to leave soon if we did not want to ride back in the dark. Still, I did not rush him. Like with Hap the night before, I realized that rushing him would only make things worse.
We had nowhere to be. We could Skill if we decided to stay the night and be back in the morning.
We breathed the crisp dusk air, watched Myblack chew grass, listened to the burbling of the stream. We watched the world burst into color as the sun dipped down. The deep blues and purples of the clouds, the pinks and oranges of the sky. We listened to the sounds of twilight grow. The rustling of leaves, the drone of crickets. The air was thick with the smell of grass.
I waited as the resignation he held was gradually replaced with contentment.
I think I’ll like being you. You’ve done so much more in the past month than we’ve done in years. You’ve repaired so many of our relationships, done so much for the Six Duchies… And you managed to court Beloved and apologize for the pain we caused. At Beloved’s naming, longing leached into his essence. He loved our lover so fully, with the whole of himself.
His anxiety lingered. Do you think he’ll be angry? That I never told him?
I think he’ll be angry that he didn’t realize. Perhaps your charade was good, but it’s possible he refused to notice. He was told me earlier that he was concerned about being selfish, becoming selfish. What he did to you was deeply selfish.
But he needed me. He protected Beloved despite his frustration. I sensed his shame. He thought he did not love Beloved enough to have no limits. That he could not accept a life in the shadows and without consequence.
Yes. Both of these things are true. He’s such a selfless person that it is strange for him to not be. But that doesn’t mean he wasn’t. I protected ourselves out of love for Beloved. I sensed he did not quite understand, and truthfully I did not know if I understood either.
Could we love him well if we harmed ourself to do it?
Beloved spoke so often of his regret for all we suffered in the name of his future.
Are you ready?
Yes. Are you?
I think so. A pause. Yes. I’m ready.
Carefully, oh so carefully, we lowered the barriers between us. As they descended, I felt a huge tension in our minds relax, like a weight we no longer carried. Our minds snapped together, and the sense of rightness in such a joining reverberated through me. It was so extreme that the walls around my mind collapsed immediately.
Fitz? Five voices echoed in my mind, joined by a very soft Changer?
The voices all silenced at the clamor.
That was loud, Thick complained. Then he looked a little closer. Why are you bigger than before? Less full of holes. I felt him prod uncomfortably at me. I swatted him away.
I’m fine. I found something I lost.
I felt the Fool’s awareness drift away, granting me privacy. The others waited for me to say more, but I did not.
Well, I’m glad you found it, Dutiful said. What was it exactly?
Just some memories. In my exhaustion, I was unable to dodge the question.
Like the ones you put in Girl on a Dragon? Chade asked. This doesn’t feel like that.
No, it was different. That was like dusting and redecorating a space. This was like finding a room you did not expect.
They all contemplated my words with some degree of confusion. As they did, I rebuilt my walls.
Well, I’m not cleaning up after you. Thick left. I chuckled.
Are you safe? Nettle asked, choosing to prioritize the immediate concern. Do you need help? Riddle, Sydel, Thick, the Fool, and I are in the Great Hall. I can come or bring any number of them. She hesitated a moment. Or I could send the Fool to you, if you’d like.
I did not want that. I stifled my reaction immediately, but some of it slipped out.
I’m safe. I’m with Myblack. I’ll be back soon. I felt them all agree with varying degrees of unwillingness, and one by one they blinked out of my mind. I double-checked my walls, then unfurled my Wit. I gathered the remains of my meal, stood and stretched, groaning in simple satisfaction at the movement.
Myblack watched me warily, but she allowed me to approach, accepted the apple I offered, and let me mount her. It felt good to be astride her, though I could already tell that my legs would feel it in the morning. They had not fully healed from my camping trip with Hap last night.
I let Myblack set the pace to return to Buckkeep, and she moved cautiously through the darkness. The return journey took some time, but I had nowhere to be.
I admit that the need to affect the world had taken a firm hold in me that night. Whenever Myblack walked near a tree, I ripped a leaf from it, shredding it in my fingers so it would trail behind us. I guided her towards muddy patches, eager to leave prints behind. Never had I so purposefully left a trial behind me, but I took great pleasure in its creation. With my Wit open and so close to Buckkeep, I did not fear pursuit.
We returned to the stables, and I groomed Myblack carefully, meditating on change as I erased the mud from her legs and belly, the sweat from her back, rocks from her hooves. I undid all the effects of our ride so it was as though we had never left the stables.
But we had.
I thoroughly combed her hair and tail then braided them, trimmed the excess length. She accepted all of this, and I suspected she enjoyed the pampering. If a stablehand came by to offer help, I did not notice, so engrossed was I in my task.
When I finished, I found myself looking for other things to do around the stables. I stopped in place.
I had moved past living in the present. Instead, I was delaying going back to our suite. I pressed my face into Myblack’s shoulder and groaned against shoulder. I stayed there for a few minutes before she curiously lipped my hair.
“I can be brave, Myblack, can’t I? We’ve been brave together before. Surely I can be brave now,” I mumbled into her soft coat. She did not seem to care about my words at all as she pulled my hair out of its tie. I put my hand on her flank and pet her, digging the heel of my hand into her flesh. She leaned into me, and I pulled away before she had me support all her weight.
“You’re a good horse,” I told her. She huffed at me. I left her stall and went to the steams.
I tried to feel less like a man going to his doom and more like a man returning to his lover after an argument. An argument that he did not know we had.
I was not ready for that discussion tonight. I knew that by the swirling mass of anxiety roiling in my body, the way I jumped at a loud noise, and how I did not even know where to begin. I needed to figure out what exactly I was struggling with to have a conversation about it.
I knew a sizable portion of the issue was that I tended to assume in disagreements that the Fool was correct, and I was wrong. I had tried to fight with him in the Stone Garden, insisting that I should be allowed to keep my memories and stay out of the box, and he insisted he knew what was best for me. I had reluctantly agreed with him, but he had been wrong. I knew that to the depths of my heart.
But if I did not know exactly what I needed to say, exactly what my issue was, I would either bring up something mostly irrelevant as I did with the quarrel, or I would fold once more as I had in the garden.
So could I return to the rooms and behave like normal? Should I behave as though nothing was wrong if I did not want to discuss it with him? Could I inform him of my emotions and need for time to process them without sending him into a panic as I had been after his terrible nightmare?
I decided childishly that I would tell him briefly if I asked, but otherwise I would try to behave as normally as I could. Decision made, I finished scrubbing myself with the salt, rinsed, and dried myself before putting on my clothes. I sent him a feeling of excitement, as we had taken to doing, and he returned it, though worry tinged his response.
So much for dealing with it later.
Notes:
Thanks for reading! Hopefully this chapter made sense. I feel like both Fitz's would be very careful with the other one. There's jealousy there, but it goes both ways. Because of the way they're joined, they know that intuitively.
So, my lovely readers, I have a question for you. Do you think the boxfic is best as a prequel to FFBM or is it better between chapters 27 and 28? What do you think about it's standalone abilities? Please drop a comment to let me know!
Finally, some housekeeping (sorry it's long):
I need to put FFBM on hiatus for 4ish months. A part of me wanted to finish Act 2 by late January, but that's not feasible. I've posted everything I've written, but as I alluded to in the spring, I've had a very busy summer. I haven't had time to write much since the last hiatus (meaning I wrote the Bastard's Son, one scene with Fitz's kids, and one isolated smut scene). Plus... I hit a bit of a planner's block over Act 2 (not writer's block. The writing is going fine for other things). But I'm afraid I won't stick the landing. So. I need time to plan. Then I need time to write the final chaps of Act 2, and I *need* to make them cohesive.
Now, I won't only be writing FFBM during my hiatus. I'm also planning to participate in Kinktober and Harvestfest. And I might be organizing ROTE Comment Bingo because I've barely had time to read fics since Springfest, and I want an excuse to do so. Plus I want to give FFBM an edit since I've developed a lot as a writer and I feel like I've been slacking on the editing front lately. Finally, I have some little fics I might want to finish so they stop nibbling at my brain (e.g., Dumb Beach Fic(TM), the Fool's Years in Jamaillia, a little post AQ fic, EVIL PRILKOP???, my Brokeback Mountain novelizations). Oh, and I need to read RWC. Yep.
Next point of housekeeping (you see why I made this expandable?): I'm planning on marking FFBM as complete at the end of Act 2, and Act 3 will be a new work in the same series. The reason is twofold: (1) it's going to really diverge from the FF plot whereas this fic has mostly covered the Pillar Time, and (2) for it to be sensible, I will need to include F&F spoilers (politics, magic, generalized idea of what everyone else is up to) for it to function. Anyway, lmk if you have series name suggestions. I really liked FFBM as a title but now I'm wondering if it's more a series title than a work title? idk I've been very indecisive lately and I'm generally not good at naming things.
BUT IN COOL NEWS: since I started writing this fic around January 9th or so, I've written 209k words in FFBM! (Yes I count the boxfic.) That's like 700 printed pages! That's pretty good considering this is literally my second fic. Also, I've written ~303k words this year, aka the only year I've written fanfic, so FFBM is almost 70% of my words posted this year! How neat!
Soooo with all these things in mind, feel free to talk to me on tumblr (@smoky-solitude), on the ROTE discord server (I made an FFBM channel in the fanfic section!), or in the comments. If not, I'll see you in a few months. Thanks for making it this far with me <3
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