Fool’s Quest

How are you? A question that might have been banal at any other time was now freighted with significance.

How are you? she echoed me. You’ve been so quiet!

I’m stunned, still.

Are you happy it happened?

I had to think about that for a long moment. I think I am. But I’m probably as frightened as I am happy. And you?

It changes so many things in such profound ways. We shared a time of quiet awareness of each other. Her thoughts touched me hesitantly. Yesterday. I am so sorry for the things I said. Today, when I think of how I struck at you, I’m appalled. Mother, when she was carrying, would have bursts like that. Lightning strikes of wild emotions. Burrich would send me out with the older boys and he would stay and face her and weather her storm. It always ended with her weeping in his arms. I felt so annoyed with her, for being so emotional and weak. Wryly she added, Why does understanding come so late to us?

Poor Burrich.

I felt her amusement. And poor Riddle, I suppose?

He can withstand it. As Burrich did. And so can I, Nettle. Your mother and I had a few moments like that when she was carrying Bee. It almost comforts me to imagine that they weren’t entirely my fault!

Actually, I’m certain they were. She was gently mocking me, I realized with surprise. And enjoyment.

You’re probably right, I admitted. I pulled my thoughts away from Molly before my sorrow could rise. Then I thought again of Bee. Now was not the time to insist to Nettle that I could be a good father and that I was determined to keep Bee at my side, because all of that would be balanced on the issue of what happened next to the resurrected FitzChivalry Farseer. Back to the matter at hand. At some point, we must gather to speak of what has happened. The quiet had begun to seem ominous to me.

We did. We wondered why you did not join us, and Lord Chade said that it was probably a very large shock for you. He urged us to give you time to reach your own decisions.

No one summoned me.

A moment of startled silence. No one summoned me, either. Not Chade, nor Dutiful. We simply gathered in Verity’s Tower early this morning and tried to make sense of what must come next.

Oh. I pondered that for a moment. Not including myself was not the same as being excluded. Of course they would meet there and at that hour. I pulled my thoughts back on course. Who was there?

Who you might expect. The king and queen, Lord Chade, Lady Kettricken, myself. Lady Rosemary. Riddle of course.

Of course? That last name had not seemed obvious to me at all. And what was decided?

About you? Nothing. We had much else to discuss. Your situation is worth an entire meeting on its own.

So, what was discussed?

I wish you had been there. Summarizing is not going to convey all the currents and tides that moved there. Lord Chade came thinking he might rebuke the queen for her headlong action and thinking that perhaps I had influenced her. Queen Elliania rapidly cleared those thoughts from his mind and I am pleased to say that both her husband and Lady Kettricken sided with her. Lady Kettricken then spoke of Riddle’s long service to Chade, to you, to the crown in general, and said that as it was completely within her power to do so, he is now Lord Riddle of Spruce Keep.

I’ve never heard of Spruce Keep.

Evidently it exists on the older maps of the Mountain Kingdom, with a different name in the Mountain tongue. It’s deserted now, and probably has been for several generations. The fortification there may not be standing at all, any more. But as the Mountain Queen pointed out, it matters little what is there. He now has title to it. Evidently it was one of her brother’s holdings and has sat empty since before his death. And she says that ‘lord’ is not an appropriate translation of the Mountain concept of what that title would be, but that also matters little. Riddle has the appropriate attitude of being willing to sacrifice himself for the sake of others.

I sat and silently pondered that. Bitter mixed with the sweet. Kettricken was right. In the Mountains, the rulers were not named king or queen, but Sacrifice. And they were expected to be willing to do anything, even to accepting death, in the service of those they ruled. Had not Riddle done that, and more than once? And yet he had been judged too common to marry a Farseer daughter, even one that was a bastard. Denied for years. And in a night, solved. Why had it taken so long? Anger rumbled through me like thunder in the distance. Useless anger. Let it go.

Will you wed officially now?

It will be recognized that we are wed.

She was safe. My daughter and her unborn child were safe. The level of relief that washed through me must have reached Nettle.

You were that concerned for me?

It has long bothered me that you were not allowed to wed as you wished. And when Riddle told me there would be a child, well. I have been a bastard Farseer in Buckkeep Castle, Nettle. I would not wish it on anyone.

Have you eaten today?

Some breakfast. A crow took the rest.

What?

A long tale. One that involves Web.

Are you hungry? Come eat with us.

Where?

The high table. In the Great Hall. Suppressed amusement.

I may. I pulled my thoughts back into my own mind and stared at the wall. How could I do this? Just leave my room, walk down the stairs, enter the Great Hall and seat myself at the high table. Would a place be waiting for me? Would people stare at me and whisper behind their hands?

Impulsively, I Skilled to Chade. Was it hard to come out of the labyrinth and into the light?

Whatever are you talking about? Fitz, are you well?

Nettle invited me to join you for dinner. At the high table.

My heart beat twelve times before he responded. It is what will be expected, yes. Your absence today has been rather dramatic and suspenseful for some. A few nobles who had planned to depart early today, now that Winterfest is over, have delayed their departures. I think they hope for a second glimpse of the mysteriously young and alive FitzChivalry Farseer. Given all that happened last night, it will cause far more speculation if you do not appear at dinner. And your question makes sense to me now. For me, the only difficulty was to ease back into society rather than exploding into it. I was a rat lurking behind the walls for many years. Longing for society, for light and moving air. My transition was less abrupt and strange than yours will be. But as I told you last night, Fitz, it is time and past time. I will expect to see you at dinner.

I veiled my thoughts from him. Anxiety twisted my guts.

Dress appropriately, he suggested.

What? I felt a rush of dismay.

I could almost hear his sigh. Fitz. Straighten your thoughts. Tonight you will be FitzChivalry Farseer, the Witted Bastard, abruptly revealed as the hidden hero of the Red-Ship War. It’s your new role here at Buckkeep Castle, just as Lord Chade is mine. And Dutiful is the king. We all parade our roles, Fitz. Sometimes, in the comforts of our own chambers, we are who we are with old friends. Or at least who our old friends expect us to be. So, think well on it, and live up to the expectations of the folk of Buckkeep Castle, both noble and humble. It is not a time for you to be unremarkable. Prepare.

I found your note. And the crown.

Do not wear that!

I laughed out loud. It had not even crossed my thoughts to do so! I just wanted to thank you. And to let you know I understand.

He sent me no words, only a shared emotion that I had no name for. Snapping my teeth after meat I could not kill, Nighteyes might have named it. The poignant regret of nearly claiming something. I wondered what Chade had dreamed of claiming.

He departed from my mind. I sat, blinking. Slowly it came to me that Chade was completely right. So, my role was the mysterious returning Witted Bastard, wronged all those years ago. What part of that was untrue? So why was I so acutely uncomfortable at being that? I put my elbows on my knees and lowered my face into my hands, and then jerked upright when my fingers touched my swollen eyes. I got up and fetched my looking-glass and studied my reflection again. Could I have chosen a worse time to look peculiar?

I looked down at the clothing that Ash had chosen for me that morning. Then I scooped an armful of extra clothing from the travelling trunk, triggered the door and went back up to the lair. I did not have much time. I took the stairs two at a time and was speaking before I entered the room. ‘Fool, I need your help!’

Then I felt foolish. For both Ash and the Fool turned toward me. They had been seated at the table, feeding things to the crow. She had made a remarkable mess of bread bits and scattered grain and was now holding down a chicken bone as she stripped meat from it.

‘Sir?’ Ash responded as the Fool turned to me and said, ‘Fitz?’

I did not have time for subtleties. ‘I’m not sure my clothing is right. I’m to join the king and queen at the high table, with Lord Chade and Lady Nettle. There will be others there, looking on. And I must present myself as FitzChivalry Farseer, the Witted Bastard, returned from his sojourn among the Elderlings. Last night was one thing. They were taken by surprise. But tonight, Chade has said I must give them—’

‘The hero,’ the Fool said quietly. ‘Not the prince. The hero.’ He turned to Ash and spoke as if I were incompetent to answer. ‘What is he wearing?’

Ash bristled, just a trifle. ‘The clothing I chose for him earlier in the day.’

‘I’m blind,’ the Fool reminded him tartly.

‘Oh. I beg pardon, sir. He has on a brown vest decorated with buttons of horn, over a white shirt, the sleeves cut full, with a dozen or so buttons on long cuffs. The collar is open at the throat. He is wearing no jewellery. His trousers are a darker brown, with a line of buttons, also horn, down the outer seams. He’s wearing heeled shoes with a plain but lifted toe.’ He cleared his throat. ‘And his face is splotched with mud.’

‘It’s ink!’ I objected.

‘As if that matters,’ the boy muttered.

The Fool interrupted. ‘The buttons. How recent a fashion are they here?’

‘A few folk were wearing them last summer, but now everyone—’

‘Fitz, come here. Stand before me.’

I did as he told me, amazed to see that he almost looked animated. I wondered when anyone had last demanded his help. When he felt me standing before him, he lifted his hands and ran them over my garments as if I were a horse he was considering buying. He felt the fabrics, touched the rows of buttons, tugged at my collar and then touched my chin.

‘Don’t shave,’ he instructed me abruptly, as if I had been poised with razor in hand. ‘Ash. Can you cut the buttons from the trousers and leave no trace they were ever there?’

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