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The sun had barely started to go down and the king had already taken to bed for the night. With him no longer conscious to intervene if Regal or one of his men made an appearance, I decided that it was best I slip out. It would likely be another 13 or 14 hours before he woke again. I tried not to think about what it meant that this was becoming the norm.
The wise thing to do would be to return to my chambers and stay out of sight. I didn’t have many friends at court, and with King Shrewd declining by the day, and Regals power growing, it was increasingly dangerous for me to be walking the halls. I was rather tired of having to paint my face to cover the bruises that I had been collecting.
At least I was bare faced today; the Farrow lord from my most recent misfortune had the decency to give me a break from black eyes and punch me in the stomach instead. I should just retire for the night. Maybe I could sooth myself by painting the most recent doll I had carved. It had been long enough since I had last found my room ransacked that it was fair to assume Regal had gotten bored of destroying my things and moved onto something more novel, like kicking puppies or stealing from children.
Instead, I found my feet carrying me to Fitz’s room, another thing that had been happening with increasing frequency. There had been a shift between us since his trip to the Mountains. Before he left, he had come to my chambers for the first time. He claimed that he was just looking for me and not gawking, but I don’t know if that was true or just him trying to defend against my distaste for others being in my private space.
Either way, the mockery I expected had not come to pass. Rather, Fitz had started treating me with a fondness that took me by surprise. We still teased and joked with each other, but there was no bite to it anymore. He regularly sought out my company and even sometimes invited me to eat with him in the kitchens. He ignored the stares of onlookers and the occasional taunts about his choice of company, which I was grateful for. It was already hard enough dealing with the negative attention sometimes.
He had increasingly taken to using me as a confidant as well. Sitting side by side in front of the fire at night, he would tell me about how he feared for Verity, or his complicated relationship with Burrich and the ways he both loved and hated him, or his concerns about Kettricken and her lack of allies as a foreign queen in waiting in an increasingly hostile court. I got the impression that he didn’t have many people he felt comfortable talking to, and that before now these concerns would just be left to fester in his mind. No wonder he had so often seemed miserable.
There were also the things that he didn’t discuss but I could tell weighed on him all the same. His on and off romance with his serving girl that he was not nearly as discreet about as he thought he was, Lady Patiences so far fruitless but persistent efforts to make him the son she will never have, his Wit and desperate attempts to hide it, and of course the disastrous Skill lessons that still weighed on him.
A sentimental part of me regretted that I hadn’t been able to convince him not to go to those lessons at all and stay away from Galen, though I now know from my Dreams how important it was that he did. I knew that, as the White Prophet, the world needed to be my first priority, but sometimes fate made it very unpleasant.
Our relationship had turned out very differently than what I had expected when I first set out to find my Catalyst. Clerres had emphasized that humans were not my concern. Their lives were short and their affairs were trivial. They existed to be tools for Whites to move time toward the True Path (we had very different ideas about what exactly the True Path was of course, which is why I was here in this freezing castle surrounded by people who enjoy using me as a punching bag and still consider it to be a significant improvement.) I was not to get attached, but rather to coldly analyze what actions needed to be taken to get the desired outcomes. I had come fully expecting my Catalyst to be useful when the Dreams told me he would be but otherwise not my concern.
Fitz was different though. When most people at court looked at me, they saw a distasteful freak, probably slow, and definitely something to avoid, he looked past all of that and saw me for who I was. Though I could tell I made him uncomfortable upon our first meeting, that had quickly faded, and in recent months it had been replaced by something I could only describe as warmth. I looked forward to our time together and eventually found myself seeking him out as often as he did with me. I felt like I could be myself with him in a way I never was with anyone else. It was both frightening and exhilarating; an opportunity to let my walls down and pretend that I can have a life for myself and seek my own happiness. That maybe I can even love.
I had never had a friend before. Being a White had always made me stand apart from other children when I was very young, both smaller than them and in some ways more mature, and when I got to Clerres, I was kept isolated once it became clear that my knowledge of the outside world, and the ways it differed from what the Four preferred them to know, inspired rebellious sentiment in the Luriks. Instead, I spent all of my time alternately recording my dreams and being punished for them, until one night I Dreamed of a wolf cub wearing antlers. When I woke up the next morning I knew that it was time to start my journey.
Many other things that I prefer not to dwell on happened during my desperate attempt to reach the Six Duchies and my Catalyst, and by the time I arrived at Buckkeep, I had thoroughly lost interest in forming any kind of personal bond with anyone. I was to do my duty as Prophet and that was it. It was all the world wanted from me, and all that could be expected of my life. Then Fitz had told me that he missed me while he was gone and my heart had skipped several beats, and now, a year later, I found myself standing in front of his door.
I knocked to be safe. The last thing that I needed was to walk in while he was occupied with his Lady Redskirts. I felt a pang of jealousy and chided myself. He is my friend, not my lover, whatever fantasies I may indulge in from time to time. His affections are his own to give out as he sees fit. Of course it was entirely possible the two of them were currently not speaking; that seemed to be the case quite frequently from what I observed. I heard no response so I just walked in and sat down cross legged on his bed.
Fitz was used to finding me here at this point. He didn’t keep himself shut tightly away the way I did; despite his best efforts to be cold and detached, he was earnest in a way that had been beaten out of me many years ago. Despite all he had been through, there was still a naïveté to him that the violence and cruelty he had been steeped in from the day he arrived here couldn’t touch. It was what I liked (loved but it’s easier not to think about that) best about him.
Everything about him was wide open. Even when he tried to keep things hidden, it always showed on his face or in the subtext of words. Chade has an uphill battle trying to turn him into a spy I thought wryly. Somehow I couldn’t imagine Fitz acting as a honeypot or running a long term ruse. His work with the spymaster was of course another thing he thought I didn’t know about. I assumed that’s where he was right now.
I felt a twinge of sympathy at the thought of Chade showing Fitz how to mix and discreetly place poisons to take care of the king's business that he preferred not to be associated with directly. I knew in his heart, it was not the life he wanted for himself, and that it bothered him deeply that circumstances of his birth had left him without a choice. While he was trained in killing, he was not comfortable with it, and it did not come easily to him the way it did to Chade.
Not for the first time, I wished I could take him away from here. Away from the spy holes and the Forged and the merciless exploitation and the constant plotting from Regals faction on how to get rid of him. Maybe to Mercenia, my home. Far more beautiful than the cold, windy, harsh landscape of Buck. He could be happy there I think. I was, before fate had carried me away to a harsher life. I still missed it. Destiny was not that kind to either of us however, and we still had work to do here, so I set the thought aside. A useless dream fit for a fool. It seems I have selected a fitting profession.
I was disrupted in my thoughts by the movement of the Elderling tapestry. Fitz emerged from the other side with a stormy expression on his face and startled when he saw me. “Fool! I didn’t expect to see you; I was just…” I cut him off so he wouldn’t have to try and formulate an excuse. I could tell he would rather discuss anything else than whatever he and Chade had been doing. I idly observed how he was still pretty even when wearing a scowl.
“I’m sure whatever you were just doing was absolutely fascinating, but we don’t need to talk about it now. Come sit.” A grateful look flashed over his face briefly and he sat down next to me on the bed. His leg brushed against mine and I bit back a foolish urge to put my hand on his thigh. .
“I really am happy you’re here. Between Verity, Regal, the Red Ships, and some of the…work that I’ve been doing for Shrewd, I feel like I never get a chance to enjoy myself anymore. My whole life has just become Farseer business. I don’t even have as much time for the stables as I used to; not that I think Burrich is especially upset about that.” He said the last part with a tinge of bitterness and I wondered if they had quarreled again recently. Burrich clearly saw much of himself in Fitz, and consequently he was desperate to ensure Fitz turned out as differently from him as possible.
“Well you’re in luck,” I replied, trying to lighten the mood. “For I am nothing if not entertaining. I even do tricks.” That earned me a laugh. Fitz had always been a delightfully easy audience. It was part of why I liked him so much. With the stress practically radiating off of him, I decided I was feeling indulgent and would be sincere instead of mocking. “As a font of entertainment, I have decided that I will be magnanimous tonight and discuss anything you would like.”
He perked up at that. “Anything?” I nodded, though I wondered if that was a good idea. Perhaps I was allowing him access to too much of myself; my better judgment always ended up compromised when I was with him. I was preparing how to answer if he did end up pushing farther than I was willing to go when he said “you know all about me but I feel like I don’t know anything about you. Where are you from?”
I was so surprised it took me a moment to still my face. I expected him to ask why I sought him out so often, or perhaps why I spent so much of my time attending to the king even as his condition made him increasingly difficult to be around. It had never occurred to me that he would be interested enough in me and my life to want to know about my past.
I decided to answer carefully. I had told him some about our roles as Prophet and Catalyst, but I don’t think he understood, so I would start simple. No need to bring Clerres into it now. In fact, if I could never think or talk about that place again, it would be preferable. “I am from a place called Mercenia.”
He furrowed his brow. “I’ve never heard of that. Is it one of the Spice Islands?” I smiled sadly. I sometimes forget how far from home I have found myself.
“No, it is farther to the south than even those. Across the Wostian sea. I traveled quite a ways to get here.” What exactly that journey was like was a topic I would prefer to avoid, and thankfully Fitz didn’t ask. “It is a peninsula far past the edge of the world as people here know it. I doubt it’s on any maps you’ve been shown. It is always warm there, and there are plants growing and colorful birds in the sky everywhere you look.”
I tried to replicate that feeling here by filling my room with ferns and wildflowers, as I always felt more comfortable surrounded by greenery. I also enjoyed going to the gardens; though it had none of the flowers of my home, there were some imported from the Rain Wilds that were close enough. It wasn’t home but it could help fill the void.
“I was born on a small farm there. My parents raised sheep and cows and horses. My mother was a weaver who spun wool into cloth to sell, and one of my fathers bred the animals. The other was a singer and a craftsman who worked wood to sell at a shop he had in town, but all three of them helped with the crops.”
Fitz’s eyes widened at that. “Did you say you have two fathers?” I laughed. “Of course! Things are different with my people, Fitzy. Not everywhere is as conservative as Buck.”
He shifted awkwardly. “Was one of them your mothers husband then?” I grinned; I always enjoyed an opportunity to challenge people’s preconceptions.
“I imagine they both were. Of course they were lovers as well.” I was greatly amused at the way Fitz’s jaw dropped open when I said that. I could see his face trying to calculate how two people described as “fathers” could possibly be together in that way.
When I first came to the Duchies, I was surprised at the attitudes here toward men loving other men. Going whichever way the heart takes you regardless of trivial issues of plumbing was normal in my homeland, but here it was treated as a perversion. The strict gender roles were also not something I was used to; it was an unpleasant surprise to discover that no one here ever seemed to change their gender and that there were only two options. I had chosen “boy” for ease, but I was not thrilled about it.
Because of that choice, whatever was potentially growing between Fitz and I, I knew that there was a hard line that Buck society would never accept us crossing. Perhaps that was part of why I was so candid about my fathers. A part of me fostered a potentially vain hope that maybe if he realized other people live like that, he would be open to it as well.
Don’t be an idiot I chided myself. I couldn’t let myself get lost in silly fantasies. “Yes, I was born late in life to 3 parents, as is the way of my kind. All human of course, but one of my fathers had White lineage that made itself known in me. He is the one I resemble the most strongly. He was graceful and slender (and not strictly a man, but I didn’t think it would be productive to get into the concept of a third gender with Fitz right now) with golden hair and an artist's soul. My pa and my mother were both rather short and sturdy with dark hair and eyes. My mother was a spirited woman who loved fashion and always wore bright colors, and my pa was a had a sharp sense of humor; I think he would very much approve of my current profession. When I was born after my mother expected for it to be possible, they of course immediately knew what I was; the religion of the White Prophet is common in Mercenia.”
“Religion?” Fitz asked dubiously. “Fool, are you saying that they saw you as some sort of god?”
“No, unfortunately, just a Prophet. I imagine life would be far more pleasant as a god. Collect some followers and they’ll take care of everything. Instead I’m stuck doing all the work myself.”
He still looked hopelessly confused so I reminded him “remember when we talked about how I’m here to change the course of time? Because I’m the White Prophet? And you are my Catalyst, here to help me make these changes? And I left home to seek you out?”
He nodded slowly, as if still not sure if he fully believed me. Well he would soon enough; eventually the Path would have us making larger changes than just me scrambling to ensure he stays alive.
“What was it like then? Your childhood with them.” I blinked at the reversion to the previous subject. It seemed like Fitz didn’t want to talk about prophecy or destiny. He always did have a way of avoiding topics that he wasn’t totally comfortable with.
“Peaceful. My parents and older sisters doted on me and I wanted for nothing. I enjoyed art from a young age, like my father, so they provided me with all sorts of paints and supplies. When I was old enough, he taught me how to make my own toys.” “Like the doll,” Fitz cut in. We rarely discussed what he had seen that day, but he was right. I made dolls to remind me of home, and Fitz must have seen one when he was in my chambers. “Yes,” I replied quietly, “like the doll.”
“I was happy to spend my days doing my crafts or drawing my own personal catalog of all of the flowers I could find. We didn’t have a true winter there like we do here so they grew year round.”
I paused. “I was usually by myself. The other children kept their distance; even then I was too different for other people to feel fully comfortable around. Some things never change.” I tried tinker the hurt out of my voice, but I suppose I failed because Fitz patted my hand in an awkward show of sympathy. I felt a pang of affection. He really could be sweet.
“I’m used to it. Believe me. It stopped bothering me many years ago.” That wasn’t strictly true, but admitting that meant a level of vulnerability I was not comfortable with. “Besides, I have you now, so I know there’s at least one person in this castle other than the king who doesn’t look for the nearest exit whenever I enter a room.”
The words came out more bitterly than I intended, and Fitz locked eyes with me, his gaze full of sympathy and some measure of indignation. “They’re all wrong. You’re wonderful, Fool. When you come to see me it’s the best part of my day.”
To my great embarrassment, I felt heat rushing to my face. I really could not handle him talking to me like this so I tried to redirect into a jest. “Why Fitz, how forward! You’ll make a lady blush!”
The expression on his face was so earnest I struggled to meet his gaze. Despite this, I wasn’t able to bring myself to look away.
“We are friends, but I don’t even know your name. I feel bad calling you Fool all the time. What was it that your parents called you?”
I froze. No one had called me by name since Clerres. To name something is to have power over it. Did I want to risk that? I looked at Fitz’s face, full of fondness and trust, and thought of how our fates were bound together tightly. And, I grudgingly conceded, how my heart had come to belong to him over these past few months.
I schooled my face carefully. “If I tell you, you must promise to use it only when we are alone.” He nodded and replied “I swear that I will share it with no one else.” Touched by his sincerity, I told him “Beloved. My parents named me Beloved.”
I saw a blush creep over his cheeks. “Fool, is that truly it or is it a jest?” The question stung a bit after revealing something so personal, but I knew he had no way of knowing that, so I just said “it is no jest. I swear that is the only name I had before I left home.” I deliberately didn’t mention Clerres. We didn’t need to discuss that tonight, or, ideally, ever.
There was a moment where no one said a word. I questioned if it was a good idea sharing that particular piece of information until Fitz’s voice cut in. “I will call you that from now on, then. Only when we’re alone of course. Thank you for trusting me with it, Beloved.”
A chill raced up my spine at hearing him use my name. He smiled at me and, in a shockingly intimate gesture, tilted forward and pressed his forehead to mine. I felt warmth spreading all through my body. I had not been Beloved in several years now, and thought I never would be again, but it was Fitz calling me that, somehow I was happy to claim it once again.