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2023-07-03
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A State of Foolish Consciousness

Summary:

My fever had surely spiked with the labor of conversation but I thirsted for more. We had missed so much in the year we were apart. Nighteyes was right. I needed sleep but I fought against it with the idiotic stubbornness of a boy I no longer recognized. “Fool?” I croaked. Something in my voice made him immediately set down his work and in one fluid motion, turn to face me fully.

• • •

Fitz is recovering in Jhaampe and his fevered delirium has lowered his walls just enough to allow for a few moments of vulnerability with the Fool.

Notes:

I wrote this fic while I was processing all that had happened in Assassin's Quest. I loved the scenes between Fitz and the Fool in Jhaampe SO much but I needed way more cuddles to happen. This was written as an exploration of the growing romantic dynamic between Fitz and the Fool that we see later in AQ. Fitz is still struggling with communicating what he actually means but he eventually gets there (just for a moment though).

I've been sitting with this finished fic for literal months but have felt too shy to post it until now. Writing this provided me with a bit of comfort and I hope it brings some your way too!

Work Text:

It had become a habit to take stock of my surroundings every time I woke. I stirred into a weary consciousness and felt the sensations of my body first. I was resting on my stomach and my shoulder ached deeply but as of late, that was to be expected. My fever still raged on and I blinked as my vision went in and out of focus. I was in a dimly lit room that was warmed by a small fire crackling softly in the hearth. The bed I was on sat low to the ground and there, sitting beside me on the floor, was the Fool. His voice broke through my delirium.

“Fitz? Are you awake? You stopped answering me.”

Ah, right. He had been asking me about my journey from Buckkeep to Jhaampe. I had not wanted to answer him and must have dozed off. I sorted through the fog of my mind in search of a response. “Please, Fool. I’ve no heart to tell you what I’ve been through. I couldn’t bear it. Not yet.” There was an earnest plea behind my words. Nothing was ever simple with the Fool but in that moment, I begged for the illusion of it. He was holding my hand. He held it often these days. Long ivory fingers curled around the cuts and scars on my palm. I was surprised to see his own set of small scars and calluses that he had acquired in the year we were apart. Likely from his carving, the Fool now had the hands more fitting of a carpenter’s apprentice than that of someone who served in the King’s court. I was so tired and yet something in me wanted him to stay. I searched for the words that would keep him by my side. “But, you must know of the relief I feel to be here. I just need rest.” Mistaking my statement as a dismissal, the Fool patted my hand softly before rising and returning to his work desk. I felt a sense of loss in the cold chill that was left in his absence but I couldn’t summon the courage to call him back to me. He sat down, turned away from me and quietly continued working on his latest creation. The smell of oiled lacquer mingled with the trace amounts of smoke that escaped the pull of the chimney.

The Scentless One frets over you.

I know. He has always worried too much.

Ah. You both are much alike then.

Nighteyes laid sprawled out on his side by the warmth of the fire. The hunt had been good to him that night, as had our time in Jhaampe. My heart swelled at seeing him so comfortable, with his belly exposed as he wouldn’t dare in the wild. My wolf felt safe and so did I. My gaze flicked up again to the Fool as he tinkered away at his desk. I squinted fiercely so that my eyes may focus enough to see the details of him as he worked. I had never been in a position to watch the Fool simply exist. All of our previous interactions at Buckkeep were muddied with riddles and plots and tension. I refreshed my memory of the way he moved his hands like a minstrel, always so graceful and soft. But in my study of him, I noticed the differences too, ones that had emerged in our time apart. There was a new stiffness to the way he held his shoulders. It was as if he expected a blow to the back at any moment. I watched him with profound curiosity for a short time before he caught me staring out of the corner of his eye.

“Either you’ve developed a new talent for sleeping with your eyes open or the fever has finally claimed your mind,” he said suddenly. His tone carried an unspoken question.

“You’ve changed,” I said so softly that I thought he might not hear.

“As I’ve heard you say before. And if repetition is the game we play then I shall repeat myself as well: so have you, dear Fitz. You’ve changed greatly.”

“I fear I am all the worse for it.” The words stung as they left my lips. I was not the same man he had known back in Buckkeep. No schemes. No witty remarks. No strength. All that remained of me was pain and the ever-present call from Verity that carried his command. Come to me. I was shamed that I did not return to the Fool as a man he could take pride in knowing. Would he cast judgment down on me as I lay only half-conscious on his bed? In all his wild fantasies, surely none included a reunion with his Catalyst in this form. The Fool had never held back his opinions of me before and there had been a time when I took pleasure in his sly mockery but I was no longer certain I had the strength to withstand any stone or pebble he might throw.

“Perhaps that is true,” he said after a long pause. His words broke into my thoughts and my heart sank. With his gaze still focused on the small wood carving, the Fool spoke slowly as if he were searching for the words in the same careful way he searched for a form hidden within the wood. He chuckled ruefully and turned his head to face me. The light from the fire illuminated him with an amber glow. Softly, and so gently he said, “Perhaps we are mirrors in that as well. I believe, no, I am certain I have been worse for wear in your absence.” Conflicting expressions twisted and tangled on the Fool’s face as if he were a performer on stage struggling to stay in character. Even through my unfocused vision, I saw the flash of anguish before he was able to recover himself. The Fool continued speaking, his speech becoming more vibrant with each word. “But you are here now. And alive! Oh, Fitz, I don't think you can ever know how sweet those words taste as they cross my tongue.”

“Perhaps not for much longer,” I groaned as my head throbbed with pain. I intended for the statement to be a jest but both the Fool and Nighteyes, who had awoken that instant, shot me a grave look. “Sorry,” I muttered.

I did not mean it Brother. Sleep. I’m okay.

You should sleep too. The Scentless One will keep watch.

My fever had surely spiked with the labor of conversation but I thirsted for more. We had missed so much in the year we were apart. Nighteyes was right. I needed sleep but I fought against it with the idiotic stubbornness of a boy I no longer recognized. “Fool?” I croaked. Something in my voice made him immediately set down his work and in one fluid motion, turn to face me fully. His eyes were alert despite his own weariness. My friend had been through much and most of it caused by the carelessness of my own actions. And now, even as he claimed to delight in my weary breaths and fevered mumblings, I still caused him hardship. When was the last time he properly slept? I struggled to find words and when I went too long without speaking he got up and brought me a cup and the tea kettle. I smelled the willowbark rising from the spout.

“Here,” he said gently as he poured hot tea into the cup and secured it within my hand. I drank it slowly and vowed to never again become injured enough to require the brew. A sleepy wolf snorted in my head. When the Fool was satisfied with the amount I had consumed, he rose from my side but I caught his wrist. I expected rebuke for my sweaty palm but the Fool only paused and looked down to meet my gaze. I felt myself fading as the exhaustion took hold. “Stay,” I pleaded softly. The Fool did not refuse me.

He set down the tea kettle and climbed gingerly over my body and into the bed. He gracefully settled in next to me, taking care to not disturb my position. As he did he remarked, “For someone as frail as you are currently, you certainly take up a lot of space.” I laughed. I could not help it. The sudden movement triggered a shooting pain from my shoulder and I inhaled sharply at the shock of it.

“Shh,” the Fool coaxed as he let his fingers softly graze up and down my back. His touch, gentle and cool, made gooseflesh prick up on my skin. “You should sleep.”

“That’s what Nighteyes keeps telling me.”

“Your wolf is wiser than both of us could ever hope to be,” he said. I laughed again and felt the Fool brace his cool hand softly on my back. “Sorry, I do not mean to keep making you laugh. I shall say no more humorous things.”

“Tell me something then. A story.”

“Ah, there are many. What would you most like to hear?”

“Something nice,” I said lamely through a yawn. I could do no better than those simple words. The Fool was silent for a moment and then chuckled softly as he recalled a memory. My face was turned away from his but the image of a smile glowing soft and bright on him came to mind. Inexplicably, it warmed me more than any fire or blanket could. His long fingers still danced gently up and down my back as he began his tale. Sleep pulled me down eagerly. I do not recall what story he recited, but I am certain it was lovely. Perhaps one day I will ask him to tell it to me again.