Chapter Text
Buckkeep was silent. It was not late enough for it to be the pre-dawn hours – those would have been filled with the quiet bustling of servants, anyway. The party approaching the keep split into two groups before they were in view of the gate.
The first group was stopped just long enough for the King of the Six Duchies to pull his hood back and be granted surprised but obliging entry. They were not greeted by servants, but a younger guardsman was sent to rouse the stable-boys to take the horses.
The second group left the path after a while, as well as their horses. They made their way around the keep, and through a gap in the wall that few knew existed. When they reached the cobwebby passages between the walls, they split off again.
Fitz carried Bee in his arms. It had been a long journey, and even someone as small as Bee was not light after all that time. But he could not bring himself to let go of her; not just yet.
He separated from Riddle at an entrance to one of the upper corridors, and carried Bee along to their rooms. She stirred a little as he settled her into the bed and carefully pulled himself away, but did not wake.
He sat down in a chair beside the bed and waited for the sun to rise.
~
Three days passed, slowly.
Dutiful sat back in his chair, pressing his palms to his eyes and forehead in a vague effort to get his thoughts in order. It did not work. He half-opened his eyes again and looked at the scattering of papers on his desk, and then glanced at the sky – it was late, and the moon was out. Bed beckoned, and he would need to be up at dawn. As he stood and tidied away the day’s work, his thoughts wandered to Fitz and Lady Bee.
His cousin was not happy staying here in the keep, Dutiful knew. Most of the keep knew, he corrected himself. One glance at Holder Tom’s darkened, weary expression was enough to guess that the man was discontented. He didn’t even need to say anything. And Lady Bee spoke to no one, but either moved to the furthest corner of the room from her visitors and ignored them or all but clung to her father, silent. Dutiful sighed as he shut his drawer of inks. It was hard to know what to make of her. The girl was ten years old, surely old enough to interact with her elders and peers. Lady Nettle had described her as simple, but Fitz’s quiet correction had had something in it. Parents could be biased, of course – Dutiful took a moment to ruefully recall his youngest son’s penchant for mischief and his own reluctance to punish him for it – but the way Fitz spoke…
Fitz. He knew he needed to talk to him. Chade and his mother were pushing for it, but Dutiful had held them off. Fitz had nearly lost his daughter; Bee was obviously still struggling with it. There was no need to push them too fast. Besides, he already knew what Fitz’s answer would be.
He wouldn’t stay at Buckkeep. Chade and Dutiful’s mother – and Lady Nettle and Riddle too, for that matter, and there was another pair of people that needed thinking about and when would he have time to do that? – seemed to think that Lady Bee’s abduction would force Fitz’s hand. Surely, they had posited, he would see that Withywoods was not safe enough, not secure enough. He would see that life would be better for both himself and his daughter here. But there had been an edge to their discussion that Dutiful had recognised – a sort of anticipation of disappointment. Fitz was known to be stubborn on the matter. He wouldn’t come around, even now. He’d refuse to stay at Buckkeep, regardless of what was offered or explained or demanded. And Dutiful very much doubted he would allow Lady Bee to be separated from him to do so while he returned to Withywoods. And yet the conversation had to be had.
And what would happen then? Fitz was obstinate. Nettle was obstinate. Chade was insistent. And they all wanted different things. Someone, or several someones, was going to be extremely angry at the end of all this.
Dutiful nodded to the man on the door and entered the King’s chambers. It was late, but there were a few candles still lit and the sound of movement from the bedchamber…
“You work very late when I am not here.”
Elliania leant against the doorframe, her hair down, the shawl he had given her years ago wrapped around her shoulders. Dutiful went to her at once.
“I did not realise you had returned – we did not expect you until tomorrow,” he said softly. “If I’d have known –”
“- it would not have been as pleasant a surprise,” she concluded for him, “though perhaps I would not have had to wait so long.” She reached up and ran her hands through his hair as he gathered her into his arms.
“I missed you,” he said into her dark hair, and felt her slight laugh against his chest. “The boys are back too, I take it?”
“Mm,” she said. “Exhausted. It was late, you were working; I sent them to their chambers and to bed. You’d think they’d be old enough not to wear themselves out quite so much by now.”
“Mm.”
“We made some good ties over there while I visited, I’ll go through it with you tomorrow.”
“Mm.”
“The messenger said you had some family trouble to deal with – all done?”
“Mm.”
“Dutiful.”
He sighed and pulled back so that he could meet her eyes, his expression reluctant. She smiled at him but pressed the question.
“Family trouble? You’re only that vague when it involves…” she trailed off. Dutiful closed his eyes briefly and nodded.
“Fitz and Bee are both here for the moment,” he said. “And Lord Golden has returned, though he’s badly hurt.”
Her eyes widened and she opened her mouth to ask more, but closed it again at Dutiful’s expression.
“Explain tomorrow, then,” she said. Dutiful nodded gratefully, and went to snuff the candles.
~
“I can’t see how –”
“That may be so, but if we don’t –”
“It’s a delicate situation,” Dutiful spoke over the babble of voices at the table. “Perhaps we should give ourselves some time to reflect.” He waited until the rest of the council had nodded in agreement, and then dismissed them.
“That went better than expected,” Chade said softly as he followed Dutiful out of the room and along the corridor. Dutiful gave a brief nod, but did not answer. The matter of trading rights across the Duchies was important, but in its own way it was simple. Every duchy wanted something; Dutiful usually knew what it was, either from Chade’s careful curiosity or simple Duchian forthrightness; he worked out a pattern that meant everyone got at least part of what they wanted. The matter of Fitz and Bee was not simple, and it was still bothering him. If he was honest, it had been bothering him for a long time.
There just seemed no way to settle matters – no matter what they offered or what they did, the man still ended up dissatisfied, sooner or later. Dutiful could not help but feel a twinge of annoyance at Fitz sometimes; the man had everything he wanted, or the ability to get it. Well. Within reason. And of course he had been through a lot. And losing Lady Molly… Dutiful felt his mouth dry a little as he thought of losing Elliania. He was being unfair to Fitz, and he knew it. But it did not seem that there was any way to be fair to him, and how could you deal with someone like that?
Dutiful carefully contained his frustrations and sealed his thoughts from the skill as he joined Lady Nettle in his study. Chade followed him in; Dutiful was surprised to see that his mother and Elliania were there too as well Riddle, politely distanced from Nettle as though it was not obvious anyway. Very well, then.
He made sure the door was shut behind him, and then cleared his throat.
“Well,” he said. “I’ve sent a message to Fitz – we’ll meet this afternoon. Lady Nettle, I understand you were given some information on the current state of Withywoods; I’m sure Fitz and Lady Bee will want to know –”
He stopped at the sound from the corner. It was one of those sounds that doesn’t have a name; it was something that wasn’t quite a laugh, more of a soft scoff. He turned.
“Lord Golden, I didn’t see you there, my apologies.” Dutiful swallowed.
“Understandable.”
The man was curled up on a soft chair in the shadows beside the fire. Warmth, but little light, Dutiful realised. He licked his lips, mouth dry – he remembered Lord Golden from when he had been a prince, and it was hard to adjust to how he was now. The man by the fire was ravaged, exhausted; Dutiful knew that he had been resting for over a month but he somehow did not look much better than he had. It was hard to look at him. Dutiful swallowed again and turned back the others.
“As I was saying; Nettle, if you could pass that information on to me so that I have it when I speak with Fitz? Just so that he knows where everything stands, he might be more comfortable with the idea of staying here if he –”
Again, that soft little sceptical sound from besides the fireplace. Dutiful saw Chade’s expression twist disapprovingly and shook his head.
“Lord Golden, was there something you wanted?” he asked. He kept his tone polite, but allowed there to be a thread of sternness in it – recovering or not, the man was still being rude.
By the fireplace, the figure tilted his head a moment and then leant forward so that he was visible. Dutiful almost felt Elliania’s indrawn breath rather than heard it. He suppressed his own reaction. He had nothing against Lord Golden of course, but the level of damage done to him was uncomfortable to look at. More uncanny was the way he had of looking at you as though he could still see you. Blind eyes should not be that direct.
There was a pause before he spoke.
“I was just wondering – it’s soon to be your name day, isn’t it?” he asked, his milky-grey eyes on Dutiful. His voice was light, innocuous. Dutiful glanced around at the others, then turned back.
“Um, yes. Next month. Why –”
“You know there’s a custom of gift-giving on name-days – in the south, I mean,” Lord Golden said. Dutiful could feel the room relax; Lord Golden was tired, and changing the subject. Perhaps without even realising he had been rude. There was no need for anyone to take offense.
“I did know that, yes,” he replied, smiling softly. “A nice tradition.”
Lord Golden nodded, and then bit his lip.
“So – well, it seems a silly thing to ask, but would you mind if I gave you something for your name day? I’ve come to rather like the custom, and I thought of something just the other day that would be perfect for you.” He raised his eyebrows questioningly, a little shyly.
Dutiful smiled again without thinking, not knowing where this had come from but glad to have something pleasant to discuss today.
“That would – well, of course you don’t need to, but if you would like to then…” he faded off and the others laughed a little. Lord Golden grinned in return.
“Good. I thought I’d get you a hunting cat.”
The room froze. Dutiful felt his heart hammering suddenly as pieces of his princely escapade flickered through his mind. Quickly he assessed the room; Chade and his mother both knew, Elliania as well; Nettle and Riddle did not, but they could be trusted not to pry. He stared at Lord Golden, trying to pull words together that would clarify what must have been misspoken –
“A hunting cat, you know. You don’t have one. They’re quite the pet to have these days I understand, quite the fashion. And fascinating creatures. Would it be a good gift?”
Dutiful swallowed, his throat painfully dry, wanting to answer but at the same time afraid that all that would come out would be the words no no no no no no no
“I mean, I personally thought it would suit you. You seem the type.”
In the corner of his eye, Dutiful saw Nettle exchange a glance with Riddle. They knew there was more to this, but they wouldn’t ask. Good.
“Now, the reason I mention it is because there are several different breeds, and I wasn’t sure which one –”
“Fool, enough.”
Dutiful broke away from staring at Lord Golden when his mother spoke and focused his eyes on the mantelpiece, trying to steady his breathing. There was a pause.
“You don’t want one, then?” Lord Golden asked, and there was something in his light, innocent tone that was made of ice. Dutiful looked at him again and managed to find a little of his voice.
“No, thank you.” The words were dry and brittle, almost toneless. He watched as Lord Golden tilted his head to one side as though surprised.
“Really? Are you sure?” the man replied. “I know you’ve had a bad experience, but it’s hardly likely to happen again, is it? Outright ridiculous for you to think so. Surely you trust me, after all?” The silence stretched out a few moments, and then Lord Golden sighed.
“Very well then,” he continued sceptically. “If you’re certain, I suppose I can’t force you. But I still think you’re being ridiculous. I tell you what, if you won’t allow me to buy you a hunting cat, how about I get one for the young Prince Prosper?”
Dutiful heard his mother take in a breath as though to speak but he stepped forward almost convulsively – at the same time, Lord Golden stood upright. He did not move as fluidly as he once had, but he nevertheless managed to stand eye-to-eye with the speechless Dutiful. All the lightness had dropped from his voice and it was sharp and quiet.
“All that anger you’re feeling, Dutiful Farseer? All that irrational fury, that hurt, that searing pain, that regret and fear and all that affront?” He gave a humourless smile. “That is how you make Fitz feel every time you ask him to come live at Buckkeep again. For Bee to live at Buckkeep again.”
Dutiful blinked. Lord Golden turned his head towards the fire, closing his eyes.
“I – I don’t understand,” he said, trying to take back control of the conversation.
“No, you don’t,” Lord Golden replied mirthlessly. “But you should.”
Very carefully, he stretched out one arm to the fire’s warmth.
“You think you’re being kind, don’t you?” he said softly. “You don’t order him about anymore. You ask. You allow. But it’s all a lie, and the only person it benefits is you.” He turned his head back and opened his eyes, again giving the illusion that he was staring straight at Dutiful. “You get to feel as though you’re generous and kind for just asking him for something rather than ordering him – but what’s the point if you won’t take no for an answer anyway? Fitz can see through that, anyone could if they wished to. You might not give him an order but that doesn’t mean you have any respect for his decision. Otherwise you wouldn’t keep – aha – badgering him about it.” He winced and swapped his hands, allowing the other one the warmth.
The rest of the room was silent. Dutiful was still trying to control the surge of memories and emotions that had been provoked, but he was also listening carefully.
“Of course,” Lord Golden continued, “you could just order him to stay. But you won’t, because you know he doesn’t want to. Which is very, very interesting, isn’t it? Why won’t you give the order? Shall I tell you?” The mirthless smile again. “Because a part of you is afraid that he’ll leave. That if you push him too far he’ll just take Bee and leave. You know the thought has crossed his mind. But instead of actually dealing with the problem, you’re just going to continue pretending to care about his opinion and hoping he doesn’t notice because that might be just enough to push him to leave as well. You don’t know him anymore. None of you do, out of laziness or obstinacy or carelessness… or fear.” His smile dropped. “And it really unsettles you. And so you all pass stories amongst yourselves and you treat him like a wild animal but you condescend to pretend you’re treating him like a man and you don’t think he’s noticed that by now and you still think he should trust you?”
Another pause; a deep, steady breath. Then the smile was back, and bright.
“I’m afraid I’ve rather tired myself out,” said Lord Golden sweetly. “I think I shall retire to my rooms.” The entrance to the secret corridors was by the fireplace and he made his way to it carefully, clicking the door open and slipping through the opening. “Enjoy your meeting with Fitz, Dutiful,” his voice called back. “I’m sure it will go swimmingly.”
And then he was gone.
“Dutiful –”
“My lord perhaps -”
“Go.” Dutiful spoke the word flatly, cutting across his mother’s concern and Lord Chade’s disapproval. “We all have work to be doing. We can finish this meeting another day.”
He did not move as the others left. When the door had closed he looked around to see that only Elliania had remained; she came over to him and pulled him carefully into her arms. He was trembling slightly, but he wasn’t sure if it was present anger or remembered fear. His wife said nothing, and he was glad; then he sighed.
“I still need to talk to Fitz this afternoon,” he said. He had resigned himself to the conversation, knowing that it would not go smoothly, but now it felt like some kind of impending doom.
“Don’t.”
“What?”
Elliania sighed and pulled back a little to look at him.
“Don’t see him today,” she said. “Leave it until tomorrow. Or do you really think you know what you want to say to him now?”
Dutiful felt his affront from earlier grow again.
“I don’t see why I should let Lord Golden’s temper change my –” He stopped when Elliania put a finger to his lips, and raised his eyebrows at her.
“Now you sound like Chade,” she said reproachfully, smiling a little. Dutiful deflated.
“Eda, no,” he muttered and Elliania giggled.
“Hush, you know he’s a good advisor,” she said, but there was amusement in her voice.
“Yes, but what he’s best at is being Chade – I don’t think I need to help him,” he said wryly, then grew sombre again. “Today or tomorrow, and whatever I say, I still need to talk to Fitz. And you’re right, I don’t know what I should say.”
“Hm. Sleep on it,” Elliania advised. “Speak to him tomorrow. And…” she hesitated, considering her words before continuing. “I think you should consider what Lord Golden said. He knows Fitz well.”
“He was angry.”
“That does not mean he was wrong,” she said quietly. Dutiful nodded. Elliania had been very careful about getting involved with the politics of the Six Duchies when she had first arrived as his wife, but she had gradually become indispensible. She was absolutely clear on her opinion, and suffered no one’s disapproval, but she treated things with a surprising delicacy. He placed an immense value on her ability to view things in a way that eluded him.
He kissed her on the forehead.
“I’ll send a runner to Holder Tom, then. And we’ll meet tomorrow. Will you join me for lunch, my lady?”
Elliania linked arms with him.
“I will, my lord,” she said.
~
At noon the following day, Dutiful sat in the council chambers waiting. The others were due at any moment. He felt as though he was making a momentous decision this day, and wished simultaneously that the others would turn up quickly so that he could get it done before he changed his mind and that they would all somehow forget to come so that he could have another day to consider it.
He pulled in a steady breath and let it out slowly. He’d lain awake long into the night, eventually giving up on sleep and slipping out of his bedchamber to sit at his desk. Lord Golden’s words echoed in his head. The man had a talent for hitting sore spots. Dutiful had always found it helpful to think things through, out-loud or on paper; he splattered ink in his tiredness, trying to apply Lord Golden’s words to his knowledge of Fitz, Fitz’s behaviour to what Dutiful knew was best, Elliania’s advice and Chade’s advice and Nettle’s decisions about her sister…
And as the sun had come up, he had come to his conclusion. He had confirmed it later that morning, looking through some of Chade’s old papers. Well. It was drastic. And undoubtedly it would not meet with universal approval. As the door swung open to admit the group who had been in his study the night before (minus Lord Golden and adding Fitz and the Lady Bee, looking small and unhappy in her new blue dress), Dutiful smothered a small, bitter laugh. At least his decision was evenly balanced in that regard, he thought – it was guaranteed that everyone in the room would dislike at least part of it.
“Thank you all for coming together,” he said, standing, “I know many of you are busy.” Their nods said the same thing as always: that he was the king, and he could override their busyness whenever he liked, but it was good of him to respect that.
Chade took up position to Dutiful’s left, and Kettricken and Elliania were closer to his right; Lady Nettle stood off to the right. Riddle was on the door. And in front of him stood FitzChivalry Farseer, his expression a guardsman’s careful neutral, his little daughter behind him in a way that Dutiful would have struggled not to call ‘skulking’. Lady Bee was staring at some point on the floor, but every now and then her eyes flickered as though keeping track of the others in the room.
Dutiful took a deep breath, and then began to speak.
“I’ve been considering a lot of different advice,” he began, “and I have come to a decision. The way certain matters are handled – and have been handled for a long time – is going to change.” He allowed himself a small, rueful smile. “There are people here who are going to be frustrated with these changes, even angry. But I will say now that this is my final decision, and while I will hear your complaints the chance is very small that I will act upon them.”
This more for Chade and Nettle’s benefit than anyone else, but Dutiful thought he saw Fitz brace himself slightly, his expression blank as iron.
“FitzChivalry,” he said with practiced calm. “In three days, if that timeframe is acceptable to you, you and Lady Bee will return to Withywoods where you will reside. This is still your desire, I presume?” Dutiful waited for the response.
“Yes, my lord.” Blank, formal and polite.
“Good. Riddle.”
Riddle looked slightly startled to be addressed; he had been observing Lady Nettle, who Dutiful had not looked around at yet as he was half-convinced that there would be steam coming from her ears.
“My lord?”
“You are to arrange the security for Fitz and Lady Bee’s journey back as well as, more permanently, the security of Withywoods itself. I will leave to your expertise decisions about the scale of it and how much should be integrated into the household staff, and I understand some of those decisions will have to be delayed until you can visit Withywoods yourself. I would recommend, therefore, that you travel with Fitz and Lady Bee initially.” Dutiful paused to give Riddle a moment to digest this, and then continued. “I’m sure you understand that it will need to be balanced between providing a safe environment and not drawing unnecessary attention to Holder Tom and his daughter. You may draw from the Buckkeep guard or elsewhere, the matter is up to you – but there is one limit.” Fitz’s eyes were on him, Dutiful knew, but he didn’t look away from Riddle. “Of the people you choose, and on point of fact anyone in the Withywoods household: not a single one of them should in any way belong to Lord Chade.” He dropped the words slowly and clearly into place, so that they could not be mistaken. Riddle’s eyes flicked briefly to Lord Chade and then he nodded.
“I understand, my lord.”
“Good.” Dutiful took a steadying breath and held his skill-walls tighter – even so, he could feel Lord Chade’s anger and confusion seeping through a little. He turned back to Fitz.
“Lord FitzChivalry. A long time ago, you had an agreement with our grandfather.”
The silence in the room seemed to stiffen. Fitz’s carefully neutral expression had a hint of curiosity in it as he gave a short nod and Dutiful could feel the eyes of seven people on him.
“King Shrewd promised to provide for you. He did not actually record anything in terms of his demands of you, save that you be his.” Dutiful had spent an instructive hour that morning in Chade’s records looking for that. He continued a little more gently. “The man you swore to is long dead. And yet you have reaffirmed your loyalty again and again. For that, we are grateful – and for that, we owe you. Not the other way around.” Dutiful straightened his shoulders, watching his cousin’s expression carefully. “Due to the circumstances of the last few decades, and the actions of those involved, your position with regards to this family and this throne has become increasingly blurred. As of today, that will end. You will return to Withywoods as Lady Nettle’s Holder. That position provides you with shelter and the means to keep yourself and Lady Bee. However, as per your original agreement with King Shrewd, the throne will continue to pay you a small allowance. This is to ensure that you are provided for should your circumstances change. If you wish to discuss the amount, I will be open to the conversation. Lady Bee, too, from today will be have set aside for her a small amount. It will be given to you to look after on her behalf until she is old enough. This is an extension of your agreement with Shrewd; I do not consider you fully provided for if I do not account for your daughter.”
Dutiful was glad he had written most of that down earlier, to make sure it was fair. Slightly uncomfortable from standing absolutely still and willing himself not to stiffen up entirely, he took a step forward. His eyes still met Fitz’s. His cousin’s expression was very still; a soldier waiting for orders. Dutiful gathered himself and laid out the rest of his decision.
“From this point on, that will be your only formal contact with the throne,” he said calmly. “There will be no more favours, no more quick conferences, no more exceptions to the rule; equally, we will not make any demands of you save for what I tell you of here and now. This does not mean that you cannot ask for things that you need or want; it means that asking will no longer be an informal matter or a series of hopeful hints. Your contact with the throne for such matters will be directly to me, either by skill or written message or personal contact as is appropriate. Translation work for Lord Chade,” here he tilted his head slightly to include Chade in his address without taking his eyes off of Fitz, “will be requested and returned through me, and you will be paid for it as befits any man with such an ability. As such, you will have the freedom to refuse the work if you wish.”
He willed himself not to glance over at Elliania. Fitz had not yet nodded or confirmed his agreement, but perhaps he knew that Dutiful was not yet finished.
“I have considered this, Lord FitzChivalry,” he continued steadily, “and today I give you my word. Lady Bee and yourself will not at any point by any representative or power of the throne of the Six Duchies, be forced to separate against your will. Nor will we, aside from at your request, interfere in her education or attempt to influence her life until it is agreed by you both that she is of an age at which she is free to capably make those decisions.”
“Ki-” Lady Nettle didn’t even get the beginning of his title out before she stopped herself. Dutiful suspected Elliania had caught her eye, and was grateful. Fitz’s expression was not entirely neutral anymore; he was wary, waiting for the catch. Dutiful gave it to him.
“I will be visiting Withywoods and regular intervals, Lord FitzChivalry,” he said. “Lord Chade, I will need you to arrange a suitable reason for me to visit regularly and, to begin with at least, without Lady Nettle.” He gave those instructions without turning, trying to project confidence in his words, and continued to watch Fitz. “I will not demand that you use the Skill. I accept your unwillingness. But you are still in possession of a wealth of knowledge and experience that we cannot ignore. The purpose of our meetings will be to discuss this, as well as to provide you with a regular opportunity to discuss any issues you have with the terms I have set out. These terms may change in the future, but only with your willing consent.”
He took another step forward; he and Fitz were now in arm’s reach of each other.
“I make this a formal arrangement,” he said. “And these are my terms. Do you accept them?”
There was a long, long pause. A part of Dutiful quietly wondered how to respond if Fitz said no. But then Fitz glanced down at his daughter for a moment, then back up to Dutiful.
“I accept them, my lord,” he said softly. Dutiful nodded. Then he turned away, moving back to speak to the entire room and contriving to not look at anyone directly without, he hoped, appearing to fear their reactions.
“Thank you all for coming,” he said formally. “Lord Chade, Master Riddle, you have your tasks; Lord FitzChivalry, Lady Bee, I’m sure you have preparations to make for your departure. If anyone wishes to raise anything regarding this meeting with me, I will be in my study later this afternoon. I’m afraid I have a lunch with the Duchess of Rippon to attend to first.”
The others began to move, but it was Fitz who surprised him. He gave Dutiful a formal bow, his face back to neutral – and then looked at Lady Bee. Dutiful realised suddenly that she was staring at him; but when he went to meet her eyes, her gaze flickered away.
“Come along, Bee,” Fitz murmured, and the two of them exited first. The others followed, but none seemed eager to catch up. Elliania joined him at the door and he gave her his arm as they made their way along the corridors. When they were separated from the others by a reasonable distance, she spoke softly.
“Interesting decision. Lord Chade and Lady Nettle will be displeased, of course, but you will have anticipated that.”
Dutiful nodded. Chade had gone quiet but he could feel Nettle’s icy disapproval on the edge of his mind.
“I will have to deal with both of them later today, you can be certain,” he said. “But I believe this is the right decision. Tom cannot continue to be left off to one side and buffeted about. I have to make the lines clear.”
“I agree.”
There was a comfortable pause, and Dutiful felt the warmth of knowing that Elliania, at least, would support his decision even if others did not.
“What of Lord Golden?” she asked quietly after a moment.
Dutiful let out a breath.
“I’m not sure. I suspect he’ll do whatever he likes regardless of what I say,” he said ruefully. “But I anticipate that he will go to Withywoods, to be near Tom. As soon as he is recovered. I know that the healers were hoping to help him more with Tom’s help – if they can do that before Tom leaves, and then he can recover here before joining him at Withy…”
He broke off as they approached the hall, and prepared to greet the Duchess of Rippon, putting all thoughts of Fitz to the back of his mind for now.
~
Chade’s old room was warm and silent, save for the crackle of the fire. Fitz sat opposite Beloved by the fireplace, having left Bee asleep in her room almost an hour ago. Beloved had asked about his meeting with Dutiful, and after Fitz had explained the two of them had fallen silent for a time.
“Are you ready for more Skill-healing tomorrow?” Fitz asked quietly after a while.
Beloved gave a small smile.
“Hardly. But yes, I suppose.” The answer sounded less than enthused, and they both knew why; the healers had expressed that they could not return Beloved’s sight. Tomorrow’s healing would remove some of the poison, and hopefully undo some of the more serious damage to joints and muscles. Then it was expected that Beloved would spend a month or so recovering.
“I’m sorry that I can’t stay,” Fitz said quietly.
“I understand.”
“I know, but… still.”
Beloved nodded, and they were both quiet again for a few minutes.
“When you recover, you would be welcome in Withywoods,” Fitz said. There was an edge of nervousness to his voice. Beloved wished, for the weary thousandth time that day, to be able to see Fitz’s expression.
“I would like that.”
Another pause. Beloved, after a moment more’s consideration, voiced a thought that had preoccupied them for some time.
“I… will need to decide who I am to be,” they said carefully. Truthfully, it was more complex than that, but this was all Fitz needed to understand in this moment. “I imagine Dutiful and Nettle and Chade will want to have some say in it.”
There was a slight pause before Fitz spoke, and Beloved imagined him shrugging.
“I think they might have some suggestions,” he conceded. “At least about… who you are to the family, to me. But you don’t have to follow them.”
Beloved gave a nod.
“I know. I’d like to hear their thoughts, though, at least on how best to infiltrate the Six Duchies again.” They tried to push a little humour into the last phrase, and Fitz laughed. After a moment he spoke again.
“I’m sure you’ll come to something that works.”
The silence stretched again. Beloved leaned back in Chade’s chair, eyes closed. Then a thought intruded.
“I will need a name,” they murmured, more to themself than to Fitz, listening to the crackling of the fire.
“Keppet.” Fitz’s voice was barely distinguishable from the flames. Beloved tilted their head.
“Mm?”
Beloved almost heard Fitz swallow before he repeated himself.
“Keppet,” he said again more clearly. “For a name.”
“Any particular reason?”
A pause.
“I… heard it once. It suits you.” Another pause, three heartbeats. “Sorry, don’t mind me. It’s late, I don’t know why I said that.”
Beloved could hear the deflection in Fitz’s voice, but did not say anything. After a few more minutes, Fitz stood from his chair.
“I’d best go back to my rooms and leave you to sleep,” he said.
“Sleep well,” Beloved murmured, and sat unmoving in silence as Fitz left. Once alone they considered the name, turning the syllables over in their head.
“Keppet,” Beloved said softly to themself. “Hm. Perhaps.”
Thoughts about why Fitz had thought of it went nowhere as sleep crept over Beloved like waves over the shore.
~
Three days later, Fitz sat with Bee in front of him on the horse he had hired in Buckkeep. Riddle would take it back for him later. The road stretched out ahead of them, and he knew that there were many things to consider – chiefly among them, Dutiful’s decision. But for now there was just the journey. They were returning home.