Robin Hobb fic.

[weatherby]

For my beloved thewhiteprophet for Christmas. I hope it is not an awful present. Thank you for introducing me to Hobb. :x

Wisdom

I dreamt of the Fool rarely. On warm, summer days, my dreams were not my own. They were filled with the calm, mocking voice of Nettle as she passed on Chade's 'urgent' messages, and occasionally the meek and apologetic presence of Steady, having learnt his sister's talent in a much more polite fashion. Only in the autumn did Nettle become more transfixed by the goings on around her than anything I might have to say in a dream, and by that winter, things at Buckkeep were too self-contained for Chade to bother reaching for me in sleep.

In the winter, I dreamt of the Fool.

Without fail, as though our boyhoods together were no more than a moment, I dreamt of Aslevjal and the city of the Elderlings; of the Black Man, speaking in riddles until I realised he was no longer Prilkop at all, but my Fool, finished with his changings. He spoke in the broken fashion of Prilkop and wished me well. I knew that I had other tasks at hand, and told him I would return if he gave me just a moment to finish training Just's son, Calm, with the axe. I turned away for no more than a second, but when I came back to him, he had gone.

I spoke nothing of my dreams to Molly. To her, the Fool was a childhood friend of mine, nothing more. I had never been able to explain fully what he had been to me, and something in the Fool's last words to me told me it was for the better. That part of my life did not belong with Molly at Withywoods. My life was my own, where I was no one's Catalyst and no one's assassin. For years, so it stayed, until the winter I began dreaming of the Fool.

I was called to Buckkeep as the snow began to melt away and spring's cool winds stirred the leaves back to their trees. Malta bore me to Buckkeep faster than any mare her age had the right to, and I rewarded her with a race against Chivalry's stud during the brief sojourn I made there. My old mare and her old man won. Chivalry put up a good fight, but few horses held a candle to Malta's speed.

I passed through the gates of Buckkeep with no question, though I had never met the guards. Chade's men, as most men were these days. I stabled Malta and entered the labyrinth of narrow corridors behind the walls of Buckkeep through the kitchen. Chade waited for me in my workroom. Tea, bread, fruit and fish were arranged by the fire, and to my surprise, no scrolls were spread on the table.

Chade did not mince words. "King Dutiful wishes to see his father."

I sighed and seated myself in the chair beside his. My arm, once long ago dislocated from the shoulder, was beginning to ache and wanted warming. "It's good to see you, too, Chade. You have not aged a day." It was true. Chade even managed to look younger than me. I suspected that he was using the Skill to extend his life and, in turn, heal his body. It was not something I thought wise. There was little way of knowing what the consequences might be.

"I cannot afford to," Chade replied. "You can set out in the morning, from the Witness Stones. Keep the King from dallying long. He and Queen Elliania are expected to meet with the Duke of Shoaks over a discrepancy regarding the border of Chalced three days hence. I don't expect you shall encounter many difficulties. You will make a short journey of it."

"I think it would be more appropriate for Kettricken to accompany him," I said, pouring myself a cup of tea. I spooned out an ample amount of honey. "They could go in summer."

"Kettricken cannot pass through the Skill Pillars, boy, you know that." Chade crossed his legs. "Dutiful cannot be spared for the time it would take to journey there and back through true travel. No, this is the best way. He asked for you to take him."

With that, he knew he had hooked me. He did not even have to wait for my reply to know. I would not turn down Dutiful's request to take him to see Verity. If it had been Chade's decision, my answer might have been different. I might have felt the time would best be given to Dutiful alone. As it was, Dutiful wanted me there, and so I would be.

"Apricots," I observed. I removed one from the basket and sliced it in half.

"Mm," Chade agreed. "Kettricken thought you would like them. She had them sent to me."

Chade and I spent the evening quietly catching up on the goings on at the Keep. He complained that his duties were never done, and I listened with amusement. Chade would never be satisifed if his duties were actually finished. That evening I slept once again in the old tower room, and in the morning I rose and had breakfast with the guards in the kitchen. There were some who still remembered Tom Badgerlock from my days in the Prince's Guard, and their welcome was enough to satisfy the newer guards. After breakfast, I slipped discreetly into the winding passageways of Buckkeep and headed for the King's chambers.

I paused at a slit in the wall to ensure that the King was alone. Dutiful was not alone, but seemed to be having a conversation with his cat, Verity, if I could guess from the way they glared at each other. The cat had come to him ten years ago without a name of its own, and so Dutiful had bestowed upon him the greatest honour that he could by naming him after his father. Occasionally, Verity spoke to me, but it was rare. He seemed to think that I was a predator, which amused me.

I rapped once on the wall before stepping into the room. Dutiful's face brightened.

"Why, Tom Badgerlock!" he cried merrily, standing up. Verity lifted his nose and walked pompously to the foot of the bed. "I hadn't expected you so early! Welcome!" He embraced me briefly and shot a warning look at Verity.

"Chade called me as though the very castle was under siege around you," I said with some exaggeration. "I could not help my haste. Shall we depart before lunch?"

"Gladly," Dutiful said. "I admit, I have been pestering Chade on this matter for quite some time. Finally, I had to refuse my meeting with the Duke of Shoaks if he would not allow me to go. One would think that Chade thought me irresponsible."

I laughed, knowing only too well that Chade followed the strict rule that the Six Duchies should be managed in the way that Chade felt fit.

"Only Verity won't be joining us," Dutiful continued. "I hate to leave him, but I suppose we shall not be long."

"Why not?"

Dragons, Verity grumbled. Acting like they own everything when I've already marked it as mine.

"Oh, be quiet, you pompous ass," Dutiful scolded. "Cats. If they were the size of dragons, we would all be slaves. I have had food packed for us, and so we can depart as soon as you wish. All of my dealings are taken care of here for the day. Elliania will attend to my daily meetings, and I feel certain that Chade will have his hand in everything else."

"That is a reasonable guess," I said. "I will wash and be ready presently."

I travelled back through the walls of Buckkeep and found a tub and hot and cold water waiting for me. By the time Dutiful and I set out for the Witness Stones, the sun was nearing its high point in the sky. It had not occurred to me that it took a king a long time to ready himself for a journey, even one that would last but a day. There were goodbyes to be said to Verity, and last minute threats from Chade if we should take longer than necessary. There were kisses from Elliania that I felt very uncomfortable standing witness to, and there was then my duty of cutting down the vast amount of food that Dutiful had seen packed.

On the way, we visited Thick's grave. It was always impeccably tended, and I was never certain if that was due to Chade or the King himself. I suspected the latter. Thick's red whistle was planted halfway in the ground, and its wood never seemed to age. The birds carved on it were still as definite and delicate as they had been when the whistle was made. No grass grew over it.

"Sometimes, when I am here, I feel that I can still hear his music," Dutiful said quietly. They were the only words exchanged between us.

The Witness Stones stood imposing on their hill a good distance from Buckkeep. Dutiful now had used them more than I had, and this time it was I who followed him. We walked into the proper Witness Stone, and as ever, my existence seemed to end for the time that we passed through it. I knew not who or where I was and only blackness, until I found the grass of the plaza beneath my feet. I collapsed to my knees promptly, and Dutiful did not seem much better off. A cool breeze ran through the trees and kissed our skin as we recovered.

"It is never as bad as the first time," said Dutiful, "but it is still a harrowing experience."

"It is not my preferred way to travel," I agreed, and he helped me to stand up.

Dutiful stood still for a moment and gazed around the plaza. Perhaps he expected that Verity-as-Dragon would be his first sight. I had chosen to arrive at the plaza rather than the Stone Garden for reasons I could not fully put my finger on. The plaza itself was almost a sacred place to me, and I wanted for Dutiful to see it. I sensed, though, that it meant little to him. I tried to hide my disappointment.

"The Stone Garden is a hike up the road," I said, indicating the well-beaten path that ran through the plaza. "This used to be a marketplace, you can see."

"It is very peaceful here," he observed, scratching his beard. "Do you think I will recognise my father?"

"He is blue," I said thoughtfully. "I think you will know him. Do not be surprised, though, if you are unable to sense him with your Skill. Do not try to rouse him."

Dutiful nodded and set out on the road to the Stone Garden. I joined him and was glad of the calm weather, for it was a long way to the Stone Garden. We said little, and I felt almost that my presence was an imposition. I wondered why Dutiful had asked me to accompany him. I sensed that he feared he would not recognise Verity-as-Dragon on his own, and wondered if this was the only reason. I assured myself that this was not so. Had that been the case, he could have simply asked Kettricken to describe Verity for him. She, better than any other, would recall him in minute detail.

When we reached the Stone Garden, I hesitated, unsure if I should allow Dutiful to continue to Verity-as-Dragon on his own. Dutiful stopped as well, and seemed to wait for me to guide him to Verity. I then realised that he was not waiting, but was awestruck by the immensity of the carved dragons. They were sprinkled with signs of the turning seasons; vines and leaves dusted their backs and heads, and there was debris in their every crease. Dutiful gazed at the Winged Boar with pride.

"I never imagined they were so real," he said, and blushed. "I knew, of course, that they were real, but when set in stone I imagined them to have the look of a statue."

"Verity is this way," I said, gently prodding him in the direction of Verity's dragon. "Do not take them for mere statues, Dutiful. They look to be sleeping dragons, and that is what they truly are. They are not the stone they were carved from."

Dutiful turned away from the Winged Boar and followed me almost nervously. I felt a sense of pride. In his own way, Verity had led me here to him, and now I led his son to him again. There was no longer any question in my mind of whether Dutiful was my son at all; he was wholly Verity's, and body had little to do with it. Silently, I spoke to Verity, not even using the Skill. Here is your son. I thought that he could hear me.

Verity-as-Dragon showed through the trees before he came into full view. I heard Dutiful draw in a sharp breath behind me, dazzled by the rich blue that stuck out between the trees so boldly. When we reached him, I quickly dusted Verity free of vines and leaves so that Dutiful would see his father without signs of age or weather. Dutiful was dumbstruck, I knew immediately. Verity was the largest of the dragons and coloured to every precious detail. His eyes sparkled, and from him I sensed a quiet humming of peace.

Dutiful stood frozen for a few moments. I believe that he would have known this was his father without any guidance from me. I sensed that deep sense of knowledge had struck him now, and watched as he walked towards the dragon. He went down on his knees before it and bowed his head, as though he were a servant before his king. I drew back through the trees silently, and I do not know if Dutiful was aware that I had left, or that I had been there at all.

I sensed with my Wit that the forest was full of life, the birds fluttering through the trees and the animals hiding within them. Here only could I feel this at peace with the world. I recalled the first time we had come upon the dragons slumbering here and the hum of life I had felt from them, that I felt even now. The dragons of the Elderlings now seemed different to me than they had then. I knew them better now and the Elderlings were no longer the mystery they had once been. Yet I was still overwhelmed with a feeling of tremendous awe. I wondered if Tintaglia or Icefyre had been here to see them. I lingered, dusting the debris from the Winged Boar, before I could bring myself to walk to Girl-on-a-Dragon.

Waiting for me, as I should have known he would be, was the Fool.

He was not black, as I expected. He was but a shade darker than he had been when I had seen him last. His skin, once as white as his eyes, was now the deep sienna of oak, his hair dark brown and chopped to his ears. I wondered whose death he mourned. He no longer looked like the boy I had known, but he did not yet look the age he would have been, if his years were counted in the same way as mine.

"I think she is less tormented now," he said, running a hand down Girl-on-a-Dragon's arm. He sat perched behind her on the dragon, his legs crossed beneath him in a spectacular feat of balance. He touched her Rooster Crown briefly and lovingly. He was dressed in a simple black doublet with black leggings, his hands covered with plain white gloves. He leapt gracefully from the dragon and landed not far from me. He paused and eyed me curiously. I could feel his gaze taking in the lines on my face and the white of my hair, no longer confined to one streak. He smiled without true joy.

"Good," I said tightly, and I knew a moment of unease. I felt foolish and old beneath his stare.

"I have missed you, Fitz," he said, and closed the distance between us. "You look as beautiful as ever you did." He embraced me, and the tears I had not known were forming ran down my face, unabashed. I could not sense him at all with my Wit; the Scentless One, as he had always been, and it comforted me more than I could have imagined.

"I have missed you, too," I choked out. He pressed his forehead to mine before releasing me, and I was suddenly aware of a piece slipping back into my life where I had not truly known it was missing.

"And the missus?" he asked with a smile.

"Molly is fine," I replied.

"Only fine?" he asked, his smile turning into one of amusement. Before I could answer, Dutiful emerged from the trees and his moment with Verity. Wariness was displayed baldly on his face, and I knew that he did not recognise the Fool. It occurred to me that Dutiful had not seen the Fool since before the Fool had been dead. I wiped my face discreetly on the cuff of my sleeve.

"Who is this?" Dutiful asked, confused.

"King Dutiful," said the Fool, bowing dramatically. "A fine show, man. You cannot recall even the most glorious of nobles to visit Buckkeep? Well, I shall have to look into that immediately. You should be honoured to see me, my lord."

"Lord Golden?"

"The very one!" the Fool said merrily.

"But this is wonderful!" Dutiful cried, clasping his arms around the Fool briefly. "I had not thought to see you again! Fitz, why didn't you tell me Lord Golden would be here? I would have waited until Nettle could accompany us and finally meet the man she has heard so much of. Truly, this is a delight!"

The Fool looked at me and waggled his eyebrows, obviously pleased that I had spoken of him to Nettle. "It was but a pleasant chance meeting, my lord."

"Oh, chance, indeed," said Dutiful, doubting it every bit that I did.

"I knew that Fitz would be here one day soon," the Fool admitted, and when he looked at me I knew why he had come here. I knew, too, who he mourned with his chopped locks.

"Have you been to my father's dragon? I had no idea it was so beautiful."

The Fool bowed his head. "Verity's dragon is certainly a fine one; every bit the king that he was."

"He is precisely Buck blue," Dutiful said with pride. "Was it the same when he flew?"

"He was even more noble then, if you can imagine it. There is something about the scales of a dragon. The colours seem far richer than they could be in anything of man."

"I know it well," Dutiful laughed. "I can never quite focus on the colour of Tintaglia. I still mean to bend your ear about my father one day. Will we have the pleasure of welcoming you to Buckkeep soon? I would love to talk with you by the fire and hear what you have to say about my father."

The Fool paused, and he seemed to be considering his words carefully. "I knew Verity in the truest form for only a moment, but in that moment, I knew that he was a fine man. I wonder if I would have the words to describe it. I wish that I did."

"Alas, I have to be in Shoaks soon. Will the disputes over Chalced ever end? Rest assured, Lord Golden, that I shall be holding you to those words soon. Fitz, shall I leave you a moment with the Fool?"

Dutiful and the Fool both looked at me. Dutiful smiled pleasantly; the Fool looked sombre. I breathed and smiled at the Fool. "I will stay here for a time," I said to Dutiful. "I believe you know the way back to Buckkeep?"

"Well, yes, Fitz," he said. "Of course, you should be reuinted with the Fool. I believe I can manage my way through the Skill Pillars without encountering much trouble. It seems to me that you sometimes take me for a bumbling fool."

"Send word to Molly," I said quietly. Dutiful's expression changed at my serious tone. "Chade can contact her more quickly than anyone." I paused. "No. Give word to Kettricken first."

Dutiful nodded uncertainly. "I shall see Mother when I return." He turned to the Fool. "It was wonderful to see you, Lord Golden. Please, come to Buckkeep as soon as you can. We would be honoured to host such a fine noble as you." The words were in jest, but I knew Dutiful meant them in earnest. "Fitz, I shall see you at the Keep."

I gave no reply, but shook his hand. King Dutiful bowed to the Fool and I found myself once again admiring how he had become such a king. We accompanied him on the short walk back to the Skill Pillar, and as he walked through it I was reminded of Kettricken's straight and firm manner of holding herself. Dutiful now reminded me of her almost as much as he reminded me of myself.

"Here we are, Fitzy," said the Fool, when Dutiful had gone. "The White Prophet and his Catalyst, together again. It seems as though we must once again throw pebbles under the wheels of the world. You know that I would not have sought you did I not have a task for you."

My mouth began to drop before I realised that he was joking. "I believe my back would object to being a pebble at my age," I replied. "You would have to accept my being an idle stick instead."

He smiled sadly. "Oh, my Fitz," he murmured. "The years have been kind to you, believe me. Shall we visit the quarry? I do hold some fondness for it, despite everything."

"I wonder if Carrod is still there," I said, wandering into my own thoughts. "Would he be dust by now?"

"He may," the Fool replied.

I marvelled at how easily we took up conversation again, as though the years had not passed. Without a further word between us, the Fool swept his arm out before him, gesturing for me to enter the Skill Pillar. A small part of me worried at the thought of passing through a Skill Pillar so soon after I had already done so. I reassured myself that Dutiful, too, had just done so, and pressed my hand to the cool, black stone.

Passing through a Skill Pillar never seemed to get easier. I arrived near the quarry short of breath and confused. The Fool seemed more composed than I, though by rights he had only the most minuscule amount of the Skill in him. For a moment I stood bent with my hands upon my knees. When I drew myself to full form, I took in the quarry with a sense of awe.

I had been to the quarry on more than one occasion, but its size never became less impressive. The scarred rock seemed to go down indefinitely, though I knew well that it ended. The silence here seemed different, more potent than elsewhere. It was my Wit that told me how truly silent the quarry was. We followed the path down the valley of the quarry, stopping occasionally to look at the unfinished and sometimes unshaped hunks of rock that had been quarried from the walls. Everything in the quarry seemed terribly cold.

"I can almost feel this place," said the Fool. "It feels empty. Has it always felt this way? I never noticed before."

"It has," I said. "There are no animals here."

He removed his gloves and fanned his face, though it wasn't a particularly warm day. There were so many things I wanted to say to him, and yet, I could not find the words. How do you tell your best friend how much you have missed him for nearly thirty years? How do you tell him how those years passed; indeed, how even a day of it passed? I wondered where he had gone, but doubted it was information that he would offer to me. Once I might have been angry at him for that, but now, I was only glad to see him.

"It has been a long time, Fool," I observed. "You have changed colours again."

"Only slightly," he said in a tone as though I had bestowed upon him a great and undeserved compliment. "I have not changed in a long while."

I removed Verity's sword from my belt and propped it against a boulder. My hip was glad to be free of the weight. I sat down on the ground beside it and stretched my legs in front of me, scratching one calf with the tip of my boot. The Fool sat delicately beside me, his limber movements a reminder of the youth he had and I no longer did. He smiled.

"I dreamt of you," I told him. "This winter."

"Did you?" he asked nonchalantly. "That is interesting. I dreamt of you, as well. This winter and all those that came before it. In the spring, summer and autumn. I dreamt of you always, Fitz." He folded his fingers in his lap. "I dreamt of singing weasels once, also. I am not clear on what it may have meant."

I said nothing, but knew a feeling of shame as I realised that I had rarely dreamt of the Fool before that winter. Though I did not have the power over my dreams that Nettle had, I felt as though I had dishonoured him in some way by failing to dream of him with more regularity. I wondered if he knew how rarely my dreams were my own. I wondered if he felt slighted. His voice was still pleasant.

"I am not certain if we will be enough," he said with a tone of warning. "One never can tell, I suppose." He looked at me curiously.

"I am certain," I said. "It is time." I held my hand out toward him and he stared at it for a moment. His hesitation almost led me to withdraw my hand. I did not truly know what he was to sacrifice for me, and a stab of heartache clouded the peacefulness I had found beside the Fool. Yet he lifted his hands, three of his fingers still shining silver, and reached for mine.

When the Fool's hand touched mine, his fingers were trembling.

He clasped my fingers to his, and the Skill that flowed between us was stronger than any connection I had felt in my life. Strands of the Fool were knitted around my bones, and it was as though I saw the world through his eyes again. That touch was more intimate than any I had ever felt from Molly. It was something I had felt only once before, and then from the Fool many years before. Then I had feared its intimacy; now I welcomed it like an old friend. It was the closest the Fool would ever come to knowing my heart completely, and I was aware that he embraced the feeling as I did. I knew then that it was no sacrifice he offered me, but his own completion.

I do not know how long we stayed like that; it might have been a moment and it might have been a year. When it was finished and the Fool's fingers left mine, my own gleamed silver with the Skill. The Fool stared at my fingers as though saddened by what he had done. I had long missed the fingerprints he had once left on my wrist.

"We are linked again," he said, unnecessarily. I wondered if he thought that somehow, in the quarry, we would change the fate of the world simply by being together, simply by the act of him leaving the Skill print on me.

"We always were," I said, rising to my feet. I held out my hand and he grasped it, doing the same. "I suppose this is where we start."

He smiled, and I knew that he, like me, felt no fear but only love. He reached out and touched a hand to my cheek, light as a spider. It seemed as though we were preparing for a journey, or a farewell. Both were the truth, in their own ways.

"Good-bye, Beloved," the Fool said, and a lump came to my throat. I knew what it cost him to say that name now, after the Pale Woman had flung it at him so cruelly. I did not doubt that the name was still tarnished. Only too well did I know the impossibility of claiming back what had been taken from you through torture.

I clasped my hand about my Fool's wrist as it slid from my face and turned the palm up, as he had done to me so many years ago. His eyes widened. I kissed his palm, and it felt only like the most natural thing I could have done. "Good-bye, FitzChivalry Farseer."

We began carving our dragon.