He gave a short laugh, almost bitterly. “So. So love and hope blind us all. I thought the flowers were from you, Fitz. A fatuous notion. Instead they are from someone who, long ago, was infautated with the King’s fool. In fatuated, I thought. But like me, she loves where love is not returned.”

fitz you knucklehead

‘What is the reality, Fool, not what you jest about or allow others to suspect? Who and what are you? What is it you feel for me?’

He looked at me at last. His eyes were stricken. But as I continued to gaze at him, demanding this knowledge, I saw his own anger come to life there. He suddenly stood straight and gave a small huff of disdain, as if unbelieving that I could ask. He shook his head then drew a deep breath. The words rushed out of him in a torrent.

‘You know who I am. I have even given you my true name. As for what I am, you know that, too. You seek a false comfort that I define myself for you with words. Words do not contain or define any person. A heart can, if it is willing. But I fear yours is not. You know more of the whole of me than any other person who breathes, yet you persist in insisting that all of that cannot be me. What would you have me cut off and leave behind? And why must I truncate myself in order to please you? I would never ask that of you. And by those words, admit another truth. You know what I feel for you. You have known it for years. Let us not, you and I, alone here, pretend that you don’t. You know I love you. I always have. I always will.’

—  Fitz and the Fool, Tawny Man, “Golden Fool”

Your own boy? by ThereseOfTheNorth

The Prince’s face had gone very still at my words. I sensed a sudden distancing in him but could not perceive the cause until he asked quietly, ‘Your “own boy”?’

His inflection puzzled me. ‘My foster son. Hap. He is apprenticed to a woodworker in Buckkeep Town.’

‘Oh.’ The single word seemed to fade into silence. Then, ‘I did not know you had a son.’