Welcome to the End times

For an instant I knew him in his entirety, complete and magical, and then he was pulling apart from me, laughing, a bubble inside me, separate and unknowable, yet joined of me. You love me! I was incredulous. He had never truly believed it before. Before, it was words. I always feared it was born of pity. But you are truly my friend. This is knowing. This is feeling what you feel for me. So this is the Skill. For a moment he revelled in simple recognition. Abruptly, another joined us. Ah, little brother, you find your ears at last! My kill is ever your kill, and we shall be pack forever!

'And I love you, and all thatnis part of you.' He cocked his head and the next words held a challenge. 'And do you not return that to me?' He waited. I desperately wished I had never started this discussion. 'You know I love you [...]

'Oh, when the Fool pisses

'She has asked the children for news of a stranger. And the children, as usual, know everything.' 'And tell everything,' the Fool replied glumly. I heard him fling down another tool in annoyance. 'I see I have but one choice then.' 'You will see them?' A snort of laughter from the Fool. 'Of course not. I mean that I will lie to them.'

'Tomorrow,' he told me gravely. 'We shall be ourselves again. The Fool and the Bastard. Or the White Prophet and the Catalyst, if you will. We will have to take up those lives, as little as we care for them, and fulfil all fate has decreed for us. But for here, for now, just between us two, and for not other reason save I am me and you are you, I tell you this. I am glad that you are alive. To see you take breath puts the breath back in my lungs. If there must be another my fate is twined around, I am glad it is you.'

'There was a naiveté to you that none of the ugliness could stain, as if you never truly believed in evil. It was what I liked best about you.' The Fool swayed slightly where he sat, but righted himself. 'It was what I missed most, when you were dead.' I smiled foolishly. 'A while back, I thought it was my great beauty.'

'What have they done to me, Fitz? Gods, what have they done to you, to mark you so? What has become of me, that I did not even know you though I carried you in my arms?' His cool fingers moved tentatively down my face, tracing the scar and the broken nose. He leaned down suddenly to rest his brow against mine. 'When I recall how beautiful you were,' he whispered brokenly, and then fell silent. The warm drip of his tear against my face felt scalding.