fitzloved quote bot

Because I could not look at him, broken and in anguish, and not feel a sea-surge of anger and hatred. No one, no one could be allowed to hurt him as badly as they’d hurt him and continue to live.

He picked up a tiny nosegay of white flowers from his breakfast tray and sniffed it thoughtfully. "So many people, all wanting a bit of your time."

"I dreamed I was you," he spoke softly to the flames of the fire. "Did you?" "And you were me." "How droll." "Don’t do that," he warned me. "Don’t do what?" I asked him innocently. "Don’t be me," he shifted in the bedding beside me.

I stroked the broken hair on his head, rough as the coat of a sick dog, and then pulled him closer to cradle his head against my sternum.

"Fitz," the Fool said by my ear. "Fitz, where are you? I can’t feel you. Fitz, put up your walls! Please, Fitz. Beloved."

Then comes a crowned blue buck. He wakes stone. If he wakes stone, then a wolf emerges. A gold man holds the wolf on a chain that goes to his heart.

"Yet here in your right hand, I see a love that wends its way in and out of all your many years. That faithful heart has been absent for a time, but is soon to return to you again. Your true love is stitched in and out of your life. Love will return to you. Don’t doubt that."

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 do love me!" I was incredulous. He had never truly believed it before.

"Hurry," I bid him. He embraced me almost convulsively, and shocked me when he kissed my mouth.

He picked up a tiny nosegay of white flowers from his breakfast tray and sniffed it thoughtfully. "So many people, all wanting a bit of your time."

"I watched you carve that figurehead. Don’t deny to me what you feel for him."

He slept, curled like a kitten, his brow nearly touching mine. His breathing was deep and even, and one long hand was palm up on the blankets between us, as if in offering, or beseeching something of me. Sleepily I reached over and set my hand in his.

He gave a theatrical sigh. "Well, if you cannot call me Beloved, then I suppose you should continue to call me Fool. For I am ever the Fool to your Fitz."

A quick end for him, some part of me suggested, but I roared out, "No! No, no, no! Beloved Fool! No!"

"And we will live happily ever after?" the Fool asked I watched the bits of mortar fall. "That is my intention." "And mine. My hope. But a thin one." "Don’t doubt us, or we are lost." "Fitz, my love, that is the problem."

"In that last dance of chances I shall partner you no more. I shall watch another turn you As you move across the floor."

He measured the length of my hair. He walked his fingers down my face, touching the break in my nose, the old scar, the scruff of beard on my chin.

"Wait. I see. You imagine that I have never known intimacy of that sort. That I have been "saving myself" for you." He gave a contemptuous snort. "Don’t flatter yourself, FitzChivalry. I doubt you would have been worth the wait."

He leaned down suddenly to rest his brow against mine. "When I remember how beautiful you were," he whispered brokenly, and then fell silent.

"Ah, Beloved. Of all the things I must bid farewell to, you are the one most difficult to lose."