Mull it over and blush all you want

by AlliumSativum

Summary:

Post canon, some secret, well-guarded notes written to Fitz by the Fool are discovered by their descendants - in which we discover Fitz never told us about some things, and people still ponder about the nature of their relationship.

To Court Scribe Cedar of Buckkeep

Dear friend,

You have asked me to add my introduction to these and to bind them together for convenience. I have done so, I am hoping to your satisfaction. Once again, in answer to your eternal worries: it is not great burden for me to part with them, and I have long made copies for my nieces and nephews. I feel they belong to the castle archives, and to all the Farseers that would want to look at a part of their own history. I myself never think of them without fondness, and without a sort of soft understanding that my mother could never quite manage to extend to her fathers. But you know by now my thoughts on this, so I shan't bore you with a repetition.
You asked after my sight, and, Eda and El be thanked, it is as good as ever, but these old hands are another matter, so I fear my working days will soon be over. It is with no small amount of effort that I'm writing these lines to you, and I have to take care to do it in a sunny spot where they can be kept warm, and to pause frequently (you will no doubt notice the unequal way my ink dries here, as I admit I'm taking less care with you than with my clients, but I know you'll forgive me).
Do write to me soon, and if I'm too weary to pen my own response, do not doubt I shall find youthful hands to do it for me. For now, I send you all my warmest affection.

June

 

---

Much talk has been had, and much ink spilled on the subject of Fitzchivalry Farseer's life, and his relationship to his lifelong, though intermittent companion - the one who dubbed himself the Prophet to his Catalyst, and went by many names, the only one of which we feel comfortable using here being Beloved. As most would know, Fitzchivalry and Beloved were bossom friends from childhood, when the former was being covertly trained to serve the crown as an assassin, and the later, in his mission as a White Prophet, was posing as King Shrewd's jester and guiding him on the path he foresaw. As a bastard always at risk of being more of a threat than a useful tool for the crown, and as an eerie stranger from far-off lands respectively, the two lonely children formed an unlikely bond from very early on. Having had the good sense to keep it discreet, few knew of it at the time. The rest is written all over the Realm's History, though the intimate details are mostly lost to us.
The following notes, however, obviously meant to be destroyed but preciously kept instead, may rekindle some curiosity about their lives. They were found by my mother, Princess Bee Farseer, concealed in the lining of one of Fitzchilvary's surviving journals. A lot of his own writings have been lost due to his habit of burning them regularly (often, as it were, before the ink had even finished drying), yet it seems he couldn't bear to get rid of these, though they are full of matters that were extremely sensitive at the time: their real identities, the closeness of their bond, inklings of their secret purposes.
For obvious reasons, due to the nature of these communications concerning two of her three parents, my mother has always refused to read them herself, and they were passed down to me for safe keeping. I have no such reservations, having never personally known my grandfathers - and as my mother's long life has recently come to its natural end and she was the last living soul of this time, I feel it will do no harm to share them now. From various context clues, it's clear that they probably span decades, though some were obviously copied by Fitzchivalry, either from the original of from memory.
Still, a fair few are of Beloved's own hand, though sometimes under some more unfamiliar facets of his personnality. They're all presented here without comment, and others may tackle the task of ascribing them their context if they so wish. I have no desire to undertake such work myself. 
Dear scholar or future Farseer, I urge to read the following with your eyes but to ponder it with your heart.

Juniper Farseer

---

 

Saw a bird today, it looked stupid, it made me think of you when you try to understand human speech. Did you heed my dream? I also, by the way, saw that scullion with the freckles, you know, try to kick one of the puppies. Maybe someone ought to warn someone or something, I don't know, I'm a Fool, not a dog boy. Until next time!

*

Oh come on, Fitzy, can't take a bit of teasing? Don't you love me? wiggles eyebrows

*

You do know how to read, now, don't you? Cross your fingers in your back the next time we cross each other if you do, I beg you, I cannot keep corresponding with a witling, even if you take me for one.

*

A little bird told me in a dream that you should watch for high places because you don't have wings like she does. Don't trip on your own clumsy feet, now! Impressively muscular thighs won't save you from falling head first! I may be slight but I know how to fall on my head way, way better than you do, Fitzy!

*

Came to see you but you were still sleeping. Fed Smithy and took him outside a little. You look awful, by the way.
Sleep well, then.

*

Here is a word of advice for you, Fitz: when pissing, do not stand against the wind!
Your friend (how droll! a friend!).

*

Fitzy, Fitzy, Fitzy-Fitz, don't think you can escape me just because you take a swift (debatable) turn in halways. I am a jester, and don't you know jesters only wear bells so that they'll be heard at all when they move? That's how smooth we are! Ratsy agrees with me, don't you Ratsy?
Don't you think I know where to find you when I must? I only let you go like a fisherman gives some slack to his catch, so that I may have the pleasure to reel you back again later, once you think the fight is won. My bottom (also very smooth) salutes you!

*

Once upon a time, a spider in the walls whispery-whispered to me a little something, come find me and hear it for yourself when at liberty. kissy kissy

*

Stop trying to follow and watch over me, dumb idiot. Aren't you sufficiently tied up already? I could remedy that for you, I hear some people do that for fun. I woud bear it so much better than you, though, as I both have more experience with it, and am remarkably supple. My (un) busted lip salutes you! kissy kissy noises (Are you fleeing yet? Good.)

*

If you wake up before I'm back, I only went out to get clean snow for water. Water on the floor beside bed, easily reachable without upsetting your back (didn't want you knocking it over in your sleep). If you don't wake up, dream of me, sweet prince!

*

Do you reckon we should stage something, my sweet, shy friend? To ease the situation? I write this to you so that you can mull it over and blush all you want on your own time! I don't think she'll stop asking us both to strip for her (for two very different purposes) unless we confirm her speculations once and for all. I could drop to my knees for you behind the tent just as she's about to round it, what do you think? It's already so cold in these mountains so my freezing hands, as you know, would do nothing to advertise the breadth, toughness or indeed reach of your charms once she sees us, hence why I must insist on using my mouth. I'm afraid I cannot summon a bout of fever on your account. What do you think? Is the Fool warmer on the inside or not? This is your occasion to find out.
But of course! I'm losing the plot. The goal is to convince her to let the matter rest, so perhaps a good handful of snow is the trick we ought to consider? It might even make her forget about this plumbing business entirely! She strikes me as a woman who doesn't believe that the thorn pricks no matter its size. Fortunately for you, I, who need no further advertisement of your charms, am plenty aware of the fact.
I suppose you could just hump me a little during the night, or I you, but that may inconvenience dear Kettricken and wise Kettle too, and I can just imagine Nighteyes' unimpressed look. Alas! I may just have to kiss you, with generous tongue, groping hands, bubbling saliva, much moaning etc. in plain view. What do you think of that? I bet you prefer the idea of me on my knees. Aren't you curious about how clever my tongue is when it's not giving you a lashing? Oh I can just imagine you rolling your eyes like a spooked horse! I'm having such a hard time holding back my cackling. I wanted to tease you more, but we're about to dismantle camp, so I shall leave it at that, lucky you!

*

I missed you so terribly that I'm even fond of your snoring, Beloved (yes, you will have to get used to this). I had as good as forgotten your smell, but it fills my nostrils now, this and the wildness of the wolf, and sweet notes of apricot brandy in your breath and mine, and it's making me dizzy. You do go on about how mysterious I am, but when have I been truly hiding myself from you, I ask? You grouse that you didn't know my name yet won't even use it now, argue that I don't reveal my body to you, and yet... Hah! Plumbing again, maybe masonry, even! What's next, shall we discuss in what position we like it best? If I had to take a guess, you're very easy to please. On your back, I think, you need to be reigned in and ridden firmly like a colt, don't you? It's better for you to lie back and let it happen to you, yes, far better, I should think. Stop trying, Fitzy, stop thinking, and let someone take care of you, command you, while you do stare stupidly, in over your head.
Ah, it's so easy to tease you I always get carried away, lured like the Skill lures us one to another. Plumbing, indeed! What do these things matter? If I was so very secret, would I be writing these things to you? Would we share this most intimate bond? Would I let you see me, care for me, name me?
Yet here you are, trustful, as you lay drunk and asleep, lips parted ever so as if waiting for a kiss. Easy pickings, you are. Oh, I have seen all of you anyway, boring, boring!
Such terrible things to write to you, but it's alright, this will go into the fire, and we will never talk about it.

*

Badgerlock, Badgerlock... How shall I punish you? Haven't I made myself very clear on the matter of the upkeep of linen and silk? How can you mistreat fine materials so? Silk always reminds me of the very fine and soft skin of the inside of a thigh, and if you are to bully one, I'd rather you pick the one that heals itself in time. Are you in need of a thigh to bully, Badgerlock, with those wolfish teeth and big, rough hands of yours? Shall I provide, as your benevolent master? As I see it, I could put your on a leash to reassure the more timid, and then have them line up for the mauling. Ah, Badgerlock, Bagderlock… I know for a fact your big, rough, fingers are used to fine work, too, yet you insist on disappointing me terribly.
If these aren't wrinkle-free the next time I see them, I might have to bend you over my knee like a naughty boy, do you understand? Bare-bottomed, red in the face, pleading and crying for me. I do have heavy-duty leather gloves, I'm sure they'd leave a nice… impression on you, with that Mountain blood you boast that makes red so obvious on you. Or are you the kind to prefer the intimate smack of skin on skin?
Not a word of protest, if you please; as your master I have more important things to consider, and better uses of my time. Do not make me make good on my threats, I'm sure I would enjoy it far more than you would.

*

Small party in my rooms at dusk
Bring out nice candles (do NOT light them next to my painted screens, or I swear to Eda and El!)
10, maybe 15 people, get another pair of hands for service I do not trust your big oafish hands with table setting
Warn kitchens, usual order
Do please change the washbasin water in a timely fashion
Swap out herb sachets in linens
Ah, and make sure to take a bath, and prepare my blue satin gloves and put them on my bedside table, will you? I like when you use that soap, by the way, what smell is that? Juniper, and milk perhaps? It suits your overflowing manliness quite well. Order more of it, use my coin. Must go now.

*

Badgerlock, if you intend to come back drunk and late, I expect you to at least send word. I am quite fed up with your antics. And here I am, singing your praises as the very best of servants to whomever might hear! Verily, no one has suffered as I suffer. I hope you at least got what you wanted out of this prolongued, no doubt wild, outing, I'm eager to hear all about it, and the friends you surely must have met. As your master, I of course take a keen interest in your life and your relationships, and I feel I have a right to know about them, as any indiscretion would reflect on me, don't you know?

*

Dear friend. I see in your beautiful eyes how you resent our situation. I see it in how you hold yourself, all wound up, shoulders slightly hunched. You've got such a princely mien when you let yourself be at ease, confident, it's always been such a shame to see you diminish yourself. You would have made a fine king, though Fate has decided otherwise, but a fool can be foolish, can't he?
Don't you know I resent this too? I know I've told you, but I must tell you again.
Alas, the world needs us more than we need the comfort of our friendship, I'm afraid. Dream of me, even though you're near, always at my fingertips. My blue satin gloves, which so strongly hold your attention, salute you.

*

Did I ever tell you Badgerlock, that your terrible frowns only make me want to tease you more? You always did like me teasing you, don't you? Oh, how you lie, even to yourself! Well let me tease you now, or feed this to the fire immediately, because I garantee you won't like what follows and will blush your most fiery blush and frown your most terrible frowns and find me quite off-putting. I may be slightly drunk, yes. These merry court ladies are too eager to see me lose my composure. So many hands reaching for me now, eager to see more of that gold I seem to be made of! They would love to grope me beneath my finery, unlace me as you yourself do, and roll in my bed as you yourself have done wink. Sometimes I'm tempted to give in, for it is a crime to be so beautiful and yet remain unloved.
You know how it is, I feel your glower in my back when you attend me durnig dinners, I know you think about it too, about your master and his army or admirers. Fair few pretty things in there. Too young for my old self by far, alas; but then, so are you, my handsome, ravishing, young man.
But if you will indulge me…
What a good servant you are, despite your crimes against taste, fabrics and manners. One cannot argue that you make for a fine, fine view at all times, at least, which is of the geatest import. You know a lord such as myself has peculiar tastes, and wants for refined delights, and for all your uncouth manners, you do provide such amusement!
Picture this: I might require you for my use in other ways than a mere clumsy valet and glowering bodyguard. You, a Duchies man, mind straight like an arrow, no twists and turns, with a blind faith in what is and isn't done - and me, a Jamaillian Lord, exotic, fanciful, sure of my own tastes, full of swirls and tides like the sea to confuse and dizzy you. Scandalous things might happen in my exquisite parlor. You, helpless to obey me, flushed against my brocades - beard rough against the fine threads, cheek chaffed against it too, reluctant, giving in, though, for me, not because I force your hand, of course not, but because you secretly want this, and I can tell. You're tired of thinking, aren't you? Always wary, always so tense. How I dream of making these muscles unwound. How I dream of laying you down in a soft bed of down, and have you have no care until dawn. I would take care of you, my shy one. I would tell you what to do and you would obey, grateful. I would give such sweet orders, maybe grip your gorgeous hair with a firm hand to remind you that you must mind my words, and not your own thoughts. Leave them at my feet, you wolfish man, be a dog for once, tamed and trustful, and obedient, tail wagging at the sound of my voice. I only want good things for you, after all. I would never put you on a leash, you know that, Fitz, don't you? You're so, so sweet when you give in, there is such a soft, soft core in you, such sweetness, such depth of heart. Come, picture this: you by my knee, pliant, being fed sweet morsels by my caring hand. Then I could brush and braid that wild hair of yours for you - it cannot be harder than taming mine. I would unlace and unbutton all the tight, scratchy places where clothing bothers you, and put you at ease. Do you want to be naked? Of course, you do, you wild man. You may be naked, then. Remember: if you start to twitch and frown and think too much, my hand will grip a braid just as efficaciously as a warrior tail and silence that stubborn, feverish head of yours. When was the last time someone bathed you? Tender hands holding you in the water like a babe and soothing your skin everywhere? Ah but my fantasy must stop here, as you would never let me. Are you even still reading? That's fine. I can just watch over you and keep your mind nice and still as you bathe yourself. I can tell you all about how beautiful and kind and strong you are. I wish you would be careless, for once, do and take what you want. I would be delighted to witness that. If you needed me in any capacity, well, I would be there.
I see that I've ran out of paper, ah well.

*

It seems I cannot ever get a hold of my servant anymore.
Very well. Despite your attitude, let it never be known I have disregarded your wishes. I shall then communicate with you in this fashion. First, fetch my order from the silversmisth in Buckkeep, you know the one, then [here the paper was torn and only these first lines remain]

 

Notes:

It unfortunately took all my might to try to be naughty and erotic here, as canon kept pulling me toward sentimentality and angst, but I did my best to channel the Fool's mischieviousness!
I also ran into the realisation that Narratophilia, presented in such a way, is only another meta layer to what every sexy fanfic is already doing, and thus only a framing through which all the other kinks try to squeeze through... Ah, well! I was trying to fluster Fitz first, and the reader second, here, or something.
Sorry for the abrupt ending, I would have added some Fitz and the Fool stuff, but the Fool being blind pulled me up short. You do not ask a young lad/lass to write your evocative, teasing notes to your ambiguous situationship for you, right? I needed to spare Spark.