Chapter Text
How the Bastard had learned about them Will would never know, but when he came to knock on Will’s door one morning it was written all over his face. His Skill was radiating betrayal, envy, and rage.
“Good morning, Tom,” Will greeted him. I cannot blame you for being jealous, Lord Golden is a stunning man. It must feel awful that he has not spoken to you for weeks but worry not, he is not alone. In fact, he seemed quite cosy just a few minutes ago before you disturbed us.
“Morning, Sir,” the Bastard replied through gritted teeth. One day I will kill you and it will not be quick.
“Can I help you with something?” Will asked. I would like to see you try. Though given the previous feeble attempts of yours, my expectations are not high. How many times is it now that you have failed? Three? Four?
“Indeed, Sir.” The Bastard was fuming. I cannot believe I spared your life at the Mountains.
“Are you here to remind Lord Golden of his riding trip with Lord Lalwick this afternoon?” Just another failure on your part.
“I am here to talk to you. Lord Golden is usually asleep at this hour, as you well know. Sir,” the Bastard snarled. Yet my King won the realm back to us. Which is more than you can say about yours.
“I do indeed. What is so important that a servant feels entitled to interrupt me?” Will asked. Are we at ‘my father is stronger than your father’ now? Perhaps you should not begin that game, Bastard. Who knows who your father even is.
“As Lord Golden’s bodyguard, I am watching you.” Insulting my parentage is getting a bit old. Is that the best you can do?
“Duly noted. Was that all?” I should return to bed. You know how cold he gets when he sleeps alone. Will smirked.
“Good day, Sir.” The day will come when you are not ready. But I will.
“Badgerlock.” Looking forward to it.
Will took care to make the morning worth it for Lord Golden. Quarrel or no, Lord Golden was still in love with the Bastard and would not be too happy to realise what the Bastard had discovered.
Will turned Lord Golden gently on his back and crawled under the blankets. The sleeping man’s skin was cool under Will’s lips when he travelled slowly up Lord Golden’s legs. He responded beautifully to Will even half asleep, letting out tiny sighs and moans, his legs trembling under Will’s mouth. Will licked him open, savouring the feel of long fingers tightening in his hair. He hoped the Bastard was listening behind the door; the moans Lord Golden let out when he buried himself deep inside the man were frankly indecent.
*
The day had begun in the nicest way for Lord Golden, but when wandered to his chambers later, a stone-faced Fitz was waiting for him. Lord Golden attempted to avoid him with a curt nod to acknowledge his bodyguard, going straight to his private study but was cut short. Fitz blocked his way.
“Move aside, Badgerlock, what is the matter with you, man?” Lord Golden asked.
“I cannot believe you,” Fitz said. His eyes were filled with so much emotion that Beloved had to look away. Sorrow, anger, disappointment. Beloved swallowed. Was it possible that Fitz had finally learned where Lord Golden spent his nights? And so what if he had? The momentary panic turned into anger. What right had Fitz to judge of Lord Golden’s bedding habits? Fitz was doing exactly the same with Starling and Jinna – enjoying a warm body in his bed – and had made abundantly clear that he was not interested in whatever Lord Golden was offering.
“I am sure there are many things you do not comprehend,” Lord Golden snapped. “Move aside.”
“No. If you are not going to talk to me, at least have the decency to listen.” Fitz crossed his arms on his chest. “You can continue prancing around as Lord Golden after this if you like, but there’s something I need to say to the Fool,” Fitz looked momentarily uncertain, then steeled himself and continued.
“I have never held you accountable for the company you kept in Tradefort.” Fitz clenched his hands around his arms to stop them from trembling. “You never shared the details of it, but I know enough. You must have thought that your life’s work was in ruins and all your friends were gone. You were desperate, I understand that, but Eda and El both, I do not understand why you chose to deal with it that way. Yet I was not going to press the matter.”
Blood drained from Beloved’s face. He turned to escape the room, but Fitz stepped in front of him again, blocking his way.
“And then, then you returned from wherever you have been for the last fifteen years, with Will. No explanation. Again, I did not understand it. Again, I gave you the benefit of the doubt. You have been my best friend since we were boys, and if you choose to befriend the man who tortured me to death I thought maybe, maybe you have a reason.”
“Please, I–” Beloved said but Fitz had no mercy.
“Not that you ever explained that reason to me, either. It is all suddenly so clear. You come to me when you need someone killed, or worse, just like Chade. Or sometimes it’s just my suffering the world requires. When the dirty work is done, you run away with Will to do Eda knows what.” Fitz smiled bitterly. “Well, at least you have finally managed to kill the rumours of Lord Golden and his serving man.”
“And what if I have? What is it to you? You cannot have it both ways, Fitz. You have had over twenty years to make a decision. Now I have made mine. Excuse me if I do not want to spend the rest of my dwindling days pining after something that will never happen.” Lord Golden straightened his back and met Fitz’s eyes.
“I have tried to avoid this very conversation with you, but once again you are forcing my hand, Fitz,” Lord Golden continued. “As if our friendship was not fragile enough since the quarrel, you had to strike another wound in it. Well congratulations, perhaps you have finally managed to kill it.”
Lord Golden stormed past Badgerlock into his study, slamming the door behind him.
Hours later, when he heard a knock on the door, he was still seething with anger.
“You are dismissed, Badgerlock. I do not wish to be disturbed,” Lord Golden called through the door.
“Fool, stop this nonsense and open the door. Please.” It was Chade.
Lord Golden got up and stepped into the doorway. “Councillor, what an unexpected delight. How can I help?”
“Drop the act, Fool, I need your help,” Chase hissed through his teeth. “Fitz is in trouble.”
“Oh, that Badgerlock is nothing but trouble. The worst servant I have ever seen. Whatever was I thinking when I hired him, I shall never know. I am seriously considering letting him go.” Lord Golden said but closed the door behind him and sat in his armchair before the fire to face Chade.
“Fool, this is serious. Fitz has been arrested for the murder of three members of the Old Blood community in Buckkeep town.”
“What?”
“The usual,” Chade flung himself in the other armchair, and wiped a strand of grey hair off his forehead. “He went to Buckkeep town and made a terrible mess of things. Somehow, he ended up at Laudwine’s hiding place and killed the lot of them, plus a horse. I have not the whole tale yet.” Chade looked as if he had aged a decade. “What matters now is that I need your help with the story: Tom Badgerlock was following a trail of thieves who had stolen a valuable purse from Lord Golden. The faithful servant fought valiantly for his master’s property, was cornered and the thieves were killed in the fight. Whether they were of Old Blood or not, it was all the same to him.”
Beloved found it difficult to breathe. Whatever mess Fitz had created now, he could not help but feel partially responsible. He had seen the hurt in Fitz’s eyes, and it had been his doing.
Lord Cozen had chosen to stay with Regal and Will even after all his excuses to do so had worn thin.
Amber had accepted Will back into her life.
Lord Golden had continued to find his comfort in Will’s bed.
And Fitz had a record in making tremendously bad decisions when he was angry.
Beloved buried his face in his hands and nodded for Chade to continue.
“Now, Lord Golden is angry for the loss of his purse, and the wrongful detainment of his loyal servant. He shall demand the return of the purse, and justice for brave Badgerlock.” Chade rested his head on his hands. “As much as I would like to go to and get the boy myself, the crown cannot be associated with any of this. And the accusations are serious enough that I need someone influential to make the plea for him.”
“Consider it done,” Lord Golden steeled himself. “Such insolence from the town guards to imprison my bodyguard. I wonder if one of them has not stolen the purse for themselves. If it is not returned to me soon, I shall demand that the price is deducted from the guards’ wages.”
“Good. Allow me until tomorrow morning to plant the purse in Laudwine’s lair.” Chade got up to leave. Once he was by the door, he turned around to look at Beloved again. “Fool. He is injured. I fear it might be bad.”
*
Nothing good lasts forever. Not even watching the Bastard slowly rotting to death.
Will had been in and out of the Bastard’s mind the past two days, just to see if the man was still dying. He was; the walls had come crashing down, his presence in the Skill weakening by the hour. Will observed it, savouring the feeling of the Bastard’s pain and despair.
The lightest touch could have taken him down, now, but Will was not going to do it yet. The Bastard did not deserve such a clean end.
If he survived this – and by now it required nothing short of a miracle to happen – Will would follow his plan and take him down slowly. The Bastard would see it coming, would know it was Will. He would suffer for what he did to Regal.
And if not, well, he would be rotting to death, alone in a dark cell. As he should have done all those years ago.
Will. Come. Fast. Prince Dutiful. His Skilling was a crude thing yet, but he could convey simple information now.
And where do you need me, My Prince?
Lord Golden’s room. Hurry.
Will scoffed. They must be desperate now, if they were involving Will in an attempt to save the Bastard’s life. It was downright absurd, yet he did not mind seeing the Bastard’s suffering with his own eye.
Will descended to Lord Golden’s chambers and knocked.
A rancid stink greeted him when Prince Dutiful opened the door. Apparently, the Bastard had finally been rescued – for the lack of a better word – from the town jail. There was not much left of him to save, though.
The Bastard was covered in grime, and blood. His skin was sallow and sweaty, his breathing slow and superficial. And then there was the matter of a large wound on his flank. It was slowly oozing greenish pus on the pile of straw the Bastard lay on.
They were all gathered around the rotting corpse, Lord Chade, Prince Dutiful, Lord Golden and that little idiot that followed the prince around everywhere these days.
“We are going to attempt a Skill-healing on Fitz,” the councillor said. Will’s eyebrow twitched at the name. Prince Dutiful’s eyes went wide but Lord Chade continued before anyone got to interrupt him. “Now. I have serious doubts about including you in this, Will, given the history between you two. However, you know more of the subject than anyone else. Besides, Lord Golden has vouched for you. The crown requests your help.”
“I see. And what is the idiot doing here?” Will asked, inclining his head to the short man, who was intent on picking his nose.
“Thick has a lot of strength and has been working with Fitz. He lends strength to us,” the councillor said.
“A King’s man?” Will frowned, though he should not have been surprised. It was more than fitting, the Bastard training the Idiot.
“I recognize the situation is far from ideal, but Fitz does not have much time. We have to try.”
Will considered it. Healing the Bastard only to finish him later was an intriguing thought. He would no longer owe his life to the Bastard – not that he would have cared about it either way, but it did remove any moral high ground the Bastard could have clung to, otherwise.
Perhaps Will could even leave a back door in the Bastard’s mind. Even if he was able to crush the Bastard’s walls now, he had always enjoyed subtlety more than brute force.
And then there was the prospect of Lord Golden’s eternal gratitude, as well as the crown’s. Saving their beloved bastard prince would earn him leverage both at court and behind closed doors.
“Fine. I shall aid you. If he is still alive.” Will stepped closer and brought a handkerchief to his nose. “Do exactly as I say. Place one hand on each other’s shoulders and the other on my shoulder or arm.”
Will sat on the narrow bedside next to the Bastard and was about to place his hands on the oozing wound when Lord Golden interrupted him.
“No. I am the one who should do that. I know him, and he will be more inclined to allow my touch. Please,” Lord Golden said.
Will was about to argue but then Lord Golden removed his gloves, revealing the silver fingers. Prince Dutiful and the councillor turned to stare at them, mesmerized; the idiot seemed to pay no attention to them at all.
They rearranged themselves around the bed without further arguments. Even with his eyes closed, Will could tell the exact moment Lord Golden sunk his silvered fingers in the Bastard’s putrefied flesh. The ecstasy of their joining was beyond anything Will had experienced before, even when he had used the Skill during – well best not think about it while he was joined with that many people attempting to Skill. It felt like completion.
The first attempt to heal was feeble. Lord Golden found the Bastard in the Skill flow and the old geezer seemed to know what needed to be done, yet neither of them had the, well, skill, to accomplish anything beyond that. Then the idiot and the prince joined in and a rush of power such as Will had never seen burst through the link into the Bastard. Will held himself back, guarding his own mind lest the surge of raw Skill forge an accidental link to his mind. He withdrew, guiding the process from afar, much like a Skillmaster would do with his students.
Lord Golden was the one to beg them to stop once the festering wound was cleaned and the skin knitted itself together, but it was too late. The little idiot had poured so much strength into the healing that rampaged on its own accord. Scars faded from the Bastard’s face, his nose straightened, every old injury disappearing in front of their eyes. Yet the Skill alone was not enough to heal damage to the body. The mending required physical substance, and that had to come from elsewhere in the body. The Bastard was shrinking while they watched, unable to stop the process once it had started.
Interesting. Will had never read about such a thing happening before. The minor healings he had accomplished had required so much less physical matter that he had hardly noticed. He should add an account of this to the Skill library. Will could almost see the scroll writing itself:
A strong surge of unguided Skill with the intention to heal is capable of carrying on mending the body beyond its physical capacity. The Skill user must be aware of this danger while attempting a Skill-healing to avoid causing more damage. This is an account of such an event during the reign of Prince Verity’s widow.
The Witted Bastard, still alive by deceit and Wit-sorcery, decades after his lawful execution for the murder of good King Shrewd, was once again detained for murdering three honest citizens of Buckkeep town. The Witted Bastard had infiltrated the court as Tom Badgerlock, bodyguard and servant to Lord Golden, a Jamaillian nobleman with dubious history.
During this murdering spree, the Witted Bastard was injured, acquiring a mortal wound to his flank. In blindness and good faith Councillor Chade arranged for the Witted Bastard once again to escape true justice, worming the killer back into the castle. However, the wound in the Witted Bastard’s flank was infected and the half-beast was dying of wound-fever.
Overruling my good judgment and recommendation, Councillor Chade insisted that a Skill-healing be performed on the Witted Bastard. Another mistake was made when a half-wit servant boy with a tremendous amount of uncontrolled Skill power was included in the healing. The Witted Bastard had attempted to train this idiot in secret, though any instruction he might have attempted to give must have been severely lacking. Given that his own Skill was tainted with beast-magic, the Witted Bastard had failed his own training with Skillmaster Galen.
During the healing, the half-wit poured an unrestrained rush of raw Skill into the Witted Bastard, effectively demolishing any control over the healing process. As a result, the healing proceeded past mending the fresh wound on the Witted Bastard’s flank, eradicating each old injury and scar from his body. The cost for such a healing was terrible: it required every bit of flesh from his body, leaving the Witted Bastard as a skeletal figure, too weak even to open his eyes.
Thus, this statement presents two warnings to all Skill-users. First, control yourself; heal as little as possible in one session, allowing the building of muscle and flesh between healings. Second, exclude any untrained Skill-users from healing, lest they do more damage than good.
Account of Will, Skillmaster to King Regal
He let go of Lord Golden’s shoulder and carefully severed the gleaming threads of connection between himself and the others. They were all fussing and fretting over the unconscious Bastard, as if there was something they could do for him. Now that he was no longer useful, Will had become invisible to them again.
No one noticed when he left the room.