Fool’s Quest

With the Red Ships at our doors and our noble King Shrewd failing in both body and mind,
The young bastard saw his opportunity. He felled him. With magic and might of muscle,
He took from the duchies the king they needed. And from Prince Regal he stole
His father, his mentor, his rock of wisdom.
The kindness bestowed on a bastard felled him.

And the Bastard laughed. In his murderous triumph, sword bared and bloody, he soiled with murder
The keep that had sheltered his worthless life. Cared he nothing for the great hearts
That had fostered him, fed him, clothed and protected him. He loved only bloodshed.
No loyalty did the Bastard cede to king or country.

Wounded in heart, sorrowing as a son, burdened with the concerns of a country at war,
The prince, now king, stepped forward to his tasks. His brothers dead or fled, to him fell
The heavy crown. To him fell the mourning, and to him, the protecting. The last son,
The loyal son, the brave prince became the king of the racked and troubled land.

“Vengeance first!” weary King Regal cried. To his shelter flocked his dukes and nobles.
“To the dungeons with the Bastard!” they pleaded with one voice. And so King Regal
Did his duty. To cell and chains went the conniving Bastard, the Witted One, the Regicide.
To dark and cold he was sent, as befitted such a dark and cold heart.

“Discover his magic,” the king bade his loyal men. And so they tried. With questions and fists,
Clubs and iron, with cold and dark, they broke the traitor. They found no nobility, no cleverness,
Only wolf-greed and dog-selfishness. And so he died, the Traitor, the Witted One, the Bastard.
Of no use to anyone but himself had his life been. His death freed us from his shame.

—“King Regal’s Burden,” a song by Celsu Cleverhands, a Farrow minstrel

I tottered back to my room, silently cursing my painful shoes. I needed to sleep. Then I would check on the Fool, and after that, I thought with a sigh, I would once more assume my role as Lord Feldspar. There would be feasting, dancing, and music again tonight. My mind wandered to Bee, and I felt that sudden gulf of guilt. Revel, I told myself sternly. He would see that Winterfest was well kept at Withywoods. And surely Shun would not allow the holiday to go by without appropriate foods and festivity. I only hoped they would include my child. I wondered again how long I would be away from her. Was Kettricken wiser than I? Would it be best to send for her?

I was chewing my lip at that thought as I reached the top of the stairs. When I looked down the corridor and saw Riddle standing outside my door, my heart lifted as it does when one sees an old friend. Then as I drew closer it sank again, for his face was solemn and his eyes opaque as when a man hides his feelings. “Lord Feldspar,” he greeted me gravely. He bowed, and I took care that the bow I gave him was little more than a nod. Farther down the hallway, two servants were replenishing the corridor lamps.

“What brings you to my door, good man?” I took care that my words held the right amount of disdain for a messenger.

“I bring you an invitation, Lord Feldspar. May I step within your chambers and recite it for you?”