#I am obnoxiously feral over Shrewd and Beloved's friendship

[naurielrochnur]

WIP tag game

RULES: Post the last sentence you wrote (fanfic / original / anything) and tag as many people as there are words in the sentence.

Thanks for the tag, @tragediegh

Is anyone actually posting just one sentence? I'm sure not. I'm working so hard to pull this fic kicking and screaming from my brain, so you're gonna enjoy a whole ass snippet whether you want to or not. This isn't the last thing I wrote, but its close enough and it'll make more sense out of context. Also, I like it better. I do what I want.

This is from a fic I am writing about the Fool's early days at Buckkeep. I am forever thinking about his relationship with Shrewd, and wanted to explore more deeply how he came to love his king so much that he was willing to abandon everything he worked towards to be by his side.

“And so you propose to be rid of him? To murder my grandson?” “Better now, when I can ensure a peaceful end.” Chade says quietly. “Leave him, and I may be forced to resort to more violent means. A man is much harder to kill than a boy.” “I do not like it,” Shrewd murmurs, and yet he seems to be considering the option. The child is gripping the poker he never put down, his entire body thrumming with tension. The intricately carved handle presses indents into his flesh, but he does not notice. This is the nexus he has Dreamed of, the one where he can save his Catalyst. He knows it as intrinsically as he knows his own name. All around him the possibilities unfurl into a multitude of futures. He saves his Catalyst, but only the first time. He loses his Catalyst, and then himself. He saves his Catalyst, again and again, but it is not enough, and his icy end fills him with despair. He loses his Catalyst, but he himself lives on, and on, and on, and the everyday the empty skies remind him of his failure. And, following the thinnest of paths, brilliant in its possibility and yet so fragile, he saves his Catalyst, and his Catalyst saves the world. The Path divides again from there, and in his favorite divergence, as he lays dying, he can just make out the shapes of dragons flying overhead through the ice of his grave.

I need more writer friends who haven't already been tagged. If you're seeing this and have a WIP you want to share, consider yourself tagged!