#fool's quest spoilers

[mellowthorn]

kelsingra

[heyitsrink]

FitzChivalry "Always In Denial" Farseer

[regulargoose]

Huh???? Hello?? WHAT IS GOING ON?!! They are never beating the allegations omg

[leafykat]

lady amber

[coldlikethestars]

[twicetolivetwicetodie]

Fitz after Dutiful told him he couldn't be an assassin anymore:

[mariajamel]

Fitz and the Fool’s anagnorisis from Assassin’s Quest aka the “What have they done to you?” moment.

[itsmoonpeaches]

Title: Eye of the Hurricane

Fandom: Percy Jackson and the Olympians

Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial

[NOTE: I had to create this gif as no existing gif that I wanted of this scene previously existed in the gifs search. This gif belongs to me.]

Word count: 1,004

Rating: G

Summary: Poseidon cannot change fate, but he can be there for Percy when he is needed the most. In the only way a god can.

“Do you want to talk to him?” Sally asked, her voice tremulous as the storm Poseidon had conjured outside upon his arrival. “I know you shouldn’t but maybe just to hear his voice.”

It was easy for a god to covet things, to wish for wants, and demand them to appear. It was easy too for a god to change perceptions of reality, if only to bend the rules for a moment. Poseidon tasted that potential for a sliver of time when he glanced back at the patterned pane that separated him from the young boy. He could see glimpses of Percy through that inch of glass. A boy with eyes like the sea, with blond windswept hair, and a mustard yellow sweater.

Thunder shuddered the walls of the diner, rumbling in those few seconds that brought the truth back into focus and reminded Poseidon who he was…a god who could do nothing. 

It was difficult for a god to be powerless.

Poseidon forced himself now to never glance in Sally Jackson’s direction—to never tempt himself with forming something permanent with the mortal he loved. 

“One day,” he said so only she could hear. “One day, when he’s ready. When he knows who he is and where he belongs. And fate has revealed to him his true path. On that day…I’ll be right by his side.”

The scent of smoke and burning chocolate syrup mixed with sundae ascended from the tall glass cup that divided them. He could still feel the tingle of desperation in his ichor, the call of a human to his domain.

He allowed himself one look. One last look at her before he left. Her eyes were closed, the single tear that had escaped her eye finished its journey down her cheek, and he imagined what it would have been like if he could hold their son between them instead of holding their distance.

When he left, he knew the rain had continued its deluge upon that little town in Upstate New York. He permitted it to happen. What else could he offer?

That autumn day, he stood on the beach at Montauk. Alone because the humans who went there thought the waters too cold apart from the summer season. The ocean lapped at his feet, the breeze a welcome comfort.

Montauk was not his most awe-inspiring work. The waves were turbulent, the climate too unforgiving to warrant many seasonal visitors. Not like plenty of his other haunts where the sands were powder and the ocean a clear sapphire when much of the world froze. But Montauk was an aspect of him. Of rocks, surf, and pebbles hidden in shores. Of sharp sea glass, short cliffs, and gray waters.

Montauk was Sally. Montauk was Percy.

Poseidon stepped into the tides. He descended as easily as he always had. A current roared overhead, so strong that it could drag any careless swimmer under in a matter of seconds.

“Lord Poseidon?” chirped a hammerhead shark in his mind. “Lord Delphin wishes to meet with you about the upcoming dolphin migration from the Carolinas. The riptides might deter them from moving any faster.”

His eyes snapped to the shark. The creature stiffened with fear.

“Riptide,” Poseidon said. He looked above him once more at the same current that had pushed him below.

“Ye–yes,” stammered the shark. “That is indeed part of the problem.”

“Or it is part of the solution.”

The water bubbled and Poseidon disappeared. He called upon a force of old, a force he had not called upon for thousands of years since the time of Heracles. That familiar thing tugged at his core and in the palm of his hand, burning and thriving.

And so, when he reappeared, he was on the shore of Long Island Sound. Night engulfed him. Apollo completed his duty. There was silence on the beach.

He walked through the forest and past curious wood nymphs who melted out of trees. He felt their eyes. He felt their words. He let them pass.

Upon the hill, he saw the Big House, its glass shimmering with starlight. A shadow shifted on the porch.

“Chiron,” he remarked as he approached.

The centaur looked startled. Chiron unfolded himself from his resting position on the deck, a mortal book about architecture in his hand.  “Lord Poseidon!” he exclaimed. “It is a surprise to see you here.”

Poseidon hummed. He lifted his hand, the object he had willed into existence thrummed on his skin. "I have a task for you."

“You have laid a shroud of Mist over it, I see," Chiron observed. 

Poseidon nodded. “The world outside is dangerous. Humans do not understand our world. I do not expect them to.”

"It is a curious choice to disguise a weapon as a pen."

“A gift,” Poseidon corrected. “One day, there is sure to be someone who needs it more than I.

“The story of this blade is a tragic one, but it does not have to be. You must keep it in your possession. Do not let anyone who is not worthy take it. Do not let anyone know you have it.”

“How will I know who is to own it?” Chiron asked.

“You will know.”

Chiron studied him, and Poseidon felt like a demigod would if they were one of the centaur's pupils.

“The blade is called Anaklusmos," explained Poseidon. "Riptide.”

The name rolled off his tongue, and like a whirlpool forming in the deep, clashed against the currents that had prevented him from remembering it. A reminder that even the powerful were not invincible.

“The master of that blade will drown their enemies in the depths of the raging sea. It will protect them.” He glanced away. “I will protect them.”

Chrion took Anaklusmos from his hand.

Poseidon knew this desire of his was a fool’s quest for the impossible. But though a god could not change fate or ancient laws, he could try.

Poseidon was the sea. His son was born from defiance.

Also available on ao3.

[baejax-the-great]

[mellowthorn]

(original meme by twitter user @tarraerae)

[heyitsrink]

‘I myself saw him fly away on the back of a dragon. Girl-on-a-Dragon we called her. And if he has favoured you with an account of battles he saw, well, then you know more of it now than I’ve ever heard.’

A slow smile spread over the boy’s face. ‘Then he’s a hero, too.’

• • •

I got this comic idea the moment I found out Beloved was telling stories to his new friends up in Chade's lair. I included a version for both Ash and Spark because I just couldn't choose between them.

[lordgolden]

Robin Hobb really said I’m so sick of people shipping Fitz and the Fool. You know what I’m going to do about it?????? Give them a child

[ohnogenshverse]

I've rewatched Monodrama (Sparkle's trailer) because it's cool but now with the context of 2.1

Is she playing out Aventurine's story???

There is only one bullet left, wanna play a game? What's your wager? The life of a faker. Looks like someone's in my way. So what? Let me tell you what foolishness is. Pretending to be smart, like you do. Then, what is a fool? Knowing when to act clueless, like I do. Do you get it now? What is elation? Me! I am elation!

I mean, between the "life of a faker" as a wager, playing a game, "pretending to be smart" and "act clueless" (the scene with Sunday and Ratio), all the self-sabotage imagery and almost straight up suicide and the fact that he was invited to join the masked fools it all oddly fits

Idk maybe someone smarter will tell me I'm wrong, but I think that's interesting at least

[annot8]

Liveship!Amber vs Fitz and the Fool!Amber (click for better quality)

Do we think Malta recognised her right away, or only when she announced herself? Would Althea have known her if word had not been sent that she was coming?

———

Interested in commissioning me? Check out my pinned post! DM me with questions!

[mareastrorum]

I am irrationally suspicious that there's three pigs.

[creatureofsunandsky]

I was drowsing off when the Fool reached over to pat my face with a warm hand. ‘Good you’re alive,’ he muttered.

��Thank you,’ I said. I was summoning up Kettle’s game board and pieces in an effort to keep my mind to myself for the night. I had just begun to contemplate the problem. Suddenly I sat up, exclaiming, ‘Your hand is warm! Fool! Your hand is warm!’

‘Go to sleep,’ Starling chided me in an offended tone.

I ignored her. I dragged the blanket down from the Fool’s face and touched his cheek. His eyes opened slowly. ‘You’re warm,’ I told him. ‘Are you all right?’

‘I don’t feel warm,’ he informed me miserably. ‘I feel cold. And very, very tired.’

I began building up the fire in the brazier hastily. Around me the others were stirring. Starling across the tent had sat up and was peering at me through the gloom.

‘The Fool is never warm,’ I told them, trying to make them understand my urgency. ‘Always, when you touch his skin, it is cool. Now he’s warm.’

‘Indeed?’ Starling asked in an oddly sarcastic voice.

‘Is he ill?’ Kettle asked tiredly.

‘I don’t know. I’ve never known him to be ill in my whole life.’

‘I am seldom ill,’ the Fool corrected me quietly. ‘But this is a fever I have known before. Lie down and sleep, Fitz. I’ll be all right. I expect the fever will have burned out by morning.’

‘Whether it has or not, we must travel tomorrow morning,’ Kettricken said implacably. ‘We have already lost a day lingering here.’

I took a breath and imposed calm on my voice. ‘I will not seek to force any of you to my will. But if the Fool is not well enough to travel tomorrow, I shall not travel either.’

---

I sat beside the Fool as we drank our tea. When he handed me back the empty mug, his hand seemed warmer, not cooler.

‘Your fever is rising,’ I warned him.

‘No. It is just the heat of the mug on my skin,’ he suggested. I ignored him. ‘You are shaking all over.’

‘A bit,’ he admitted. Then his misery broke through and he said, ‘I am cold as I have never been before. My back and my jaws ache from shaking with it.’

Flank him, suggested Nighteyes. The big wolf shifted to press more closely against him. I added my blankets to those covering the Fool and then crawled in beside him. He said not a word but his shivering lessened somewhat.

‘I can’t recall that you were ever ill at Buckkeep,’ I said quietly.

‘I was. But very seldom, and I kept to myself. As you recall, the healer had little tolerance for me, and I for him. I would not have trusted my health to his purges and tonics. Besides, what works for your kind sometimes does nothing for mine.’

‘Is your kind so vastly different from mine?’ I asked after a time. He had brought us close to a topic we had seldom even mentioned.

‘In some ways,’ he sighed. He lifted a hand to his brow. ‘But sometimes I surprise even myself.’ He took a breath, then sighed it out as if he had endured some pain for an instant. ‘I may not even be truly ill. I have been going through some changes in the past year. As you have noticed.’ He added the last in a whisper.

‘You have grown, and gathered colour,’ I agreed softly.

‘That is a part of it.’ A smile twitched over his face, then faded. ‘I think I am almost an adult now.’

I snorted softly. ‘I have counted you as a man for many years, Fool. I think you found your manhood before I did mine.’

‘Did I? How droll!’ he exclaimed softly, and for a moment sounded almost like himself. His eyes sagged shut. ‘I am going to sleep now,’ he told me.

I made no reply. I shouldered deeper into the blankets beside him and set my walls once more. I sank into a dreamless rest that was not cautionless sleep.

I awoke before first light with a foreboding of danger. Beside me, the Fool slept heavily. I touched his face, and found it warm still and misted with sweat. I rolled away from him, tucking the blankets in tight around him.

---

I knew she was right, but it was still hard to force myself to shake the Fool to consciousness. He moved like a man in a daze. While the others bundled our gear, I hurried him into his coat and nagged him into an extra pair of leggings. I wrapped him in all our blankets and stood him outside while the rest of us struck the tent and loaded it.

---

I sat up in my blankets, convulsively gasping for air. It reminded me of wrestling and being slammed down on the flat of my back. For a moment I made tiny sounds as I sought to fill my lungs. Finally I drew a full breath. I looked about me in the darkness. Outside the tent, the windstorm howled. The brazier was a small red glow in the centre that illuminated little more than Kettle’s huddled form sleeping close to it.

‘Are you all right?’ the Fool asked me quietly. ‘No,’ I said softly. I lay back down beside him. I was suddenly too tired to think, too tired to say another word. The sweat on my body chilled and I began to shiver. The Fool surprised me by putting an arm around me. I moved closer to him gratefully, sharing warmth. The sympathy of my wolf wrapped me. I waited for the Fool to say something comforting. He was too wise to try. I fell asleep longing for words that did not exist.