"How, without you here with me!" The words bursts out of the Fool angrily, and with such ferocious energy that even he lifts up a hand to cover his mouth. He stares at Fitz without words for a moment or two, then gathers up his cloak around his shoulders and rises up from the pallet to take a few paces away from the warmth of the fire. He needs that distance, needs it just to clear his head, to regain his composure--

His shoulders rise and fall with each breath, but his face remains hidden from view in the dark.

Then, measured, "If I do not go back to my time, then there is no guarantee that you and I shall meet again, in your time. No guarantee that the suffering I endured will serve any purpose at all. I cannot--I cannot conscience it, Fitz. I cannot."

Slowly he turns around again; the anger is gone from his eyes. There's only sadness there now. "You were right. We must go back--but I cannot go back with you."

This is all they have left.