The Fool leaves him to the task of cleaning his blade after the battle, and instead takes advantage of what precious little privacy he can to clean the remaining blood from his face and change into a clean set of clothes.

When he emerges sometime later, refreshed by the water and the chance to regain his composure, he comes to perch himself neatly on a stool near to Fitz. Gilded by firelight, he gazes into the embers and lets his fingers absently braid his damp hair into a tail across one shoulder. They're alone, for the moment.

The Fool sighs. Then, after a heavy pause, he admits, "I suppose you will have questions for me, won't you, Fitz."