The Fool, in his turn, is a quiet, still listener. He sits with his hands folded in his lap, the end of his braid nearly long enough to brush against his forearm. He cannot know how damaged he will be by the future that awaits him--and that ignorance, so new and frightening, makes him guess at the shadows in Fitz's eyes.

Those dark, cherished eyes--

"It has been some months, for me," he answers softly, slowly, taking some time to adjust to the news as Fitz presents it to him. He looks down to his hands, at the faded marks of silver on his fingertips. "Prilkop and I were close to Clerres again when I awoke--" an idle gesture around them, coupled with a whimsical, wry quirk to the corners of his lips, "--here, in this place.

"So here we are, out of our time together." Here, his smile quirks wistfully, his eyes softening. "I fear you have lost more than I. I'd hoped you had gone back to her, Fitz." To Molly.