"...until she--she passed. Including the birth of a daughter."
What a peculiar sensation it is, to experience joy and grief in tandem with each other. The Fool winces in sympathy and almost reaches out to rest his hand on Fitz's forearm, before thinking better of it. (No, he counsels himself, he had good reasons for choosing to let go of this friendship, to let time and distance put space between them that he himself had never been able to do. Don't make this harder on yourself than it already is, don't reach for what is not yours.)
"I'm so sorry, Fitz." And he is, in a way that defies his ability to describe it. Molly Chandler, Molly Redskirts--the love of Fitz's life--at least they'd had those years together, after all they'd lost. Then he smiles and makes himself recall the good news coupled together with the bad. "And--congratulations are in order," he adds, laughing some, "I suppose, though they come very late. Tell me of your daughter. How old is she now? What does Nettle think of her?"
no subject
What a peculiar sensation it is, to experience joy and grief in tandem with each other. The Fool winces in sympathy and almost reaches out to rest his hand on Fitz's forearm, before thinking better of it. (No, he counsels himself, he had good reasons for choosing to let go of this friendship, to let time and distance put space between them that he himself had never been able to do. Don't make this harder on yourself than it already is, don't reach for what is not yours.)
"I'm so sorry, Fitz." And he is, in a way that defies his ability to describe it. Molly Chandler, Molly Redskirts--the love of Fitz's life--at least they'd had those years together, after all they'd lost. Then he smiles and makes himself recall the good news coupled together with the bad. "And--congratulations are in order," he adds, laughing some, "I suppose, though they come very late. Tell me of your daughter. How old is she now? What does Nettle think of her?"