He gives a little laugh as he settles back down onto the pallet, indeed seeming to warm himself next to the fireplace with all the contentment of a housecat. He lolls his head to the side to peer at Fitz wryly. "The things you say," he says teasingly, but given how quickly he looks away, up towards the stars that shine overhead, he's only partly teasing.

There's such an intimacy, such an attentiveness to the way that Fitz looks at him now, and it unnerves as much as it excites the old longing in him. Memories of seeing small black and white posies left for him on his tea tray back in Lord Golden's chambers in Buckkeep Castle, believing for so long that they were tokens of affection from Fitz, only to discover after that terrible quarrel, that they were not. That they would never be, for Fitz would never desire him that way.

It is better, the Fool believes, to let that go.

Would that it were easier, with Fitz laying so close to him by the campfire.

"We'll return to Aifaran in the morning," he says softly and pillows his head with one slender arm. "Then you shall tell me everything about Bee, and your new life."