Fitz catches his wrist, and the Fool goes still but doesn't pull away. He flexes his fingers weakly in Fitz's grip and shakes his head.

"You mustn't make this harder than it already is, Fitz," he tries to say so gently, so tenderly, but already emotion makes his voice weak, unsteady. He struggles to take another breath and touches Fitz's hand with his own, working to loosen his beloved's grip from his wrist. "I am a prophet out of my time. There is no place for me in the world that I've left behind--not if, as you say, you left me waiting for you in Buckkeep. I must still be waiting for you there, waiting for you to return, to fulfill your role as Catalyst again."

He sits up now with his back to Fitz, turning to face the fire again. This is too much, it is too painful, it would have been less agonizing if they'd never seen each other again after that fateful, final visit to Aslevjal--

Another breath and he squeezes his eyes shut tightly. "I cannot go with you," he whispers, "and I cannot keep you here with me."