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The[1] present paper is the continuation of a project begun alongside the Tales after Tolkien Society, details of which beginning are presented in “An Update to ‘Moving Beyond Tolkien’s Medievalism,'” presented at the 2024 International Congress on Medieval Studies.[2] The original project moved from an initial explication of how Robin Hobb’s Farseer trilogy works with and adapts the setting of the typical Tolkienian-tradition fantasy work to how that trilogy and the succeeding Tawny Man trilogy move away from the Tolkienian tradition to present a fantasy setting more akin to North America, particularly the Pacific Northwest, than to an ambiguously feudal Northern and Western European setting.[3] The 2024 paper takes in two other series set in the same narrative continuum, the Liveship Traders and Rain Wilds Chronicles novels, furthering explication of the North-American-ness of the Realm of the Elderlings corpus in which Hobb has written most of her work. The present paper turns to what is currently the final component of the Realm of the Elderlings corpus, the Fitz and the Fool novels, identifying how Hobb continues the work of her previous series to assert and operate within a setting separated from the Tolkienian tradition, even if clearly still conversant with it.
Not quite the robin under discussion… Photo by Ken Jacobsen on Pexels.com
The Already Ongoing Conversation
That Hobb has been and remains in conversation with Tolkien is clear. Earlier portions of the project this paper continues acknowledge as much, identifying areas of correspondence (particularly in the earlier-published and, presumably, -written) between parts of the Realm of the Elderlings corpus and Tolkien’s Legendarium. There are commonalities, not least in the social structures described as at play in the Six Duchies and the seemingly evident borrowings from early English and Norse languages and cultures showing up in the Outislands–two of the major political powers described in the Realm of the Elderlings corpus.[4] Kelsingra and its surroundings also evoke The Professor at some length, if with nuance.[5] And Hobb herself notes being steeped in Tolkien,[6] aside from working in a genre Tolkien effectively defines for modern readers, so that it is to be expected she would echo him in some ways.
It goes ever on and on…and no few go with it. Photo by Jay Brand on Pexels.com
Because substantial portions of the Fitz and the Fool novels take place in areas familiar from earlier series–notably the Six Duchies, Kelsingra, and the Cursed Shores–patterns of correspondence to and divergence from the tropes of the Tolkienian fantasy tradition identified as at work in those areas remain in place. For but one example, as frequent narrator FitzChivalry Farseer (“Fitz”) operates necessarily clandestinely in Buckkeep, a crow makes ominous noises in ways reminiscent of Nordic myth, particularly as coupled with Fitz’s long lupine association,[7] which brings his characterization back towards the underpinnings of Tolkien’s major literary milieu. Some time afterward, Fitz finds himself subjected, without much advance warning if any, to a ceremony that, while clearly grounded in the medieval(ist) from which Tolkien works, also shows details that might well emerge from more North American sources.[8]
Meanwhile, or close to it, as Fitz’s daughter Bee is taken by her captors towards Clerres, included in-milieu commentary remarks upon tattooing practices, following fairly explicitly on comments made in earlier entries in the Realm of the Elderlings corpus,[9] as well as tying into tropes associated with indigenous populations that, while not necessarily limited to North American indigenous groups, are certainly associated with them. It also ties into racial tropes that work from Manichean allegory, as similar comments following soon after suggest,[10] which has some more unfortunate implications regarding particular Tolkienian resonances and the audiences attuned thereto, as a number of scholars point out.[11]
In a yet later example, Bee travels up the Rain Wild River, noting animals and plants that seem to line up with North American flora and fauna.[12] This parallels an earlier example in which Fitz travels from Kelsingra down the Rain Wild River, he remarks upon a litany of creatures that reflect more of the Pacific Northwest than Europe, as well as motioning towards some more concrete chronology than is typical for the Realm of the Elderlings novels.[13] The travel and remarks Hobb’s milieu–and, by default, the characters in it–away from Tolkien’s work in their presentation of natural geography, even as they start (but only start) to build towards the kind of calendar-work notable in the Appendices to The Lord of the Rings. The tension, then, between adherence to and divergence from Tolkien’s work remains in place as Hobb’s continues.
Although it is the case that the milieu changes with the passage of time (such change itself a defiance of the temporal stasis perceivedly at work in much Tolkienian-tradition literature and even in the Legendarium itself[14]), it does not change so much as to be unrecognizable.[15] Many of the characters introduced in even the earliest parts of the Realm of the Elderlings corpus–Chade Fallstar and Kettricken are perhaps the most prominent examples other than Fitz and the Fool–remain present and active in the Fitz and the Fool novels; their attitudes remain largely as they had been, or at least change only so much as it might be expected that a person’s attitudes and perspectives change with the passage of decades. At root, the conversation that had been going on prior to the Fitz and the Fool novels continues in them, referring back to things said before and, it must be noted, occasionally repeating them.
Adding to the Conversation
Expanding from the earlier series and treatments of the same, substantial portions of the Fitz and the Fool novels–chiefly, though not exclusively, in the final novel–take place under the control of another major, substantially antagonistic, political power in the milieu: Clerres. To be sure, there is some correspondence to be found between Clerres and Western Europe, so that there continue to be invocations of the Tolkienian fantasy literature tradition at work in the Fitz and the Fool novels. In another earlier paper presented at the International Congress on Medieval Studies,[16] I make the point that Clerres
rings of medievalist depictions of capital cities. It is described at one point as “a very beautiful city on a bay on a large island named Kells in the old tongue,”27 and Kells is itself an invocation of the medieval through the famous illuminated manuscript. It is also framed in terms reminiscent of medieval descriptions of Mont-Saint-Michel, particularly in the emphasis on its fortifications and its accessibility principally via a tidal causeway.28
the prophecies they [in Clerres] make available to petitioners–for fees that range in scope from the modest to the exorbitant and well beyond it–are not the core of their work. They are instead pieces bartered for support of their own, often abusive lifestyles,33 and for the organization’s work towards enacting one particular vision of the future it sees…it might be argued that such practice does align to medieval western European religious practice–the sale of indulgences criticized by Reformation theologians comes to mind as one example, the satire in Chaucer’s Pardoner another–the lack of organized and stratified observance, the lack of proselytizing, and the efficacy of practice that can only happen in a fantasy milieu all serve to make the religion centered around the White Prophets decidedly distinct from potential antecedents.
Again, then, Clerres does and does not partake of the documented and attested medieval; it remains conversant with but not necessarily aligned to the Tolkienian fantasy literature tradition.
As noted, something of a reference point. Photo by Bingqian Li on Pexels.com
Part of that conversation does take the form of frustrating some already-asserted alignments with what some perceive as Tolkienian tradition. In one instance, an enduring figure from the novels, Prilkop, is explicitly celebrated as being the seniormost and most accomplished of those prophets trained in Clerres, his ancientry indicated in no small part by the exceptional darkness of his skin.[18] Much later, he emerges as the leader of the remnants of Clerres, taking charge of those like him who survive its destruction.[19] That he is able to do so makes some sense; he is the eldest and most experienced of those who had inhabited Clerres, presumably the one left who knows most, and so should step into leadership. And there is some alignment with Tolkienian tropes in his doing so; Prilkop is immensely old in the novels, effectively immortal and definitely both of enhanced perceptive abilities and some distance from the shorter-lived around him, all of which evokes Tolkien’s Eldar.
Yet the fact of Prilkop’s skin-color remains, almost an inversion of Tolkien’s usual presentation in which the mightiest and noblest of Elves are the Fair or are, in most cases, descended from them.[20] And there is the issue, too, that Prilkop enacts, at least in some ways, some of the more problematic racial tropes on display in the United States. Prior to taking up leadership, Prilkop aligns himself with one of the other survivors of the ruin of Clerres: Capra. He does so in a way that comes off as fawningly subservient to her,[21] and that despite her outright administration of no few of the policies and actions that make Clerres not only antagonistic, but outright evil. (Clerres knowingly attempts genocide,[22] and it is overtly eugenicist.[23] It also makes little of torture, using it often, although less as a flawed interrogation method than for entertainment.[24] None of the aforementioned bespeaks a particularly good moral stance.) And it is despite his own abuses at her direction if not her hands. No Wormtongue, Prilkop; no final straw leads him to end his oppressor. No neat parallel of Tolkien, he, although certainly far more of a repetition of a pernicious United States trope than is comfortable to read.
The frustration of the color-trope is, admittedly, not new to events in Clerres, although it does seem to center on the White Prophets who traditionally emerged from it. (That Bee, herself a White Prophet, appears other than under control of Clerres is a frustration to that polity’s plans; her kidnapping from the Six Duchies is an attempt to manipulate futures,[25] one ultimately unsuccessful and ruinous.[26]) Throughout the Realm of the Elderlings corpus, the idea emerges that the more successful a White Prophet is in accomplishing his or her goals, the more fully the Prophet causes the prophecies to come true, the less white the Prophet becomes; the reverse is also true, as when Bee is pulled away from her envisioned future, she grows paler.[27] This is at odds with such depictions in Tolkien as the Istari, where the primacy of a given wizard is associated with whiteness and the lapse thereof as the loss of the same.[28]
Indeed, it is possible to read the top-level governance of Clerres as a near-inversion of the Five Wizards. In Tolkien, the white wizard is, as noted, paramount; in Clerres, the White Prophet of whom those at Clerres are ostensibly servants (so much so that they are called Servants), is in fact chosen by the leading Servants, the Four.[29] That is, in essence, the White Prophet is subordinate to the others, having been cultivated, trained, and selected by them to conduce to their own ends and enrichment.[30] Additionally, the Four are color-coded: one each is dressed in blue, red, green, and yellow.[31] The color-palette is more simplistic than Tolkien’s, to be sure, receiving comment in the narrative and calling to mind the packages of crayons often given young children at restaurants. That palette marks its wearers as self-constructed artifice, as opposed to the charged and commissioned nature of the Istari (although it may be that their very colorfulness is, itself, a nod to Saruman, multicolored once fallen). In them, then, as in other things, Hobb presents Clerres as both working recognizably within the Tolkienian tradition and moving away from it in decided ways.
One other way in which Hobb uses Clerres to frustrate the Realm of the Elderlings as a participant in the Tolkienian tradition of fantasy literature is in its interactions with Christian tropes. That Tolkien writes within a Christian, specifically Roman Catholic, worldview is abundantly attested, needing little if any rehearsal at this point to assert that, although the Legendarium does not do much with overt religious practice, it reflects particular theological and doctrinal stances throughout. Clerres, of course, deviates from this, making the ostensible religion of which it is the center a system of control and resource extraction, preying upon sincere belief (that is bolstered by overt demonstration across many volumes of the Realm of the Elderlings corpus) as a means of enrichment; it is not a faith unless it is a faith in the rightness of the Servants and their own worthiness to guide the world as they see fit.[32] Rather than a background from which narrative emerges, the “faith” at work in Clerres is a centered, centralized regime, and if there is not much depicted of formal observance,[33] there is still clear organization and explicit conformity of doctrine at work.
More focused an example is a reported part of the captivity of another White Prophet, the titular Fool of the Fitz and the Fool novels. Having once escaped from Clerres in the pursuit of enacting his own prophecies, he had returned with Prilkop to Clerres in the hopes of effecting changes to its practices and predilections. Initially, the pair had been welcomed back warmly, the Servants tending to them and attending to them, seeking wisdom in the visions that they could report. Soon enough, however, the pair began to recognize themselves as having been captured again, and while Prilkop was confined relatively gently, the Fool was taken into far harsher conditions, pressed for information regarding the death of an erstwhile White Prophet, Ilistore.[34] The Fool reports that there were some among the Servants who attempted to help him now and again; after some time, the attempts stopped, and he began to notice parts of bodies in the food he was given in his captivity, parts he recognized as belonging to those who attempted to aid him, although not until after he had eaten.[35]
Now, the Fool is something of a messianic figure, being a prophet come with a message of a better world, at ease with diverse populations, and having died and come back to life.[36] Here, rather than giving of his flesh and blood, willingly, for those whom he would serve, he unwittingly eats of the flesh and blood of those who had sought to serve him; instead of being a sacrifice for others, he receives the sacrifice of others, and instead of pointing toward a liberation and exaltation, he is made all the more imprisoned and is debased. For him to be constrained into something legible as an anti-Communion, in addition to being an example of evil written in bold letters,[37] is a striking deviation from the Tolkienian tradition, an abuse that stands out not only from the relatively genteel writing of the Professor, but also from even much of the “grittier” work that comprises much mainstream fantasy literature. It is not the final word in the conversation between Hobb’s work and Tolkien’s, certainly, but it does ring out as an obscenity within it.
Not quite the same Hoc est corpus meus… Photo by cottonbro studio on Pexels.com
That the Fitz and the Fool novels continue to present the tension between adherence to and divergence from the Tolkienian fantasy tradition begun in the earlier Realm of the Elderlings novels is clear. That they recapitulate the invocation and exploitation of North-American-ness at work in the Farseer, Liveship Traders, Tawny Man, and Rain Wilds Chronicles novels is evident. That they go further, in some ways more directly rebutting the Legendarium than their predecessors, emerges upon reading. In doing so, the novels yet further expand possibility for the genre in which they participate, making more space for more to emerge, hopefully to readers’ delight.
Future Conversations?
It is at this point not likely that more novels will be added to the Realm of the Elderlings corpus; their author grows older and, in a number of social media posts, has remarked upon the effects of her aging on her writing ability.[38] There are some other works already extant in it that the project this paper extends has not treated–a novella or two, several short stories in various collections, that sort of thing–so that a further extension of the project this paper informs might well offer some few additional notes, but anything more substantial is, unfortunately, not to be expected.
What might be of more substance would be a reading of Hobb’s other major narrative milieu, that of the Soldier Son novels, in a manner similar to that of the Realm of the Elderlings novels. That milieu is even further removed from the Tolkienian tradition than is that of the Realm of the Elderlings, although it does retain some correspondences to it; there is also less extant scholarly work on the series,[39] owing in part to its later start and shorter duration.
Whatever the case for future work may be, Hobb’s nuancing of the Tolkienian tradition of fantasy literature does serve to show that writing within it can be sufficiently grounded in it to be recognizable as belonging to it and with it while still moving away from its tropes and trends in ways that invite in more readers. As has been noted on more than one occasion by more than one commenter, representation matters; Hobb’s novels show more figures and different than is still typical of Tolkienian-tradition literature, reminding readers recreational and scholarly that there is still plenty of room for them. It behooves us to take a look around and see what can be found therein.
There are worse things than a sunset. Photo by Regan Dsouza on Pexels.com
[1] Given that the present paper is written for oral delivery and will likely only see publication online, most citation will be informal in nature. Those things not readily available or able to be referenced via hyperlink will receive more formal attestation, but if it can be linked, it will be.
[4] What those earlier portions of the project do not detail are correspondences between another of the major political blocs, the Chyurda / Mountain Kingdom, and Tolkien’s Elves. Another scholarly someday presents itself.
[20] Consider Tolkien’s Vanyar, who removed entirely to the Blessed Realm and whose head is considered the leader of the entire race (The Silmarillion, ch. 3). Consider, too, Fingolfin and Finarfin, themselves sons of Indis of the Vanyar, and their exploits; they “were great and glorious, and their children also; and if they had not lived the history of the Eldar would have been diminished” (The Silmarillion, ch. 6). Golden hair and pale skin are typical descriptors.
[32] As noted in many of my rereading commentaries, there are parallels to various capitalist / colonialist / nationalist endeavors to be found herein. A conference paper does not admit of addressing them alongside the main argument, however.
[37] In comments regarding my rereading, I remark on Hobb’s motion towards overt evils in her later Realm of the Elderlings works, far more than the pettinesses and brokenness at work in the Farseer and Liveship Traders novels.
[39] At the time of this writing, I am aware only of a handful of formal papers on the series: Siobhan Carroll’s “Honor-bound: Self and Other in the Honor Culture of Robin Hobb’s Soldier Son Series,” Anna Metsäpelto’s Attitudes to Fat Characters in Fantasy Literature—Cases from The Soldier Son by Robin Hobb and A Song of Ice and Fire by George R.R. Martin, and Helen Young’s “Critiques of Colonialism in Robin Hobb’s Soldier Son Trilogy.” I’ve also given a conference paper on the matter, one I do mean to revisit. Work on my Hobb bibliography (at https://elliottrwi.com/research/hobb-bibliography/) goes on, if slowly, so I might run into more, and I hope so, but I haven’t seen it yet.
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Some months ago, I wrote a piece commenting on my expected involvement in the 61st International Congress on Medieval Studies, hosted at Western Michigan University in Kalamazoo, Michigan. The time for it has come; I am amid its proceedings even as this piece reaches the greater outside world, and I’ll have more to say about it than I do at the moment. But I do have something to say about it at the moment, and even if some other projects I have going are on a bit of a break while I address the ‘zoo and other matters, I do feel some need to keep things going here.
Something I’m missing, and something soon to be gone away forever. Image is mine from before.
As has been the case for several years, I am attending the Congress virtually, meeting in a series of online sessions to listen to papers, give talks, and enter into something like learned discussion with my peers and with people who have succeeded where I failed to secure a continuing faculty position. (That I could not still rankles, even though I know that 1) I’m in a pretty good spot and 2) the professoriate is not quite so delightful as it might be thought from my comments. I do still have friends and acquaintances on that side of things, so I do still keep at least a little bit abreast of what’s going on in academe.) Given my schedule and finances, as well as the needs of my family and of the small Hill Country town where I live, I can’t (at this point) justify the expense or time away that visiting the ‘zoo in person would require, but I am happy to get as much engagement with such things as I have been able to get. The work I do now is good work, being generally helpful to people and, it must be noted, intellectually stimulating, but I do miss being able to sit around and go on at length about the kinds of things I spent a couple decades getting good at; it’s nice to touch base with that every now and again.
I’ll admit to missing being on site, even if it is the case (as I have been told) that the event is much reduced from when I was able to attend in person. Video conferences are fine and good, and I very much appreciate sleeping in my own bed at night and sitting in my good chairs. So much being said, I also benefited from running into people in the hallways and around campus, not only my colleagues as medievalists, but the people who inhabit a campus year-round, as well as the people of the surrounding city, whose offerings have been edifying and whose food and drink were delicious. Impromptu meetings and discussions illuminate in ways that no preplanned talk can (which is not at all to say there is no value in the preplanned talk; there are definitely things it can do that don’t work, or don’t work well, off the cuff). That kind of less-mediated exchange (I say “less-mediated” because there’s always some mediation; there’s always some mediation at work, if only because language is limited) does not really happen online, and it is admittedly not always to the good, but it can offer unanticipated and unpredictable insight and inspiration.
It may be the case that I will be able to get back to the ‘zoo in person. I imagine that I will find some things greatly changed if I do, not least the lodgings available; the traditional places are being taken down and replaced with new things, and others yet have been added. The meeting sites, themselves, are other than when I was there before, if the program I received in the mail is to be believed (and I am sure that it is). The people will be different; I was privileged in past years to speak with and learn from people whose names were on the books I read for classes and for my dissertation, but as I have grown older, they have, too, and there are fewer of them now than before. So much is the way of things, of course, that some pass on and there is lamentation for it. But as the poet puts it, “Þæs ofereode; þisses swa mæg”; as someone who trained as a medievalist, someone whose life has benefited from the study of such things, I would do well to keep it in mind.
Until and unless that happens, though…I have more to say about the ‘zoo this year, and I’ve got some work to do to put together things for next year. I find that, even if it’s only online, I want to do it again.
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How much delight I took in hearing how she played, One among the many there arrayed In lacquered brass and polished grenadilla, And how much more in knowing that the sound That did me and others then surround Will carry forward for some years yet!
It’s good for folks of all ages! Photo by Mustata Silva on Pexels.com
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The final chapter of the Fitz and the Fool novels, “The Mountains,” is preceded by a brief note about the Skill-roads penned by Fitz. The chapter itself opens with Nettle and Kettricken conferring about their respective next steps as those who had been gathered to attend on Fitz’s passing make their departures. Bee remarks about the various groups heading out, and she departs with Kettricken, Integrity, Hap, Motley, Spark, and Perseverance for Jhaampe after bidding Nettle farewell. Bee’s thoughts turn to mundane matters as the party around her proceeds at ease. Following the Skill-road out of the quarry, Bee is startled by Perseverance’s assertion that they are being followed, at which Kettricken smiles. Notes about the author and about the typeface conclude the text.
I do like this artist’s work! Piece is Katrina Sapraova’s Goodbyes from Tumblr, here, used for commentary.
The present chapter is not the first to be titled “The Mountains”; there is another such, following Kettricken proceeding through the mountains with Fitz and others in attendance, in Assassin’s Quest. As before, it might be of interest to read the chapters against one another, although it would be a short read, given the brevity of the present, final chapter.
As might be expected, the present chapter resolves a few of the points not previously addressed, although it leaves those resolutions somewhat open. The characters’ next destinations are clear, and there is little if any suggestion that they will not arrive, but those arrivals are not presented. In the novel as in life, there is not a definitive ending–and, from a commercial standpoint, leaving the (tantalizing) possibility of sequels open is a useful thing. I do not think I am alone in hoping to continue to follow the Farseers.
As far as the rereading goes: there are other Realm of the Elderlings materials to treat, including possibly some that I do not have copies of in my possession. Reading them, if they’re there and I can get them, will be a pleasure. I’ll definitely return to those I have, doing for them what I have already done (and will possibly improve upon?) for the main narrative line; I’ll also take up the Soldier Son novels, about which there’s not a lot written that I know of. More scholarly somedays will follow, I have no doubt; I’ve already been sitting on several for a while, now, and it may be nice to revisit them.
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The penultimate chapter of the novel, “Lies and Truths,” follows comments from Bee regarding Fitz’s friendship with the Fool. The chapter, proper, opens with Bee complaining to Nettle of those attending on Fitz’s death, and his continued deterioration is rehearsed. Nettle opines on royal responsibilities and commiserates with Bee about the demands thereof, offering advice about how to negotiate matters.
Something like this, perhaps? Photo by Andrea Prochilo on Pexels.com
Bee’s continued attendance on her father is reported, as is a gloss of what Nettle is able to tell her of the process of stone-carving and -quickening. Bee’s continued misgivings are noted and set aside.
Fitz continues to linger, and those attending on him offer such aid as they can, giving memories to him to put into the stone. Not all succeed, and Bee watches as the Fool sorrows at proceedings. She plots to give of herself to the stone in the night, but the Fool interdicts her. She recalls her earlier lie to him about Fitz’s words and recants it. The commotion surrounding the recantation rouses the camp, as well as Fitz, who reaches out to the Fool. The Fool reciprocates, and the two go into the carved stone wolf. The carving rouses, commends Bee, and bounds into the distance, leaving Bee, Nettle, and the rest behind.
As has so often been the case, the prefatory materials in the chapter attract attention. Of note to my eye is Bee’s complaint about the Fool’s names (837): “It is a ridiculous name, but perhaps if my name were Beloved, I would consider Fool an improvement. Whatever were his parents thinking? Did they truly imagine everyone he ever encountered would wish to call him Beloved?” Some might point out some irony in a character named Bee ridiculing another’s name, there being no few ways to make cruel jokes about the name. Some might point out, too, that Bee has a bastard and a stinging plant in her immediate family, as well as a complex question for an in-law; neither “fool” nor “beloved” seem so strange against “fitz,” “nettle,” and “riddle.” Some might further point out that the propensity towards emblematic names in the Six Duchies generally and among the Farseers in particular makes Fool entirely apt for a jester and Beloved suitable for a child. (Regarding the parental comment: as a parent, I certainly find myself expecting that others will recognized the excellence of my child, and as someone who has been a teacher, I find I am far from alone in having such expectations, even if mine are more justified than others’ may be.) Perhaps some kind of translation convention is at issue; Amanda is a common enough name, she who must be loved (with an admittedly interesting set of connotations for those who know their Latin), and Tesoro, treasure or treasured, is not too unusual a surname in more than a few places. Perhaps it is a teenage girl reeling at the loss of her father and lashing out. Perhaps it is more than one thing; several fit, and there is room enough for many.
As far as the chapter itself goes, as befits being near to the end not only of a novel and not only of one trilogy, but of a multi-series narrative arc, much is resolved. There is something backhandedly messianic about it, of course, the unification and immortalization of a trinity, and it occurs to me that Freudian reading might well apply to the interactions among the principals of the chapter’s actions: Fitz, Nighteyes, and the Fool. They map reasonably neatly onto the superego, id, and ego, respectively…and it occurs to me that such a reading would, itself, make for yet another of the many scholarly somedays my rereading has pointed out. In any event, the dream voiced long ago comes true for Fitz and Nighteyes, and their story and the Fool’s is finally fully resolved, no ragged partings left for any of them as before.
But the present chapter is not the last one; there is yet another, so not all can be resolved yet–if ever, in the fiction as in life.
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An excerpt from Bee’s journals precedes “Time.” The chapter begins with Fitz reflecting on lessons Burrich had taught him after his resurrection. Fitz’s continued deterioration is noted, and the parasites with which he is infested present themselves openly. Fitz briefly entertains possibilities of healing and return to Buckkeep, but the memory of the messenger from the Fool he had burned asserts itself as specific physical symptoms manifest, to Fitz’s shock.
It’s important. Photo by Viktoria Emilia on Pexels.com
Fitz’s routine in the stone-quarry receives some explication, along with his ongoing deterioration. His isolation from Nighteyes tells upon him, and he works on carving his effigy without hope. Amid his efforts, he sleeps fitfully, waking uneasily at the sound of approaching voices. Nighteyes returns to him, then, and the Fool finds him, followed by Bee, Perseverance, Lant, Spark, Kettricken, and Motley. The new arrivals work to tend to Fitz, thinking initially to take him to Buckkeep, but Fitz sets that notion aside in favor of his work on the stone. Almost without realizing it, he resumes the work.
Fitz recognizes in himself what is happening and explains to those who had not seen it before what will take place. He fades in and out of lucidity among his work and the attentions paid him by the rest, and Bee speaks to him of her desire to write down the tale of his days. Fitz agrees, relating his memories to her as he lets them pass into the stone, beginning with his delivery to Verity at Moonseye. Days pass as he does so, tended by others as he empties himself more and more into the stone and his body deteriorates further and further under the influence of the parasites that besiege him. Some days later, Nettle and her Skill-coterie arrive, and after the Skillmistress rebukes the members of Dutiful’s court that she can, she has her physician examine Fitz. The examination concludes that Fitz’s condition is terminal, and Fitz makes a series of pronouncements for how he wants his affairs settled. Kettricken offers to take on much of the work involved in effecting that settlement. Later, the Fool confers with him more privately along the same lines, offering to put his own memories into the stone, but Fitz refuses him.
Fitz continues his work. Kettricken makes a point to tend to him, and she laughs sadly at their conversation, recalling her attempt to kill him and noting the changes the pair of them had wrought across nations before kissing Fitz. She notes her desire to visit Verity nearby and asks Fitz to await her return, to which he agrees.
Later, Fitz complains to the Fool of his situation, the recent arrival of Dutiful, his sons, and his coterie at the quarry, and he notes the impatience of the king. The increasing interior emptiness of his filling the stone with himself and the degradation of his body by the parasites tell on Fitz, and the Fool notes his difficulties with Bee. What Fitz has put of the Fool into the stone receives remark, and what the pair are to each other receives attention. At the Fool’s touch, Fitz is taken by knowledge of the other, but the importance of it does not reach him.
Fitz wakes later in blood and pain, seeing through bleary eyes those gathered around him to watch. He and the wolf confer about what must happen, and Fitz tries to release himself into the carved stone, but he cannot do so.
That the present chapter should parallel the experience of Verity years before is a sensible thing; Fitz is doing very much the same thing his uncle did, and struggling more with it despite many more years of life and its concomitant depth of experience. Some of that difficulty may be ascribed to the parasites ravaging Fitz’s body; Verity did not have that particular problem as he carved his dragon. Some of it, too, may be ascribed to the relative lack of aid Fitz has in accomplishing his task; while Kettricken and the Fool, who had also tended Verity in his efforts, and the others with them tend to his body, and Kettricken offers memories worth preserving in the present chapter as she had in the past, Verity benefited from the Skilled assistance of Kestrel, while Fitz actively pushes against the Skilled near him giving much if any of themselves for his work. It is not without reason that he does so, of course; he has not been so close to them as would suggest spending an eternity with them as a fused being, for one, and they have their own lives to live and others depending upon them. Nor does he have the broader exigency under which Verity operated; his passage into the stone will not save the Six Duchies, but only preserve himself and Nighteyes. But even with such differences noted and others identifiable, Fitz is following his uncle; it might well be wondered how many of the other Farseers will do so in some dimly glimpsed future of the milieu.
Kettricken’s comments in the present chapter also attract attention. That Fitz “never did” see her, at which she smiles sadly (819), that she tends to him with such care as she does, that she is struck as she is by his retention of the fox pin she had given him long ago, that she reminisces with him as she does, all suggest that there might have been some kind of romance between them, had matters been different. As it is, there is love between them, something clear throughout most of the Realm of the Elderlings corpus, one borne of shared suffering and mutual love of Verity, and there is some suggestion that the pair of them are reasonably of an age. It is one of the might-have-beens that pervade any long-term narrative–and, indeed, many lives in the readerly world. Had Fitz been legitimated, had he been legitimate, had but a few things fallen otherwise than they did…but the Realm of the Elderlings novels rely in large part on small bits of history happening instead of others, and had such things taken place as would have needed to, even so late as the Tawny Man trilogy, what else would not have been possible in the later works? And, yes, “it’s just a story,” but it’s also the case that such concerns obtain in the readerly world; the “might-have-been” is sometimes entertaining but not necessarily the best use of mental effort.
As a final note (for now, at least), the present chapter answers the question posed earlier (notably here, here, and here) about who the in-milieu author is. For the Farseer and Tawny Man trilogies, it remains Fitz (with some interpolations of other sources); for the Fitz and the Fool novels, it is Bee throughout, with the Fitz-centered narration being presumably Bee’s records made as her father carves the Skill-stone and pours his memories into it. I’m not sure at this point, having not been as good at keeping notes as would have allowed me to be so, how that affects the reading; maybe I will look back on more than five hundred chapters of writing again and find out.
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Finishing from the previous session, participants in the game of Dungeons and Dragons that I had been running at the local public library had their players make final attempts to extricate themselves from the dungeon into which they had paritally penetrated. Following the conclusion of play, participants were asked their opinions of the program and its contents, as well as for ideas for future such offerings, should any be made. Given the completion of another narrative arc, characters were permitted to advance to the next level of achievement, and participants were given their materials as something resembling a parting gift (they had previously been in my possession).
Time to put the books away… Photo by Stephen Hardy on Pexels.com
Having previously conferred with library administration, I can report that it is likely the program will be renewed in the fall term, with specific dates to be determined. It may be that some game other than Dungeons & Dragons will be on offer; it may also be that other groups will be branched out from that which played at my table these past several months. More details than just the dates are yet to be determined, although I am pleased that there is room for the program to continue and for me to remain engaged with it.
As has often been the case in the past when I have concluded a session with students–and the participants in the library’s game have been students, overt educational objectives having been addressed with them by request–I have some reflection to offer. One piece of it is that, should I do such a program again, I will approach it with a clearer and more focused educational agenda. It is easy for me to forget how to deal with participants at the ages with which I worked these past months; my teaching experience had been focused on older students almost exclusively, and it has been thirty years and more since I was the age those most recently at my table are. I do think the question about setting posed late in what might well be called a term–why the neo/medieval(ist) as a dominant setting for Dungeons & Dragons and for TTRPGs, more generally–is a good one; I also think the ponerological question from long before is a good one. (Indeed, play began to move back to consideration of the nature of evil as things went on; I could wish there had been more time to explore it.) There are others, to be certain, and I have time to consider one or more of them before any new program begins.
I think also that I need to go into things with a clearer sense of the narrative I want to address. If I am being honest, a lot of what I did with the kids was flying by the seat of my pants; I did not have as much planned as I probably ought to have had, and there were some times, as I believe I have noted, when I was flatly stalling for time with the participants. In the past, when I have run games, I have generally done so with firmer ideas of what was happening and what could happen; I have done a lot of planning for things, a lot of scripting, a lot of determining what would happen in the world absent the actions of my players’ characters. I did not do so this time, and it left me a bit out of my element. Again, though, I have time to prepare in advance of future programs, and there are definitely some ideas that came up in what I improvised for the participants these past several months that I would like to revisit and expand upon in some detail. What those are, of course, I cannot here say; it is possible that some or all of the recent participants will return for future games, and I do not want to spoil the surprise for them. Part of the value of the story is a sense of wonder, and surprise helps develop such a sense. It’s not the only thing that does, admittedly, but it is one thing that does.
(It might be worth noting here that I do not mean to adapt the Realm of the Elderlings for TTRPG purposes. It might well be thought that I would do so; I am more than passingly familiar with the corpus and its contents, after all, and there is no small worth in the old advice to “Write what you know.” So much said, however, I do find my gaming useful as a diversion from the other things that I do, even if it is often related to them, and it is good to get away from my everyday. Too, it would be obvious, and I do try not to be quite that obvious.)
There are things I think I did well with the participants and which I hope to do again. While it is the case that more than one of them was more concerned with the character looking cool than doing well, and more than one of them thought that a starting character would be able to perform legendary feats as easily as breathing, I did work to let characters attempt things that I knew had no actual chance of success, to not quash the ideas without taking the chance on them–and, when it was actually sufficiently well explained and justified, letting the dice let things happen. It resulted in some interesting happenings during the campaign, providing some entertainment that would not otherwise have occurred–and the game is, fundamentally, about entertainment, even as it does do a number of other things for those who participate in it. And I do think that I offered those players who wanted to avail themselves of it the chance to deepen and refine their characters beyond the surface-level concerns of stats and equipment; there was development on display, and I am glad to have facilitated it.
More importantly, I contributed to the delinquency of minors helped a new generation of gamers get started in a hobby that has been a source of joy and community for me for decades. I have helped them to take some of their early steps into a broader world, one that reaches back more than fifty years and has, in my experience and others’, fostered a worldwide community that comes together, yes, to roll dice and tell lies, but more to make stories together, refining and passing forward some of the most fundamentally human acts. And in doing that, I have made the world just a little bit better, for which I am glad.
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An extraction from Revel‘s papers, clearly a directive from Fitz, precedes “A Wolf’s Heart.” The chapter, proper, begins with Bee remarking on her continued visits with Thick and their effects on her daily life. She contrives to give gifts to her new friend until Spark, disguised, takes her aside and advises her against the continued practice. Bee’s public routines continue, although Nettle and Riddle also take her aside to discuss the matter with her in reasonable privacy. When, amid their conversation, Bee lowers her Skill-walls, Nighteyes finds her, having sought her to inform her of Fitz’s situation and to bid Kettricken farewell. Bee relates the information to Nettle and Riddle, and while they are uncertain, Riddle advises proceeding as if Bee’s report is accurate, and they call upon Kettricken.
It does look tasty… Photo by Irene u00c4sthetik on Pexels.com
There is some concern noted as the trio make for Kettricken, the older woman’s condition noted. Bee recalls having met Kettricken previously, and the older woman’s austerity receives remark as she greets her visitors. Nighteyes’s influence on Bee becomes clear quickly, not least due to a stated preference for ginger cakes, and comments from the wolf convince Kettricken of the situation, even as Bee is somewhat embarrassed by other comments not voiced. Fitz’s situation is compared to that of a messenger from the Fool who had reached him, and although Nettle continues to question whether Bee speaks truth, Kettricken purposes to go to Fitz in haste. Nettle attempts to intercede, and Bee finds herself dismissed.
Bee stalks through the castle, making her own plans, and finds herself accompanied by Spark again as the calls upon Lord Chance. When Bee rehearses to him what she has learned, Lord Chance immediately makes his own plans to proceed. After some discussion, Spark bids Bee maintain a charade of obedience until it comes time to depart.
As I started to reread the present chapter, I was taken again by my failure to appropriately index things. I really, really should have been better as I went along about identifying characters in place in particular chapters and passages; had I to do this again, it is one of the things I would add to it. Perhaps as I move into the next phase of the rereading series–which will probably take on the Soldier Son novels rather than the “peripheral” works in the Realm of the Elderlings corpus–I will take up doing so. With more than five hundred entries already made, however, going back and updating / correcting what I’ve done so far seems a daunting task. That does not mean it’s not worth doing, of course, but it’s far easier to start out and stay right than to start wrong and get right later.
More directly to the present chapter: I find a parallel between Bee’s nighttime visits to Thick and Fitz’s to Chade decades prior. Both are conducted clandestinely (to an extent), and both leave the young Farseer in question sleep-deprived and stumbling about. Bee’s are less successful, however, being done outside structures of authority (Chade having undertaken to train Fitz at Shrewd’s direction) and by less adept participants. Too, Buckkeep seems less willing to accept internal espionage under Dutiful than it had been under Shrewd or even Kettricken. But it is not to be expected, despite fantasy literature’s seeming preference for cultural stasis, that a court would not change over time.
Even amid such changes, however, certain points of continuity remain. The lupine appreciation both for ginger-cakes and the sensory pleasures of the now are present in the current chapter as they have been through much of the Realm of the Elderlings novels. Kettricken’s insistence on doing what she feels needs to be done, regardless of the consequences to her, is, as well. So, too, is the Fool’s fine disregard for the demands of others. And, curiously, Spark’s willingness to go along with it all despite her knowledge that it will cost her much to do so speaks to a persistent portrayal of Buckkeep covert agents as all too ready to go rogue…which is something that only occurs to me now, and which probably ought to receive more attention than I have given it.
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Elliott RWI 