Read the previous entry in the series here.
Read the next entry in the series here.

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An extended commentary on a fragmentary Skill-scroll precedes “Bonds and Ties,” which opens with Fitz enjoying riding a new horse and not enjoying the attempt by the same–Fleeter–to Wit-bond with him. Fitz assesses his combat capabilities as Fleeter presses upon him, and Fitz’s name in the Wit, Changer, comes to attention again as Lant and Perseverance join them. Fitz also does not enjoy the added company and attempts to get the others to leave, but they refuse and determine to accompany him despite his urgency. Nor yet is he thrilled that Motley joins and decides to like Perseverance, nor yet when Riddle later joins the growing throng–although Riddle, at least, seems aware of the complications the expanding group presents.

With warning that they will not wait for the others, Fitz and Riddle press ahead, Fitz settling into the saddle atop Fleeter and acknowledging her quality as a mount; Perseverance does a decent job of keeping up, and Lant lags behind. At the end of the day, the group chance upon a barn and make use of it, conferring as they tend to themselves and their animals. Fitz surreptitiously doses the group’s tea with a soporific, apologizing for doing so as they fall asleep, and after a brief rest of his own, he doses himself and Fleeter with carris seed, musing on what he has seen of its perils. After ensuring that his erstwhile companions will be well, Fitz also doses himself with delvenbark, and he and Fleeter proceed into the dark.

The prefatory materials once again catch my interest. Describing a damaged manuscript and the circumstances of its damage, the prefatory materials bring to my medievalist-trained mind the various manuscripts of the Cotton Library, damaged by flame and thrown out into the snow–those that were not lost, entirely. Even now, some of those manuscripts continue to degrade from the effects of the flames, chemical changes to their materials put into motion and ongoing, unstoppable, ultimately irredeemable. Knowing as I do about some of what survived, I have to wonder what was lost and will now never be found again, and a great sorrow wells up within me at the works of scribal hands and cunning minds lost to chance and misfortune. How much worse must it be to contemplate deliberate destruction!

But it’s not like that kind of thing happens anymore, right?

In the chapter, itself, I note with some appreciation the juxtaposition of Fitz’s recognition of his (physical) deconditioning and his seemingly easy resumption of his assassin’s tricks; he notes the fatigue he feels after a single day of hard riding, when he had before gone days or weeks in the wild with relative ease, and he has little hesitation about drugging his comrades–and does so without being noticed by someone also trained to stealth and skullduggery (Riddle being long implied to have some such schooling). Something about old age and treachery comes to mind, and, as I feel my (fewer than Fitz’s) years while I’m writing this, there is some comfort in it for me.

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Read the previous entry in the series here.
Read the next entry in the series here.

Oh, and I am still doing #NaPoWriMo. I did have to make my update to the reading, though.

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Following an excerpt from anonymous instructions to an assassin, “Confrontations” begins with Lant reporting to the Farseer elite, as well as Rosemary and Ash. Fitz reflects on Lant’s account to that point, and he speaks in Lant’s favor as Dutiful dismisses him. Discussion follows Lant’s departure, and Fitz finds himself unexpectedly tasked with seeing if any of the guards from the company that had acted ill are worth redeeming.

Fitz later confers with the Fool about the situation, which conversation is interrupted by a Skilled summons from Nettle. Fitz excuses himself from the Fool to answer it, Motley accompanying him.

Answering the summons, Fitz reports to the Queen’s Garden, where Civil Bresinga delivers tidings of Bee and Shun. Old Blood folk and their animals had noted strange movements of people, corroborated by Skill-deadened agents, leaving the Farseers with the evident intended destination of Bee and Shun’s captors. Dutiful lays out his plans, and he offers Fitz a place of honor but not one of aid, reminding Fitz who is in command of matters.

Fitz fumes silently at how he has been maneuvered, and more at the correctness of those who have done so. Thus fuming, he purposes to call upon Chade, only to find Steady there and Chade asleep. Steady confers with Fitz briefly until a stirring Chade interrupts, bidding him go retrieve their daughters. And Fitz then moves to do just that, giving directives to Foxglove and others. Foxglove gives a frank report of unit readiness, and Fitz moves off with some self-doubt to address the task of the disgraced guards. That, however, he manages neatly, if brusquely.

So much done, Fitz returns to the Fool, preparing to dose himself with elfbark and outfit himself for a covert expedition. The Fool reports his dreams as Fitz makes his preparations and excuses himself; Fitz runs into Lant on his way out, and Lant purposes to accompany him. Fitz is direct with him, urging Lant to remain behind, but it is clear he will not stay in Buckkeep.

Fitz then rejoins Foxglove, reviewing their augmented forces. Afterwards, he makes to tend to his horse, where Perseverance meets him, and they talk together briefly.

The present chapter, just after midway through the book in the printing I am reading, has a lot going on, a lot of smaller moving parts. In terms of structure, it suggests an acceleration towards the climax of Freytag’s pyramid, that the pivotal action for this novel–and perhaps for the trilogy, given that the novel is the second member of it–approaches. And in terms of content, it suggests that Fitz, despite his greater years and experience, remains the headstrong, passionate boy he was at the death of Shrewd decades before, seeking to rush ahead because he knows better than those who bear responsibility and have both more information and clearer heads than he. I am not certain whether to be delighted at the consistency of characterization or annoyed that Fitz seems not to have learned lessons that have been literally (and, yes, I do intend the pun, here) beaten into him across years–but it seems to me as I consider it that the fact to that uncertainty is an artifact of my engagement with the text, and that would seem to argue for the narrative’s effectiveness, at least with this reader.

Admittedly, such an assertion ranges once again into reading with affect; I have lost track of the number of times in this rereading series that I have found myself reading affectively, reading through my emotional reactions to the text rather than calmly applying one particular critical lens or another to it. Were I still in academe, it would be more of a problem than it presently is; as it is now, I am not much writing for classroom audiences (although I do still have the impression that some student or another reads what I write here and uses it for some schoolroom purpose or another–which is not a problem, although it would be nice to hear from those who do so). Were I in more practice than I have allowed myself to be, I might look at the present chapter through some more formal rubric than the “reader-response” that I (over-) generously label myself as using. But, alas, I am not in more practice than I am, even with the source- or reception-focused approaches that tended to undergird my scholarship when I made claims to doing it. Other major approaches do not suggest themselves to me at the moment, either, which may just be an artifact of my hammering this out between other jobs or may well be a symptom of my critical faculties atrophying.

Or it may be that this is another of my scholarly somedays, a project waiting for attention and to which I will return in time. I can hope for as much, for both the inspiration of how to treat it and the time to treat it well enough to suit myself–and maybe others. There is some comfort in that, at least.

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