Because I could not look at him, broken and in anguish, and not feel a sea-surge of anger and hatred. No one, no one could be allowed to hurt him as badly as they’d hurt him and continue to live.
"My name. As in what my mother called me at my birth?"
"Yes."
"And if I tell you, would you call me by that name?"
"In private, only. And only if you wished me to."
"Ah." He turned to face me. His face lit with delight. "Oh, but I would."
"He is not my lover. He is far more than that to me, far more precious. I am the White Prophet and he is my Catalyst, and we are come here to change to course of time. I am here to see that Icefyre lives."
"I’ll protect you and we will kill them all," I promised him savagely. I spoke my oath tightly, only to him. I leaned in close to whisper the words. "They will bleed and die and we will take back our own from them."
"You promised!" he roared. He seized the front of Beloved’s shirt and pulled him close. "You promised me. You said you would choose her life over mine."
"Not like this," Beloved wailed. "Not like this!"
Abruptly my father seized him in a hug.
"Don’t go," the Fool said softly.
"What?" I sat up slowly.
His grip tightened slowly on my shoulder. "Don’t go where I can’t follow you. Don’t leave me behind. I’d still have to go on."
I rinsed it and wiped his face again. The thick yellow tears welled in his eyes again. I stopped. "Am I hurting you?" I asked him quietly.
"It has been so long since anyone touched me with kindness."
He gave me the most direct look I had ever received from him. I did not understand the hurt I saw in his eyes, nor the hope. He needed something from me, but I wasn’t sure what it was.
Then he was still. The panting sounds he had made ceased, and I thought he had died. Then in a terrible exhalation of breath, he screamed a name. "FitzChivalry! Fitz! Help me, oh help me! Fitz! Please, Fitz!"