[some sublimely clever quotation here, probably in Latin]

[desperance]

It will come as no news, I suspect, to anyone here that the Lymond Chronicles is an exercise in Peter Wimsey fanfic. The surprising thing is that it comes as news to me. People must I think have told me, but for some reason it simply didn't stick.

Actually, The Game of Kings almost didn't stick; thirty pages in, I was more irritated than amused. A deluge of languages I don't speak and quotes I didn't recognise: I wasn't quite sure what Dunnett was doing, beyond channelling a more exaggerated Peter, but she surely wasn't telling me a story.

Still, I stayed with it, and was soon enough glad that I had, as it acquired merit of its own deserving, without ever letting go of its origin. I quote:

"My dear fool, why am I fighting you and denying you and hurting you except that I am so afraid of you, and of myself; because I love you far too well for peace and gentle harmonies... It's all right. My dear, it's all right. I am here: I love you: I will not leave you. None shall take it from us now."

And Lymond's not even there, that's Mariotta to the other brother, Richard. It's still pure Sayers.