The Wise Man's Fear V [Spoilers and speculation within]

[Seiche]

I'm not sure what it is but I am of the opinion that Bast might not be on Kvothe's "side" at all.

One thing that swayed me on this was actually from outside the novels. PR wrote an account of how a battle between Kvothe and Jaime Lannister might play out, for the Suvudu cage matches between different fantasy characters. Martin writes up one from Jaime's POV also which is pretty cool.

Bast needn't appear in this short account but he actually plays the starring role, and his actions leave no doubt regarding his loyalty to Kvothe. While not in the novels, I expect PR would to write this in a manner that is consistent with his world building for the novels themselves.

[thistlepong]

One thing that swayed me on this was actually from outside the novels. PR wrote an account of how a battle between Kvothe and Jaime Lannister might play out, for the Suvudu cage matches between different fantasy characters. Martin writes up one from Jaime's POV also which is pretty cool.

Bast needn't appear in this short account but he actually plays the starring role, and his actions leave no doubt regarding his loyalty to Kvothe. While not in the novels, I expect PR would to write this in a manner that is consistent with his world building for the novels themselves.

Wow. Thanks for the link, Seiche.

[Alytha]

I get a 404 error for that page :(

[Gaston de Foix]

I get a 404 error for that page :(

yeah Rothfuss' account was quite well written but annoyingly Suvudu has taken it down. IIRC Bast as depicted in that vignette was fanatically loyal to Kvothe.

[Seiche]

I get a 404 error for that page :(

Ack! Sorry for that, I emailed it from my mobile phone where I could see it. Text copied below...I hope I'm not violating any copyright.

Summary: Bast makes a premeditated choice to give his own life to ensure that Jaime is defeated and Kvothe left unharmed. Which convinces me that PR sees (or did see then) Bast as unfailingly loyal to his reshi.

It was midmorning, and the autumn sun was hot as Jaime Lannister opened the door of the Waystone Inn. The place was oddly quiet, and he peered through the door, one hand resting lightly on his sword.

The taproom was empty except for a dark-haired young man lounging behind the bar. “Can I help you?”

Jaime stepped inside. “I’m looking for the owner. We have… business.”

The young man stood up straighter. “He’s stepped out for a moment. You’re Jaime?”

Jaime frowned slightly as he looked the young man over. “I am. And you are?”

“Bast.” The young man said with a grin. “He said I’m to make you comfortable if you showed up early. He shouldn’t be more than an hour or two. Can I get you something to drink?”

Jaime moved to sit at the bar. “I don’t suppose you have any decent wine out here in the ass end of nowhere?”

“What do you mean by decent?” Bast asked.

Jaime waved a hand dismissively. “Why don’t you bring out your best bottle? I’ll tell you if it’s something worth drinking.”

Bast looked offended as he headed down the basement stairs, returning a moment later with a dusty bottle.

“Something off the top shelf, I hope,” Jamie said.

“Something from behind the shelf,” Bast said proudly. “I can’t keep track of what the wines are called in these parts, but I’m guessing when you hide a bottle, it’s the good stuff.”

Bast worked a corkscrew and opened the bottle with a deft flourish. Then he brought out a tall wineglass, poured an inch of deep red wine into it, and held it out with an ingratiating smile.

Jaime made no motion to take it. “You drink half.”

Bast glanced down at the glass, then back up, his smile fading. “It tells you a lot about a man when he says something like that.”

Jaime showed his teeth in a sharp, joyless expression that had the shape of a smile. “It says a lot about you,” he said smugly, “that you aren’t willing to drink it.”

Bast gave a dismissive sniff, picked up the glass, and took a mouthful of the dark wine. Then he raised his eyebrows and made an appreciative noise as he picked up the bottle and eyed the engraving on the neck. “I can see why he hid this one,” Bast said, pouring more into the glass. “That’s just lovely.”

Jaime shrugged. “Ah well,” he said. “You know what they say. Better safe than sore,” he held out his hand.

Bast brought the glass close to his chest, his blue eyes icy. “This is my drink now.” He took another sip of the wine. “Rude guests go thirsty. Drink your own piss for all I care.”

Jaime’s expression went dark. “I’m not here for you,” he said. “But killing you wouldn’t be far out of my way.”

They stared at each other for a while across the bar. After a moment, Bast set the bottle down hard on the bar. “Fine,” he said, nudging it so it slid forward. “I won’t insult you by offering you a glass or anything. I could poison that, too. You’ll just have to drink it right from the bottle…” Bast grinned. “Like an unlettered cretin.”

Jaime picked up the bottle. “Boy,” he said. “If it makes you feel brave to show your teeth to me, go right ahead. But I’ll only tolerate so much.” He took a drink straight from the bottle, paused, and took another slower drink as if to make sure of something. He looked surprised. “Well, that is good, isn’t it?”

Bast nodded and took another sip.

“Did he say when he’ll be back?”

Bast looked down at his feet. “A couple hours,” he said with an odd tone in his voice. “He wasn’t expecting you until noon.”

“Don’t look so glum, boy,” Jaime said. “Look at the bright side. In a couple hours I’ll be on my way and you’ll be the owner of this fine inn.”

Bast looked up and his eyes were anxious. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to call this off?”

Jaime gave a humorless laugh and took another drink. “Good lord, boy. Why on earth would I do that?”

“Human decency?” Bast said.

Something about this struck the golden-haired man as funny, and he erupted into a great belly laugh that lasted for nearly a minute. Eventually he trailed off, wiping the water from his eyes. “You just earned yourself a tip, boy.” He shook his head in disbelief and took another drink.

“It’s just that…” Bast began.

“Look, boy.” Jaime leaned forward onto the bar. “I can tell you’re a talker. You probably learned that from him. I hear he’s got a silver tongue on him. Talked his way right out of the fight with the god-lion.” He gave Bast a serious look, his eyes hard as flint. “But that isn’t going to do him any good here.”

Jamie took another drink from the bottle before continuing. “You see, I’ve done some asking around. Your Kvothe has a bit of a reputation. Clever, quick. Devil with a sword. Strong as a bear. He can call down fire and lightning.” Jaime shook his head. “But I think all that is just stories. And the parts that aren’t just stories, he lost long ago.” He looked around the empty inn. “He wouldn’t be hiding here if he still had a scrap of power to call his own.”

Bast looked dejected, but he didn’t say anything.

“I’ll offer him a chance to surrender.” Jaime said magnanimously. “As thanks for this excellent bottle of wine.” He took one last drink and pushed it away from himself on the bar. “That’s enough of that. Start to turn my head, otherwise.”

“He might surprise you.” Bast said.

“With what?” Jaime said, laughing again. “That sword has dust on it, and his magic’s gone from what I hear. His silver tongue isn’t any good on me. He doesn’t even play music any more. What’s left?”

“I need to show you something,” Bast said. “Come here behind the bar.”

Jaime turned his shoulders, then frowned, looking down at his feet.

“Never mind,” Bast said, starting to walk around the bar. “I’ll come over to you.”

“Why can’t I move my legs?” Jaime said, his voice quiet and incredulous.

“Sethora,” Bast said simply. “It tends to start with the legs. You can probably still move your arms. But be careful or you’ll….” Jaime turned on his stool and toppled messily to the floor. “…Yeah. You’ll do that.”

Jaime writhed a bit, turning onto his side. Moving his arms sluggishly he managed to pull a long knife from his belt and throw it at Bast as came out from behind the bar. But the throw went wild and sunk into one of the thick-timbers of the tables.

Bast approached where the big man lay, stepping gracefully as a dancer. He stayed well out of arm’s reach through the man’s final struggles, waiting until he saw the tall man’s breathing grow stiff and labored.

“It was in the wine,” Bast stepped close and brushed the man’s golden hair out of his eyes. “I can’t believe you managed to drink so much of it. You must have the constitution of an ox.”

“But you…” Jaime’s mouth shaped the words though he lacked the breath to say them.

“You think I wouldn’t drink poison for him?” Bast asked. “Then you don’t know anything about him.”

Bast met the man’s glassy eyes. “You’re right. He’s not what he used to be. He’s lost everything. No magic. No music. No joy. No hope. You know what he has? You know what’s left?” Bast leaned closer, his voice low and vicious. “Me!” He practically spat the word, his eyes were wild. “He has me!”

The young man stood, took a fistful of the tall man’s golden hair, and began to drag his limp body across the floor.

[thistlepong]

It was midmorning, and the autumn sun was hot as Jaime Lannister opened the door of the Waystone Inn. The place was oddly quiet, and he peered through the door, one hand resting lightly on his sword.

The taproom was empty except for a dark-haired young man lounging behind the bar. “Can I help you?”

Jaime stepped inside. “I’m looking for the owner. We have… business.”

The young man stood up straighter. “He’s stepped out for a moment. You’re Jaime?”

Jaime frowned slightly as he looked the young man over. “I am. And you are?”

“Bast.” The young man said with a grin. “He said I’m to make you comfortable if you showed up early. He shouldn’t be more than an hour or two. Can I get you something to drink?”

Jaime moved to sit at the bar. “I don’t suppose you have any decent wine out here in the ass end of nowhere?”

“What do you mean by decent?” Bast asked.

Jaime waved a hand dismissively. “Why don’t you bring out your best bottle? I’ll tell you if it’s something worth drinking.”

Bast looked offended as he headed down the basement stairs, returning a moment later with a dusty bottle.

“Something off the top shelf, I hope,” Jamie said.

“Something from behind the shelf,” Bast said proudly. “I can’t keep track of what the wines are called in these parts, but I’m guessing when you hide a bottle, it’s the good stuff.”

Bast worked a corkscrew and opened the bottle with a deft flourish. Then he brought out a tall wineglass, poured an inch of deep red wine into it, and held it out with an ingratiating smile.

Jaime made no motion to take it. “You drink half.”

Bast glanced down at the glass, then back up, his smile fading. “It tells you a lot about a man when he says something like that.”

Jaime showed his teeth in a sharp, joyless expression that had the shape of a smile. “It says a lot about you,” he said smugly, “that you aren’t willing to drink it.”

Bast gave a dismissive sniff, picked up the glass, and took a mouthful of the dark wine. Then he raised his eyebrows and made an appreciative noise as he picked up the bottle and eyed the engraving on the neck. “I can see why he hid this one,” Bast said, pouring more into the glass. “That’s just lovely.”

Jaime shrugged. “Ah well,” he said. “You know what they say. Better safe than sore,” he held out his hand.

Bast brought the glass close to his chest, his blue eyes icy. “This is my drink now.” He took another sip of the wine. “Rude guests go thirsty. Drink your own piss for all I care.”

Jaime’s expression went dark. “I’m not here for you,” he said. “But killing you wouldn’t be far out of my way.”

They stared at each other for a while across the bar. After a moment, Bast set the bottle down hard on the bar. “Fine,” he said, nudging it so it slid forward. “I won’t insult you by offering you a glass or anything. I could poison that, too. You’ll just have to drink it right from the bottle…” Bast grinned. “Like an unlettered cretin.”

Jaime picked up the bottle. “Boy,” he said. “If it makes you feel brave to show your teeth to me, go right ahead. But I’ll only tolerate so much.” He took a drink straight from the bottle, paused, and took another slower drink as if to make sure of something. He looked surprised. “Well, that is good, isn’t it?”

Bast nodded and took another sip.

“Did he say when he’ll be back?”

Bast looked down at his feet. “A couple hours,” he said with an odd tone in his voice. “He wasn’t expecting you until noon.”

“Don’t look so glum, boy,” Jaime said. “Look at the bright side. In a couple hours I’ll be on my way and you’ll be the owner of this fine inn.”

Bast looked up and his eyes were anxious. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to call this off?”

Jaime gave a humorless laugh and took another drink. “Good lord, boy. Why on earth would I do that?”

“Human decency?” Bast said.

Something about this struck the golden-haired man as funny, and he erupted into a great belly laugh that lasted for nearly a minute. Eventually he trailed off, wiping the water from his eyes. “You just earned yourself a tip, boy.” He shook his head in disbelief and took another drink.

“It’s just that…” Bast began.

“Look, boy.” Jaime leaned forward onto the bar. “I can tell you’re a talker. You probably learned that from him. I hear he’s got a silver tongue on him. Talked his way right out of the fight with the god-lion.” He gave Bast a serious look, his eyes hard as flint. “But that isn’t going to do him any good here.”

Jamie took another drink from the bottle before continuing. “You see, I’ve done some asking around. Your Kvothe has a bit of a reputation. Clever, quick. Devil with a sword. Strong as a bear. He can call down fire and lightning.” Jaime shook his head. “But I think all that is just stories. And the parts that aren’t just stories, he lost long ago.” He looked around the empty inn. “He wouldn’t be hiding here if he still had a scrap of power to call his own.”

Bast looked dejected, but he didn’t say anything.

“I’ll offer him a chance to surrender.” Jaime said magnanimously. “As thanks for this excellent bottle of wine.” He took one last drink and pushed it away from himself on the bar. “That’s enough of that. Start to turn my head, otherwise.”

“He might surprise you.” Bast said.

“With what?” Jaime said, laughing again. “That sword has dust on it, and his magic’s gone from what I hear. His silver tongue isn’t any good on me. He doesn’t even play music any more. What’s left?”

“I need to show you something,” Bast said. “Come here behind the bar.”

Jaime turned his shoulders, then frowned, looking down at his feet.

“Never mind,” Bast said, starting to walk around the bar. “I’ll come over to you.”

“Why can’t I move my legs?” Jaime said, his voice quiet and incredulous.

“Sethora,” Bast said simply. “It tends to start with the legs. You can probably still move your arms. But be careful or you’ll….” Jaime turned on his stool and toppled messily to the floor. “…Yeah. You’ll do that.”

Jaime writhed a bit, turning onto his side. Moving his arms sluggishly he managed to pull a long knife from his belt and throw it at Bast as came out from behind the bar. But the throw went wild and sunk into one of the thick-timbers of the tables.

Bast approached where the big man lay, stepping gracefully as a dancer. He stayed well out of arm’s reach through the man’s final struggles, waiting until he saw the tall man’s breathing grow stiff and labored.

“It was in the wine,” Bast stepped close and brushed the man’s golden hair out of his eyes. “I can’t believe you managed to drink so much of it. You must have the constitution of an ox.”

“But you…” Jaime’s mouth shaped the words though he lacked the breath to say them.

“You think I wouldn’t drink poison for him?” Bast asked. “Then you don’t know anything about him.”

Bast met the man’s glassy eyes. “You’re right. He’s not what he used to be. He’s lost everything. No magic. No music. No joy. No hope. You know what he has? You know what’s left?” Bast leaned closer, his voice low and vicious. “Me!” He practically spat the word, his eyes were wild. “He has me!”

The young man stood, took a fistful of the tall man’s golden hair, and began to drag his limp body across the floor.

[Zagruss]

I have no doubts about Bast's loyalty to Kvothe, though perhaps what I'm most curious about is how their arrangement came to be (has Kvothe traveled to the Fae realm again?). Beyond that, the nature of the lessons Kvothe offers to Bast seems interesting as well, since he lost his powers I imagine there is only so much he can teach him (perhaps the concepts behind naming or sympathy).

[Gaston de Foix]

It was midmorning, and the autumn sun was hot as Jaime Lannister opened the door of the Waystone Inn. The place was oddly quiet, and he peered through the door, one hand resting lightly on his sword.

The taproom was empty except for a dark-haired young man lounging behind the bar. “Can I help you?”

Jaime stepped inside. “I’m looking for the owner. We have… business.”

The young man stood up straighter. “He’s stepped out for a moment. You’re Jaime?”

Jaime frowned slightly as he looked the young man over. “I am. And you are?”

“Bast.” The young man said with a grin. “He said I’m to make you comfortable if you showed up early. He shouldn’t be more than an hour or two. Can I get you something to drink?”

Jaime moved to sit at the bar. “I don’t suppose you have any decent wine out here in the ass end of nowhere?”

“What do you mean by decent?” Bast asked.

Jaime waved a hand dismissively. “Why don’t you bring out your best bottle? I’ll tell you if it’s something worth drinking.”

Bast looked offended as he headed down the basement stairs, returning a moment later with a dusty bottle.

“Something off the top shelf, I hope,” Jamie said.

“Something from behind the shelf,” Bast said proudly. “I can’t keep track of what the wines are called in these parts, but I’m guessing when you hide a bottle, it’s the good stuff.”

Bast worked a corkscrew and opened the bottle with a deft flourish. Then he brought out a tall wineglass, poured an inch of deep red wine into it, and held it out with an ingratiating smile.

Jaime made no motion to take it. “You drink half.”

Bast glanced down at the glass, then back up, his smile fading. “It tells you a lot about a man when he says something like that.”

Jaime showed his teeth in a sharp, joyless expression that had the shape of a smile. “It says a lot about you,” he said smugly, “that you aren’t willing to drink it.”

Bast gave a dismissive sniff, picked up the glass, and took a mouthful of the dark wine. Then he raised his eyebrows and made an appreciative noise as he picked up the bottle and eyed the engraving on the neck. “I can see why he hid this one,” Bast said, pouring more into the glass. “That’s just lovely.”

Jaime shrugged. “Ah well,” he said. “You know what they say. Better safe than sore,” he held out his hand.

Bast brought the glass close to his chest, his blue eyes icy. “This is my drink now.” He took another sip of the wine. “Rude guests go thirsty. Drink your own piss for all I care.”

Jaime’s expression went dark. “I’m not here for you,” he said. “But killing you wouldn’t be far out of my way.”

They stared at each other for a while across the bar. After a moment, Bast set the bottle down hard on the bar. “Fine,” he said, nudging it so it slid forward. “I won’t insult you by offering you a glass or anything. I could poison that, too. You’ll just have to drink it right from the bottle…” Bast grinned. “Like an unlettered cretin.”

Jaime picked up the bottle. “Boy,” he said. “If it makes you feel brave to show your teeth to me, go right ahead. But I’ll only tolerate so much.” He took a drink straight from the bottle, paused, and took another slower drink as if to make sure of something. He looked surprised. “Well, that is good, isn’t it?”

Bast nodded and took another sip.

“Did he say when he’ll be back?”

Bast looked down at his feet. “A couple hours,” he said with an odd tone in his voice. “He wasn’t expecting you until noon.”

“Don’t look so glum, boy,” Jaime said. “Look at the bright side. In a couple hours I’ll be on my way and you’ll be the owner of this fine inn.”

Bast looked up and his eyes were anxious. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to call this off?”

Jaime gave a humorless laugh and took another drink. “Good lord, boy. Why on earth would I do that?”

“Human decency?” Bast said.

Something about this struck the golden-haired man as funny, and he erupted into a great belly laugh that lasted for nearly a minute. Eventually he trailed off, wiping the water from his eyes. “You just earned yourself a tip, boy.” He shook his head in disbelief and took another drink.

“It’s just that…” Bast began.

“Look, boy.” Jaime leaned forward onto the bar. “I can tell you’re a talker. You probably learned that from him. I hear he’s got a silver tongue on him. Talked his way right out of the fight with the god-lion.” He gave Bast a serious look, his eyes hard as flint. “But that isn’t going to do him any good here.”

Jamie took another drink from the bottle before continuing. “You see, I’ve done some asking around. Your Kvothe has a bit of a reputation. Clever, quick. Devil with a sword. Strong as a bear. He can call down fire and lightning.” Jaime shook his head. “But I think all that is just stories. And the parts that aren’t just stories, he lost long ago.” He looked around the empty inn. “He wouldn’t be hiding here if he still had a scrap of power to call his own.”

Bast looked dejected, but he didn’t say anything.

“I’ll offer him a chance to surrender.” Jaime said magnanimously. “As thanks for this excellent bottle of wine.” He took one last drink and pushed it away from himself on the bar. “That’s enough of that. Start to turn my head, otherwise.”

“He might surprise you.” Bast said.

“With what?” Jaime said, laughing again. “That sword has dust on it, and his magic’s gone from what I hear. His silver tongue isn’t any good on me. He doesn’t even play music any more. What’s left?”

“I need to show you something,” Bast said. “Come here behind the bar.”

Jaime turned his shoulders, then frowned, looking down at his feet.

“Never mind,” Bast said, starting to walk around the bar. “I’ll come over to you.”

“Why can’t I move my legs?” Jaime said, his voice quiet and incredulous.

“Sethora,” Bast said simply. “It tends to start with the legs. You can probably still move your arms. But be careful or you’ll….” Jaime turned on his stool and toppled messily to the floor. “…Yeah. You’ll do that.”

Jaime writhed a bit, turning onto his side. Moving his arms sluggishly he managed to pull a long knife from his belt and throw it at Bast as came out from behind the bar. But the throw went wild and sunk into one of the thick-timbers of the tables.

Bast approached where the big man lay, stepping gracefully as a dancer. He stayed well out of arm’s reach through the man’s final struggles, waiting until he saw the tall man’s breathing grow stiff and labored.

“It was in the wine,” Bast stepped close and brushed the man’s golden hair out of his eyes. “I can’t believe you managed to drink so much of it. You must have the constitution of an ox.”

“But you…” Jaime’s mouth shaped the words though he lacked the breath to say them.

“You think I wouldn’t drink poison for him?” Bast asked. “Then you don’t know anything about him.”

Bast met the man’s glassy eyes. “You’re right. He’s not what he used to be. He’s lost everything. No magic. No music. No joy. No hope. You know what he has? You know what’s left?” Bast leaned closer, his voice low and vicious. “Me!” He practically spat the word, his eyes were wild. “He has me!”

The young man stood, took a fistful of the tall man’s golden hair, and began to drag his limp body across the floor.

so why isn't bast poisoned?

[thistlepong]

I have no doubts about Bast's loyalty to Kvothe, though perhaps what I'm most curious about is how their arrangement came to be (has Kvothe traveled to the Fae realm again?). Beyond that, the nature of the lessons Kvothe offers to Bast seems interesting as well, since he lost his powers I imagine there is only so much he can teach him (perhaps the concepts behind naming or sympathy).

I think I mentioned this in IV, but Cellum Tinture, the book Bast has pointedly not been reading for awhile, is the alchemy resource Kvothe gives to Devi. They've had a couple years together, so Kvothe may have taught him something else, but it seems like the text would have mentioned it... /shrug. I kind of wonder what would happen in Faen to engender that kind of relationship. Heck, even in the Four Corners. It's nice there's one inscrutable mystery waiting.

so why isn't bast poisoned?

Maybe he is? Maybe there's something odd about Bast? Okay, serious time. The story reveals almost nothing about Kvothe and only one thing about Bast. I found it engaging, but YMMV. It gives you a good impression of the state of things in the inn while spoiling nothing if you haven't read NotW and gives you plenty to ponder if you have.

[Alytha]

so why isn't bast poisoned?

Bast isn't human, after all...

[thistlepong]

While building the case for Sim's death, I ran across something in c44 TnoTW (kl:6133). It's common knowledge before Elodin takes Kvothe to Haven that the walls are meshed: Sim - "All meshed stone. Wards on the doors and windows." It doesn't really say anything new about copper, but given Kvothe's complaint's about the sygaldry on Anker's fridge, it probably says something about the door and windw frame. They're probably covered with sygaldry on the inner surfaces and connected to the mesh in the walls; the faint streaks in the glass are likely also copper. Anyway, the change Elodin comments on wasn't adding copper to the walls. I wonder what it was. Would electrifying (sorry, binding a glavanic force to)the mesh account for the faint buzz and pressure in the air?

[Gaston de Foix]

I wonder what it was. Would electrifying (sorry, binding a glavanic force to)the mesh account for the faint buzz and pressure in the air?

My pet theory about the air is that there was some ancient device of the type Kilvin showed Kvothe that doesn't allow Elodin to call the name of the wind. Whether I have correctly identified the cause, I am pretty sure the effect would be to prevent Elodin from calling the Name of the Wind.

Also, Sim's death? Really? I would be shocked.

[Thaykora]

My pet theory about the air is that there was some ancient device of the type Kilvin showed Kvothe that doesn't allow Elodin to call the name of the wind. Whether I have correctly identified the cause, I am pretty sure the effect would be to prevent Elodin from calling the Name of the Wind.

Also, Sim's death? Really? I would be shocked.

Perhaps Sim and Simmon are two different people.

[Merihathor]

While building the case for Sim's death...

I can understand why you think it might be Simmon. If so, that'd really suck; I'm rather fond of him. Another option is either Ambrose or Ambrose's father, I've read. I can see why Ambrose would be an option, as he seems like an obvious choice.

I'm looking forward to your ideas about Sim :-)

[Gaston de Foix]

I can understand why you think it might be Simmon. If so, that'd really suck; I'm rather fond of him. Another option is either Ambrose or Ambrose's father, I've read. I can see why Ambrose would be an option, as he seems like an obvious choice.

I'm looking forward to your ideas about Sim :-)

Merihathor, you are far more perceptive than I am, I can't even fathom how Sim could be the King. Thistle will bring his A game as usual, but colour me doubtful.

[Merihathor]

Merihathor, you are far more perceptive than I am, I can't even fathom how Sim could be the King. Thistle will bring his A game as usual, but colour me doubtful.

Hmmm...I wasn't very clear, was I? Sorry about that.

The only connection I see is that he studied Eld Vintic verse and can compose this style of verse on the fly. He's also a very good friend of Kvothe, which might be another reason why Kvothe's so broken, if Simmon is the king that he kills. I thought he was from a minor house in Atur, as well, so not sure how he'd get in line for the throne. That's all I can think of, so I didn't mean to imply otherwise. Thus, why I'm looking forward to Thistle's treatise :-)

[Spaceman Hobbes]

Hmmm...I wasn't very clear, was I? Sorry about that.

The only connection I see is that he studied Eld Vintic verse and can compose this style of verse on the fly. He's also a very good friend of Kvothe, which might be another reason why Kvothe's so broken, if Simmon is the king that he kills. I thought he was from a minor house in Atur, as well, so not sure how he'd get in line for the throne. That's all I can think of, so I didn't mean to imply otherwise. Thus, why I'm looking forward to Thistle's treatise :-)

It's definitely possible, but we would need significant number of people to die for Ambrose to become King. Sim is way way way further down on the list. Possible? Yes, but unlikely.

[Gaston de Foix]

It's definitely possible, but we would need significant number of people to die for Ambrose to become King. Sim is way way way further down on the list. Possible? Yes, but unlikely.

Oh I see it now, Merihathor. The Poet-Killer. Quite.

Sim isn't on the list for the throne to Vintas or, as far as we know, the Emperorship of Atur.

[Gaston de Foix]

Back to the coded letter from Denna (p. 314), I also noticed a weirdly capitalized section on page 137, a Chandrian entry Kvothe found in the archives. Here are the 2 sets of caps, put on your cryptographer hats:

p 137: M F D S A T A F P I

p 314: Y O O S S H C M W F M L (and maybe the P in Postscript)

I haven't sussed anything out of it, but maybe someone else here can...I'm looking at you, Marihathor! :)

so I just got a message from Pat, and he basically said that there are other things in WMF that deserve more attention than this code. Basically I take this as confirmation that there is no hidden message although he didnt say so outright.

Yes, it feels cool to say I got a message from Pat.

[Zagruss]

Despite the "Poet-killer" mention, I agree that is is highly unlikely that Sim will end up being the King that Kvothe kills. Ambrose certainly seems more likely, but something that popped into my mind me from his very meeting with the Maer was how Alveron is a king in his own right...