Alytha, on 05 May 2011 - 09:56 AM, said:
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.
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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.
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