#kingkiller: ( thread )

[bogkeep]

thinking about the kingkiller chronicle again...............

i've read the kingkiller chronicle several times and i'm definitely going to read it again!!! because it's fun and i love it so much!! it's near and dear to my heart!! and the thing is. i Agree with all the very valid criticisms of it. i Fully understand why some people do not like these books. i can't even say that had i read them for the first time Today rather than the early 2010s that i would have liked them as much - it is very much tied up in nostalgia for me. (i read them because they got recommended to me by a classmate i was maybe??? flirting with???? we had Something going on and it unfortunately faded away when we went to different schools, and we have reconnected since and we've both transed our genders and she's engaged now so i guess i fumbled a bad bitch and i will simply live with it IT'S FINE!! IT'S FINE. ANYWAY)

for those who aren't familiar with the kingkiller chronicle by pathrick rothfuss, there's currently two books - the name of the wind and a wise man's fear, it was Set Up to be a trilogy and it's been many many years and i think rothfuss has made a statement that it's gonna have to be four books. which is unfortunate for the Format (each book is supposed to cover a day in the framing device, and it's very specifically supposed to be Three Days), but makes a lot more sense for how many gotdam threads need to be tied up. the story is about Kvothe, a beloved hero shrouded in myth who's been involved in Adventures and some Recent History that is yet to be revealed. the framing device is him telling his origin story to an author guy going by the name of Chronicler, so that he can explain how he became such an OP mary sue he's now known as. and it's fun! you have to accept the premise that he IS an OP mary sue kind of character, and that delving into his backstory is a deconstruction of the Archetype of a Mythic Hero.

i think the most common criticism/reason to DNF this story At The Time (and it was massively popular, like "the bookstore clerk was singing its praises at the checkout" type popular) was because readers found kvothe to be a really annoying/obnoxious/pretentious protagonist. which, you know, fair. he is!!!!!!!! and i love him for it, is the thing. if you enjoy pretentious know-it-all characters, especially of the sort to cause problems due to their own hubris, you might like kvothe!!! and if you don't, i cannot in good conscience recommend this series. so that's fully a taste thing.

the other most common criticism is The Sexism. which! yep. it is a bit of a time capsule in that regard - it's written by an author who clearly Does actually like women and wants to have cool female characters, but is still stuck in a certain Guy Writer Mindset. i don't think these books read AS sexist at the time as they do now, simply because the fantasy genre space at the time was uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh................................................. it had room for improvements. i sincerely think this is why people who read it now go ???? why is this series so popular???? what the hell??? when back then it was like, more, yeah. shrug. we were deep in pop feminism era on the internet and analysis was shallow.

here is my controversial opinion however. people always talk about how the second book is weird because it has a sex fairy. and my opinion is that the sex fairy is fine. if you want your cool protagonist hero to get really good at sex and be a legendary good lover, "he got tutored by the sex fairy" is a PERFECTLY reasonable explanation, in my humble opinion. he convinced her to give him sex lessons fair and square!! i respect kvothe's manslut era for as long as he respects women. what i think is way worse than the sex fairy is this:

the way 95% of the notable female characters get crushes on kvothe. he fumbles most of them so it's not as annoying as it could have been, but it has some real isekai anime harem vibes which makes me roll my eyes real hard.

people talk about the sex fairy and not the iSOLATIONIST MATRIARCHAL SOCIETY THAT DOESN'T KNOW HOW REPRODUCTION WORKS??? THEY'RE MATRIARCHAL BECAUSE THEY THINK MEN HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH PREGNANCY??? i talk about this all the time because it's so silly. the idea is that these people just have sex whenever they want with whomever they want and women just get pregnant at random. they have no idea what contraception is. and on some level i respect the bold storytelling choice because at least it's new and interesting, but. mr rothfuss did you forget about queer people. there are canonically queer people in your books. how... how does this work........................ like i think there was a Thing in fantasy that if you have a matriarchal fantasy society you had to come up with some good reason for why women would be in charge, and the things authors would come up with was. maybe not always great? i think "they're better at magic than men" is a common one. anyway the adem people are such a fascinating worldbuilding piece to me i rotate it frequently

the absolute WORST thing in the entire series. late in a wise man's fear, After kvothe got good at sex AND good at swordfighting, he rescues a pair of girls who were held captive by a fake edema ruh troupe (the edema ruh is a whoole nother thing that's way above my paygrade. they are clearly inspired by the rroma people, and i think they were created with good intentions, but i genuinely cannot tell you if their depiction is problematic or not). it's pretty heavily implied they've been assaulted and are severely traumatized as a result. kvothe slaughters the whole fake troupe and escorts them to their home village. on the way, one of the girls make some statement in the vein of "i hate men", and, hoo boy. for a moment kvothe gets turned into a 2010s redditor going on a whole "not all men" rant. it does not at ALL read in character or appropriate for the situation. it's such a bizarre happenstance!!!!! like he doesn't do anything worse than rant about how he saved them and how generalizing statements about men are Bad, but. come onnnnnnnnnnnn

i can only hope mr rothfuss has had a feminist awakening since 2011! and honestly, i always did like how he wrote denna. denna is kvothe's main romantic interest, who he's so hyperfocused on he can't tell other girls are falling for him left and right. she's a conwoman who frequently changes identities to trick rich guys into giving her money. kvothe is often jealous of all the other men, but he NEVER judges her for this (or if he does i don't remember), and honestly? pretty groundbreaking for its time. the way their relationship (as it were) is written has such a tenderness and fragility to it that i adore. it's made so clear that kvothe sees her through a lens that makes her the specialest person in the entire world even though she is clearly a flawed, flesh and bone human.

the writing is so evocative!!!!! there are so many parts of these books that have embedded themself into my soul because of how evocatively they're put forth. there's actually a video of a the oh hellos concert with clips of an interview in between where tyler heath namedrops name of the wind as a source of inspiration (and i remember it so clearly because i used to put on this video in the background Constantly), because the way these books describe music... i've already said evocative but it's evocative!!! i always think about that scene where kvothe plays at that one fancy inn for the first time and denna joins in... i think of it every time i listen to this czech cover of scarborough fair, i know the song is intended to be far longer and more complex than that, but. it has The Vibes. to me.

and the magic...! i think that now the fantasy market is a bit oversaturated with Hard Magic worldbuilding and brandon sanderson in general, but at the time, the magic in kkc felt really special and interesting to me. it felt like it really was made a science and that you really did need to go to school for it. also it was fun to read about a magic school that actually delved into their studies. and also student loans. idk it was just!! it's fun!!! these books are fun!! kinda wanna read them again right now but i dont know where my copies are at the moment...........

anyway retrospective moment over for now

[threewaysdivided]

Moving slowly, I reached into the deep leeward shadow of a nearby tree and brought out my shaed. I draped it carefully over a low-hanging branch so it hung like a dark curtain between us. Then I sat on the other bench, bent, and worked the clasps on my lute case. As each of them snapped open, the lute within made a familiar harmonic thrum, as if eager to be free. I brought it out and gently began to play. I had tucked a piece of cloth inside the bowl of the lute to soften the sound, not wanting it to carry over the rocky hills. And I had woven some of the red thread between the strings. Partly to keep them from ringing too brightly, and partly out of a desperate hope that it might bring me luck. I began with “In the Village Smithy.” I did not sing, worried Vashet would be offended if I went that far. But even without the words, it is a song that sounds like weeping. It is music that speaks of empty rooms and a chill bed and the loss of love. Without pausing, I moved on to “Violet Bide,” then “Home Westward Wind.” The last had been a favorite of my mother’s, and as I played it I thought of her and began to cry. Then I played the song that hides in the center of me.That wordless music that moves through the secret places in my heart. I played it carefully, strumming it slow and low into the dark stillness of the night. I would like to say it is a happy song, that it is sweet and bright, but it is not. And, eventually, I stopped. The tips of my fingers burned and ached. It had been a month since I had played for any length of time, and they had lost their calluses. Looking up, I saw Vashet had pulled my shaed aside and was watching me. The moon hung behind her, and I could not see the expression on her face. “This is why I do not have knives instead of hands, Vashet,” I said quietly. “This is what I am.”

- Patrick Rothfuss, The Wise Man's Fear (Kingkiller Chronicle Book 2), 2011

[proofwhisky]

𝚃𝙰𝙶 𝙿𝙴𝙾𝙿𝙻𝙴 𝚈𝙾𝚄'𝙳 𝙻𝙸𝙺𝙴 𝚃𝙾 𝙶𝙴𝚃 𝚃𝙾 𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆 𝙱𝙴𝚃𝚃𝙴𝚁.

𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑(𝐒) black , gold , silver , forest green

𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑(𝐒) i genuinely like them all , but mostly savory and sweet.

𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐂 i literally listen to all genres. including country. according to my spotify wrapped, though, these were my favorite genres of the year.

𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐄(𝐒) the princess bride, the count of monte cristo, anything from studio ghibli, se7en, hereditary, perfect blue

𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 changes alllll the time. peaky blinders, breaking bad, and lots and lots of anime remain on the list as of yet.

𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊(𝐒) the name of the wind by patrick rothfuss is my ALL TIME FAVORITE book. the whole series (the kingkiller chronicles) is incredible. honorable mention is the goldfinch by donna tartt.

𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 just pretend by bad omens

𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 peaky blinders

𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐄 not a movie, but a feature-length video essay on the JFK assassination by lemmino on youtube.

𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊 the wise man's fear by patrick rothfuss

𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐋𝐘 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 a marvelous light by freya marske (thanks ray)

𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐋𝐘 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 outlander (thanks paige)

𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐋𝐘 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐍 several fanfics, threads, and asks, and moderating my discord rp server.

𝚃𝙰𝙶𝙶𝙴𝙳 𝙱𝚈 : @fcllederage and @heuretourne !! 𝚃𝙰𝙶𝙶𝙸𝙽𝙶 : @percageducorps @joshosis @leighiche @3rider @walkeddeath @giftsight @susponte + anyone else who wants to !!

[redundantly-boring]

My sole bane in life is an excellent story left untold at 2/3 completion. I have a row of bookmarks I check every week, webcomics, author sites, fanfics. All are some of the best things I’ve read in my life, compelling worldbuilding and fantastic characters, all left on the verge of completion but never done. I’ve dedicated over a decade alone to waiting for the third Kingkiller Chronicle book. Every fiber of my being needs to know how these stories end. How the mysteries so delicately interwoven come together. I lay awake some nights, playing with the frayed strands of plot threads I’ll never receive a definitive answer to. I’ll reread everything, hoping this is the time I’ll lose interest, and instead my heart is recaptured anew as I see new connections I missed the last time.

Basically, what I’m saying is, all your works are lovely and I beg all of you to finish them. Your passion projects, your brilliant stories, your incredibly niche fanfiction sequel to another fanfiction which is a spinoff fanfiction of a show that bears no resemblance to what I’m now reading. Finish it, for me, please.

[dukebee]

I reread the Kingkiller Chronicles with alarming regularity. But the thing is, when it’s been like 15 years since the series started but the third proper book still hasn’t left the editing stage, what else am I meant to do?

But the other thing about that is it means I’ve spent years picking up on minutiae and speculating how the various plot threads resolve. Maybe smarter or more observant people pieced together those details and finished their speculating faster. But I woke up this morning, listened to maybe 5 minutes of the audiobook The Wise Man’s Fear, and DMed a friend because I think I just connected one more dot.

[petvampire]

Let’s start a thread of ones that AREN’T this!

My top five:

- Trisana Chandler (Circle of Magic)

- Moirin Mac Fainche (Naamah Triology)

- Odile (The Black Swan)

- Menolly (Dragonriders of Pern - Harperhall Trilogy)

- Devi (Kingkiller Chronicle)

It always kills me when I see a post of “my top favorite book female mcs”

And it’s just SJM characters + violet

[bookcub]

Apparently there are people who don't like Denna because she doesn't believe Kvothe about the Chandrian 🙄

Kvothe himself has said he wouldn't believe in them if he had never seen them in person

[dvrkprinces]

( GABRIEL &&. 𝓸𝓹𝓮𝓷 )

There was a fire burning in his soul, deep and ravenous. Gabriel Beaumont was used to having thing taken from him; his innocence, his joy, his mortality. The world had ripped him from the womb and deprived him of comfort and security. Gabriel Beaumont might not have been used to the mortal idea of happiness, but he had carved a name for himself in this ramshackle world; a throne made of blood and bones that he called his own. And at one side, near the helm of his ship, had sat Kael Endiron for as long as Gabriel had been immortal. On another side, Itanya had loomed nearby, since his earliest days in Amsterdam, alongside Lucille.

They had been taken from him. Itanya remained, but Lucille and Kael--gone. Vanished into the back of the human coalition’s headquarters, subjected to God only knew what kind of torture. Gabriel trusted his inner circle with every ounce of his soul--what he didn’t trust was the cool rage hardening inside of him, turning the king with a smile like cut glass into a force of nature.

Presently, Gabriel found himself in one corner of The Red Ruby; he’d opened the establishment to mortals for the weekend, hoping it would entice some of the members of the human coalition to wander onto his doorstep. Raphael Crossborne and Luca D’Amore were fools; the humans might have gotten past them, but him? A king on a chessboard full of pawns? Unlikely. He sat back in a plush chair, his fingers drumming along the edge of the table as he glanced at the beta werewolf before him. Shackled and limp, Gabriel watched with renewed interest as blood soaked the front of his shirt. Standing, Gabriel slowly made his way over to the freshly deceased creature, pulling his dagger out of the mutt’s throat and cleaning the blade with a cloth napkin. He heard movement behind him and stilled, his gaze peering into the reflection of the glimmering blade resting in his hands.

“Such a shame--they never believe that I won’t take no for an answer. This was my favorite blade, too; pitiful it had to be used on a mutt.” Gabriel held the dagger up to the light, angling it under the low, amber lights. Without turning to face the intruder, he spoke again. “I don’t have time for idle pleasantries. What do you want?”

[huntershowl-moving]

IT'S WRONG, IT'S DANGEROUS, BUT IZUKU'S kiss makes her blood sing. persephone has to stifle a noise in her throat when he tangles his fingers in their hair and pulls; they hear their fingernails digging into the floor by his head, reacting to that held-back instinct. and then, it softens like a passing storm. izuku's hand is warm on her cheek. she leans into the touch just a bit. but the water rushes at her feet, ankles, knees again. with her eyes closed, even surrounded by izuku's scent, a hand is just a hand and lips are just lips. suddenly the palm feels larger, longer, calloused and rough. whose lips are these? where is she? where are they?

it happens like a car crash. their entire body goes rigid in an instant. their heartbeat spikes so fast it sends a spike of pain through their chest, their throat closes up, suddenly they're struggling to breathe, but they can't — exit — they can't — this could be her only chance, he's drunk and vulnerable, and the gun lethe smuggled in is too far away to grab now. think. think.

the water rises over her head.

the last time she tried to kill him like this, it went terribly. they'd just come back from the most emotionally draining event either of them had been to in a while. persephone remembers how drunk they both were that night. it was one of the better times they'd spent together, honestly, both irritated out of their minds by the fucking derege family and their dumbfuck backhanded compliments. seph and adeo exchanged so many exhausted, mutually-judgemental and dryly amused looks that by the end of the night, they'd almost created a silent language between them.

seph was the one who ordered a cab. they didn't even think about how easy it would have been to run. he normally didn't let her have a phone, but in his drunkenness she insisted. alright, alright. whatever you say. handed her the smartphone from his pocket. seph remembers staring at it blankly, a liquor-dulled realization coursing through her body, that she could just call sage right now. she could get through to fletch. she could call orion. if they did it right, he wouldn't even know who was coming to pick them up. they could get help, they could call a hotline, they could —

and then they were in a cab, being driven home. she hadn't done any of it. instead, she lay her head on adeo's shoulder and stared numbly out the windshield as he threaded tan fingers through silk-gloved prosthetic ones.

by the time they got home, persephone was sober and disgusted with herself. adeo hadn't been a heavy drinker since his kingkiller years, his late teens and early twenties — his tolerance had gone out the window with his conscience, if he'd ever had one. he passed out on the bed. she swore he was passed out on the bed. it is still crystal clear in her memory, persephone staring at his dark-suited form, staring at her hands ( no, they'd leave a distinct mark ), and then she was on him, one knee holding down his chest and her hands dug into a pillow as she shoved it down into his face. the rush of blood blinded her senses to the world around them. It was just her and him and the rage, coming alive —

—his thrashing form knocked her head against the bedpost, but she did not falter—

—his movements started to slow—

—then there were hands, arms, hooking around her waist and dragging her off of him— 

persephone heard someone scream. through the pounding drumbeat in her ears and the dizzy haze of adrenaline, she realized that it was her.

adeo sat doubled over on the bed, gasping for air, his dark eyes burning into hers. in the adjacent vanity mirror, persephone locked eyes with his guard-attendant-cook-spy as he wrestled their arms behind their back. how? had he been watching them? was there a panic button they hadn’t clocked before? had it all been a test — the alcohol, the phone, the sleep?

this was it. she’d had one chance. hope had been in her grasp for a single, fleeting moment, and it had slipped out of her hands like water.

adeo’s loyal attendant held persephone tighter as she thrashed against them, their grip surprisingly strong for someone with such a slight frame. once adeo had caught his breath, he signaled with his hand. they shoved persephone to the floor in front of him. her knees knocked hard on the wood, sending a spike of pain through her bones, prompting a low hiss that she quickly swallowed. the attendant faded back into the shadows of the room. silence fell over them like a frost, save for two sets of labored breath.

a grim future stretched out before her. this would never end. he would never let it end.

at first, persephone thinks the pressure in her hands is her palms curling into fists at her sides, waiting for the strike she knows will come. but when they try to flex them, they realize they are not clenched into fists — they are wrapped around izuku's throat. she is shaking all over, adrenaline and panic spasming her muscles in an uncontrollable exposed-wire fritz; she is staring down at him with eyes wide and enraged and terrified and distant and shiny with unshed tears. she is not breathing. he cannot breathe.

with a gasp, persephone yanks herself off of him, stands, stumbles backwards until her back hits the opposite wall. she slides down to the floor again, pressed up against it, breathing in shallow gasps through a closed throat. oh god. oh god, they killed him. they killed him, they killed him —

That moment, that blink and you'll miss it split second of change in Persephone's expression doesn't go unnoticed. It brings back whatever hid behind Izuku's own face, another laugh building up in the back of his throat like a wave, deep and cheerful as he lets out, "What?"

Maybe if he were sober, he would recognize it for what it was. A reverence he does not deserve to ever be an object of. Wonder that so rarely comes so pure. Maybe if he knew, he would, too, laugh through it.

As Izuku's plan succeeds, he tangles his fingers in Seph's hair, so velvety soft underneath his hands that it's a blasphemy to touch it with the roughness of a pull. But it fits right in with this new energy Persephone gives their kiss, and once his hand on their cheeks softens the blow, it could be excused.

[crueless]

tag dump.

[courtofnightmvres]

( GABRIEL &&. ARIELLE ) @courtofstvrlight 

The other solar courts were simply too difficult to consider working with. Everyone knew Aelius was volatile and demanding, just one hairbreadth away from needing a trip to the local sanitarium, and Lysander and his sister looked too much like petulant children for Gabriel to consider taking seriously. Which left, needless to say, the seasonal courts. Winter was already an arranged pair without a child in sight, the Spring Court was filled with, well, the Valentinas (hard pass there), and he could barely understand half of what the eight thousand children the Autumn Court had produced were saying at any given moment. Which left...Summer. Gabriel was not a particular fan of the High Lord of the Summer Court--he had always given Gabriel a vibe; one that didn’t mesh well with him.

But, then again, what better reason to depose and rule a court of his choosing than by unseating the current Lord after wedding and fucking his only daughter? A crass resolution, to be certain, but Gabriel supposed he fit that word rather well.

Presently, Gabriel found himself in the midst of the Summer Court, being led through the grand palace that housed the High family. A servant led him and his small entourage to a quaint parlor overlooking what Gabriel could only suppose were the royal palace gardens. Wearing dark clothing with his large, dark bat-like wings tucked in close to his back, Gabriel slowly made his way over towards the large windows overlooking the bright and shimmering garden, ignoring servants’ murmurs for him to take a seat at the tea table or chaise lounge and await his bride-to-be. Gabriel found himself wishing he had brought Kael with him on this excursion today; his unbiased third party opinion could have been handy in discerning the usefulness of his future wife.

He supposed he would just need to decide for himself, then.

[gabrielvibeaumont]

- ̗̀  tag drop !!

[courtfallen]

𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔥𝔦𝔱𝔢 𝔯𝔞𝔳𝔢𝔫’𝔰 𝔫𝔬𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔦𝔩𝔰 𝔣𝔩𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔞𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱; it is not usual for his loyalty to be questioned, especially by a man who has seen through to his true values and principles, a man with whom he shared radical ideals, with whom he dreamed of a different and more sustainable prythian. despite their falling out, vyros knows in his marrow that there is a road back to their collaboration and that the road could lead to the betterment of the realm as whole; why else would he feel comfortable speaking so openly with the daemati? what else had drawn them together but the fire burning in him, after all of this time, now raging at the dawn of this looming threat? vyros has never been one to question threads of fate, silvery and gleaming in the dark loam. it was those that he followed, guided by a celestial light it seemed no other could see — no other but the man standing before him.

❝ of course, you hesitate. you can only see my actions through your lens. your heart burns for the night court alone; mine, for all of prythian. we knew when we spoke on the topic of court independence ages ago that it was a dangerous and radical idea, but we also knew it was one worth fighting for — a game that would always begin by establishing the independence of the night court, kal. freeing the night court is the most obvious strategy, because the night court is the most stable, the most independent already. but, for me, that was just the first move in long war toward freedom for all courts. the first move toward the downfall of an obsolete royal court that could never truly serve its citizens. you must know the night court's independence was important to me, but it was never my endgame. ❞

 vyros can’t help but smirk at the comment he is irrational, because he knows it’s true. vyros’ passion for this particular cause was always a step ahead of his usual level-headed approach toward strategy. of the two of them, vyros had a tendency to be the first to jump while kalore was the steady hand that stayed the action. they were a good match for one another in this way; vyros kept the torch lit, and kalore guided the way. ❝ i regret how it ended. ❞ he speaks on their brotherhood, lowly, the regret obvious in the tone of his voice. ❝ but i will take the responsibility for setting fire to the bridge and letting it go to ash when i returned to the winter court. i will accept the blame for it all if you're willing to at least look at the prospect of rebuilding it. ❞

eyes of ichor study the dark gaze opposite, listening intently when the daemati speaks again. ❝ i know the kind of man you are, kalore. i know you serve your people loyally, and i would be a fool if i were to suggest otherwise. i only ask that you look beyond the night court’s borders to see that there are innocents in every court who simply desire their own freedom, just the same as you. and from the seat of court commander, my reach is greater, my influence stronger. i have more power to make change. i can still serve the night court and every fae of prythian in this way, if you are open to the possibilities. ❞

a grave nod is his answer to kalore’s acknowledgement — enough is enough, but not all courts will see the new king’s rule as a place to demand change, but a vital organ in which to slip a dagger and bleed the court dry. an ambitious court taking control of the realm would end in tyranny which vyros cannot abide. ❝ i do not wish to see any harm come to the boy, but it is time we challenge this reign. it has been too long since the royal court was a true advocate for all those it assumes under its power. ❞ his fingers wrench around the hilt of kingkiller, and he looks through his brows at the shifting darkness around them, scanning for any who might come to feast on this intrigue and scuttle back to a spymaster with the entrails.

❝ i may be an idealist, but i am not naive. history has shown us time and time again what a lust for power and a throne can do to cripple a realm into stagnation — or to bleed it dry. all we need is a majority, and we could see it done — there would need to be peace treaties drawn up, binding treaties with hellish consequences for those that breach them. ❞ silver brows are knit as his mind reels with thoughts others might deem treasonous; how long he’s thought them, how long they’ve festered without another sound mind with which to share them. he sighs and lets the thought go, knowing he’s getting ahead of himself — ❝ i have asked my emissary to call the court commanders together to confer on the events that have been unfolding since our arrival in the capital. i don’t expect many to show, but it’s a chance to get a read on those that do. i hope you’ll attend. solidarity is needed, now. ❞

"you  know  quite  well  what  path  my  past  led  me  towards.  you  cannot  blame  my  hesitance  when  you  ran  off  to  serve  another  court.  it  hardly  inspires  faith  when  you  ally  yourself  with  another,  for  all  I  know  you  can  easily  feign  your  loyalty  -  temporary  or  not  for  the  sake  of  your  own  court."  did  kalore  believe  not?  note  entirely.  between  the  two,  vyros  possessed  a  certain  loyalty  that  not  even  he  himself  harbored.  it  would  be  entirely  easy  to  say  he  did  not  dwell  on  the  past,  but  all  of  his  ambitions  and  his  very  life  was  shaped  by  his  past.  as  much  as  he  wished  it  did  not,  it  would  hold  a  strong  driving  force  over  the  commander  of  the  night  court  for  the  rest  of  his  existence.  the  difference  was  he  carefully  picked  and  chose  what  he  wished  to  look  behind  on.  in  the  case  of  this  winter  commander,  the  answer  was  never  quite  clear,  more  so  now.  that  in  all  this  turmoil  and  uncertainty  that  follow,  kalore  knew  only  one  man  who  thought  as  he  did.  one  might  think  their  minds  were  of  one,  still  were  perhaps,  despite  the  decades  of  differences  and  distance  between  them.  there  was  a  familiar  look  of  bloodlust  in  the  other's  honey  gaze,  one  that  the  commander  knew  all  too  well.  it  had  been  a  risky  move  to  share  his  ambitions  with  the  illyrian  decades  ago,  but  kalore  could  hardly  resist  when  another  understood  something  so  pivotal,  and  feared  very  little  like  the  daemati.  "the  one  thing  i  would  never  mistake  you  for,  vyros,  is  a  fool.  you  are  many  things,  irrational  some  days,  but  certainly  not  a  fool."

he  was  not  certain  the  other's  concern  for  all  the  courts  prythian  or  the  winter  court  he  currently  served.  kalore  had  little  care  that  it  had  been  a  seasonal  one,  and  in  truth,  he  wanted  no  conflict  with  any  of  the  solar  courts  or  the  seasons.  what  he  wished,  as  always  was  the  night  court  to  be  independent.  he  already  had  a  devil  of  a  time  bowing  to  his  own  high  lord  who  was  entirely  unfit  to  rule  the  night  court,  but  at  the  very  least  he  had  his  high  lord  in  the  palm  of  his  hands,  a  man  who  listened  to  his  commander  without  question.  "careful,  do  not  imply  that  i  have  no  care  for  my  people.  every  move  i  have  made  in  my  position,  has  been  for  my  night  fae  and  that  included  you,  once."  the  rational  side  of  kalore  knew  very  well,  the  man  was  not  plotting  anything  other  than  to  free  their  people.  despite  their  history  and  their  fallout,  even  now  the  two  were  capable  of  much,  hardly  another  stood  a  chance  if  they  were  to  team  up  and  do  what  is  needed  to  be  done.  kalore  had  to  consider  other  factors  outside  of  them,  mainly  what  this  thing  could  do  if  they  made  a  sudden  move.  for  all  the  wit  they  possess,  if  their  high  rulers  did  not  possess  the  powers  to  right  this  force,  their  actions  could  worsen  things  for  all  of  them.  he  had  little  care  what  became  of  the  royals,  at  this  rate  would  they  even  survive  without  the  courts  protecting  them,  but  that  led  him  down  a  more  intriguing  thought  -  one  that  the  winter  commander  was  sharing.  "as  much  as  i  despise  agree  with  this,  we  have  stood  back  and  allowed  far  too  much,  at  the  hands  of  the  royals.  the  mother  and  the  boy  are  harmless,  but  we  may  be  able  to  use  it  to  our  advantage.  without  the  king  they  are  vulnerable,  relying  on  us  to  protect  them."  he  had  little  care  for  the  royal  family,  but  the  rest  citizens  of  gaea  did  not  deserve  what  was  befalling  on  them  because  of  their  carelessness.

"no."  it  was  all  he  offered,  and  while  vyros  serving  the  winter  court  certainly  had  left  a  bitter  taste  in  his  mouth  decades  before,  now  he  was  indifferent.  "i  would  sooner  die  than  watch  prythian  fall,  nor  do  i  wish  to  send  any  of  the  faes  of  prythian  in  the  crossfire,  or  into  a  battle  with  one  another.  perhaps  you  may  be  naive  believing  that  every  high  ruler  will  unite  for  the  good  of  prythian  against  the  royals.  you  can  speak  of  your  high  ruler,  as  i  can  of  my  own,  but  even  i  cannot  imagine  what  the  ambitions  of  the  others  are."  he  met  the  other's  gaze,  "you  are  a  perceptive  man,  then  surely  you've  noticed  the  high  rulers  of  spring  and  summer  -  you  can  smell  the  ambition  off  them,  and  i  would  not  underestimate  day  and  dawn  high  rulers  either.  they  seem  unassuming  but  I  find  the  quietest  of  the  bunch  are  the  deadliest."  his  arms  cross  over  his  chest  as  he  shifts,  "believe  it  or  not,  that  thought  has  crossed  my  mind,  that  if  i  could  have  timur  convince  the  others  to  unite,  demolish  the  throne  entirely,  we  would  have  a  fighting  chance  against  this  thing."

[daemonarmor--archived]

Just a heads up! I’m still writing this muse. There’s a couple of ideas I have in mind that I want to lay out at some point, HOWEVER, Drautos is not my main, which is why the activity on here is rather slow. He’s very fickle and I need to be in the right headspace for him and also focus much harder to get him right.  Still, I will always try to respond to threads and asks etc. in a timely manner. Thank you for understanding and wanting the Kingkiller around :>

[roamngreenwoods]

Denna from that scene where she plays the Cursed Song

[silver-purls]

My gift to @coat-the-boneless for the KKC gift exchange! I hope you enjoy it!

The Secret of the Wind

There are nights when the wind is silent. On those nights, it hides under the leaves on the ground and behind closed doors. It sits on the stars and drapes across the moon so gently that only the movement of the earth reminds it that it still lives.

Then there are nights like tonight. Tonight, the wind is awake and alive, pulling at tree trunks and sliding through clustered branches. On nights like tonight, the wind is telling its story instead of listening. If you know how to listen, it’ll tell you the most enticing things you’ve ever heard. It’ll pull at your hair and tease your tear ducts. It’ll leave your face flushed and your throat breathless with the words it tears out of it. It will move right through you, push you and pull you until your heart is struggling to lift itself from your chest and fly away with it, leaving the husk of your body behind while it balances on the edge of a breeze. On those nights, I don’t try to call it at all. I think I could, but I like to listen to the stories it tells and the way it moves on its own. The path that is chooses to move through, the things it decides to lift.

When I hear her voice, I’m expecting it.

“Today I brought her a dandelion,” comes the small piping voice. The wind carries it to me, nestles the words into my ear and then calms slowly. I let my arms fall and carefully turn around. The girl’s hands are cupped around the top of a flower, the trimmed stem peaking out from where her palms press together.

“I brought her a feather,” I smile. I reach into my pocket and pull a large duck feather from my cloak. Her eyes widen in delight when she sees it, and she takes another step closer to me.

“We should give her our gifts at the same time,” she says boldly.

“Yes,” I agree.

She takes her palms and stretches them out towards me. I reach the feather out and lock eyes with her. We don’t count, but I know the moment that her tiny fingers begin to unfold that I can send the feather off.

The wind catches the threads of dandelion and feather, swirling them around us lifting them higher and higher. It reminds me of a tavern, small white tendrils and one large one-moving and lilting with no sense of rhythm. They move with purpose, going in no direction and with no destination. Five steps to the left, a gentle fall towards the ground, then lifting up all on a rush, then dropping again. I let my eyes catch the girl’s, which are sparkling with delight.

“I’ve brought something,” I say carefully.

“That’s good. I’ve brought you something as well,” she muses dreamily. “We need to be patient, until she is done.”

I nod, turning my eyes back to the remaining dandelion tendrils. My feather has disappeared somewhere off the roof, and most of the pieces of the flower are beginning to settle as the wind gently calms.

“She liked our gifts,” the girl whispers. “She doesn’t get very many, you know.”

I do know. So I nod to her, then to in the opposite direction towards the sky. She seems satisfied with this.

“I’ve brought dandelion wine and a secret,” she says seriously.

“A secret?”

“It’s at the bottom. It’s a quiet one.” Her eyes are glowing, but there’s a small wrinkle in brows.

“I see,” I say, carefully removing the basket from under my cloak. “That’s quite lovely, thank you.”

“And what have you brought?”

I open the basket to reveal a loaf of bread, a chunk of hard cheese, and an assortment of wild berries. “This basket has many things in it. Bread, cheese, berries, but it has one more thing you can’t see.”

Her eyes light up at that. “What else does it have in it?” She peers into the basket curiously.

I speak slowly, carefully. “A game.”

She looks skeptical. “What kind of game?”

“A game of names.”

I have a theory. I’ve wanted to test this theory since the first time I saw her, skittering about the roof in her threadbare rags with her hair springing in the wind. I’ve waited to test it, because I wasn’t sure if I would lose the small amount of trust that she’s placed in me since we last saw Kvothe. We’ve moved from one to two words over the span of a glance, to sharing gifts and meals. Now I think there is a chance she will play along, but there is a more likely chance that she will absolutely not.

She stares at me now, then looks to the basket. She gives a quick nod, then begins to divide up the food between us delicately.

We eat in silence and I try to mirror the small bites she is taking, the care and pace she is setting. We pass the bottle of wine back and forth.

When we finish the food, there’s still a bit of wine left. I take a breath, and look at her. Her eyes are set on my patiently, her hands folded in her lap as she waits for my next words.

“To play this game, I’ll point to something. Then you’ll tell me its name. When its your turn, you’ll point to something and then I’ll do the same.”

She nods once, and I smile, plucking something I’ve spotted on the ground near us. It’s a small caterpillar with blue spots and fuzzy spikes. I’m glad I didn’t manage to squish it between clambering up here and laying out my cloak for our picnic. I hold it out to her and it squirms. She blinks once before smiling at me.

“That’s Tallows,” she says easily. I don’t ask her why. That’s not part of the game. She holds out the half empty bottle of wine to me and I take a sip before I see where her other hand is now pointing. There is a spot you can barely see with the dim lighting of the night, but a spot that I know well. It’s a place between three trees where you can sit with you back against one and your feet pushed to the others, and it feels like the trees are carrying the full weight of you.

“Carrion,” I say. She nods at me, then takes her own sip of wine. I point her to the cloak I’ve laid our food out on.

“Oak,” she says quickly, surely. I lift my eyebrows in approval, and she grins. Then she takes a small flower from the pocket of her dress. The petals are bruised and wilting like it has been carried there for a while.

“Dh’olisea,” I say calmly. Her eyes light up and she almost looks like she wants to wrap her arms around me, but she stops quickly, nods once and replaces the flower in her pocket.

“Now I have one more, this is the most important one,” I point my finger at one of the dandelion tendrils, still floating in the wind and moving back and forth on the roof.

Her face darken as she looks at me for what feels like an eternity. But its only a moment. She shuts her eyelids and I hear the word pass through her lips like honey.

The wind lifts all at once, it carries the edges of my cloak and the dust that has settled around us. It lifts our hair and the folds of our clothing and everything is moving up, then abruptly it falls down. I feel the power in it move through me and then all at once, as it was asked- it stops.

“I believe you’ve won the game,” I whisper.

She nods, taking the final sip of the dandelion wine.

“Would you play it again?” I ask.

The wind is completely still around us.

“I’ve found the secret,” she says instead. Her voice isn’t broken or hesitant. It’s bold and knowing, it has a gentle power bolstering it.

“The secret,” she whispers softly-inching closely so I can hear the cadence in her voice. “The secret belongs to the wind. But she liked our gifts, and so she is okay with sharing her secret.”

“That’s very generous of her,” I nod.

“The secret is that the wind is lonely, and that she loves to dance.”

I let my head back and laugh. It’s a deep belly laugh and I know she’s smiling because she knows I’m not laughing at the secret; I’m laughing because its true. I heave myself off the stone and reach my arms out again.

“Then we should dance with her!” I shout. Sleeping babes be damned. I move my arms in time. There’s no motion, and the wind is still against me. I bob my head up and down and sway, my feet moving clumsily in time to an invisible beat. The wind loves to dance.

The girl watches me for a moment, but then she lifts herself up. I see her point a tiny toe out, then retract it. She reaches out a tiny finger, then retracts it. She carries herself with a royal grace, fingers folding and limbs moving in front of her and to the side. I laugh again and let myself dance more, I let the feeling push through me and I lift my feet faster. I’m jumping so much; I don’t notice when the wind starts again. It pushes under my shirt and yanks my arms up before abruptly dropping them down. There is gooseflesh covering the skin there, the hairs standing in a vertical line across my forearm.

The girl is dancing now too, eyes open but glinting with fever and excitement while her limbs float around her. It’s like she is weightless, like the wind is carrying her and holding her while she dances.

Maybe it is.