The Doors of Stone

Words and Wood

Chronicler was up early the next morning. When he left his bed, it was still so dark outside, the label of morning was questionable at best; but he could sleep no more, no matter the hour. The last two days had filled his head with more than it could comfortably carry, and he surrendered to the wakefulness, warring no longer with the pillows and blankets to bring him back to the temporary oblivion of sleep.

He dressed, washed up to the best of his ability, and packed up his room at the Waystone Inn. This was to be his last day of collecting Kvothe's story before heading to Treya. He was very late now for his appointment with the Earl of Baedn-Bryt, but the story of Kvothe the Bloodless had been too tempting an opportunity to refuse. If he had known two days ago how he would feel today - would he have still chosen to hear it? Being a man of practiced practically, he recognized the futility of such thoughts, favoring instead to head down to the main room of the inn, preparing for a third day's work at the now familiar table. His ink, paper and supplies laid out, in still anticipation - and more than a little fear - of what must be coming next.

As he waited for the sun to rise, he looked up at the sword mounted on the wall. As he noted before - this clearly was *not* the blade Kvothe had named Caesura.
Chronicler rose momentarily to inspect it more closely, and was surprised not to recognize the grain of wood. And the inscription - folly? Where had that come from? Never before had he spent two days listening to someone, and understood them less.

"You're up early," said a now familiar voice. Chronicler looked up at the innkeeper, greeting his guest without fanfare or excessive cheer. There was a shared understanding between them; the type of which soldiers, farmers and troopers come to take for granted - that depth of connection born of the brotherhood of shared loss and experience. The type of understanding that transcends intimacy.

The innkeeper's eyes grew distant and wistful. Intimacy. Kvothe tried to imagine arguing with Vashet about which was the greater intimacy; the singing of songs, or the unfiltered telling of one's greatest failures? The thought of it made his heart ache.

After a moment, his eyes refocused, and his attention dutifully returned to the present.

"Where's Bast?" he asked. As if summoned, the bronze key in the front door slipped out of its lock, bouncing off the floor with a shining din. The door swung open for a smiling young man.

"Good morning, Reshi!" Bast's eyes twinkled with mirth, until he saw Chronicler sitting at the table, papers in place.

"Reshi! You didn't start without me?" His voice was pleading, and more than a little bereft.

"Relax, Bast," soothed the innkeeper. "I just came downstairs. Our guest here seems to have had little sleep. Can I safely assume you've had even less?"

Bast smiled widely, his dark eyes regaining a bit of shine. "My duty to the young wives of town has been neglected of late."

Kvothe sighed. "Well then Bast, as long as you aren't too tired for your other duties today, there's no harm in it. No time like the present, none promised tomorrow, yesterday echoes of sweetness and sorrow." He half sang the last line, but more in tempo than tone.

He turned to Chronicler.

"Are you ready?" he asked. There was not a hint of song remaining in his voice.
Chronicler gestured eagerly to the table. "Ready and waiting," he replied.

"No," Kvothe began again. "You are clearly ready to write. I am asking another question entirely. Are you sure you're ready to hear, and to know, the rest? I need to make sure you understand. You can't unhear a hard note played."

Chronicler paused, remembering the heaviness of the last two days. It gets worse than this. Of course it would. But no degree of additional preparation would make the story easier, or Chronicler more prepared to hear it.

Accepting this, he nodded.

"Well then," Kvothe began. "We last ended with me back at the University, with coin in my purse, Denna in my good company, and my friends making the university the first real home I ever knew."

He paused only for a moment. "Sorry, I needed to savor that high note. The rest to come does not play a pretty tune."