Assassin's Apprentice

“‘You don’t speak like a child,’ he observed suddenly. ‘But I’ve heard that was the way of it, with those who had the old Wit. That from the beginning, they were never truly children. They always knew too much, and as they got older they knew even more. That was why it was never accounted a crime, in the old days, to hunt them down and burn them.’”

Burrich’s words in this passage allude to myths of changelings, or other children stolen by the fairies, in varying world mythologies, particularly Celtic. This passage emphasizes the idea that the Wit makes Fitz less of a child and therefore undeserving of being protected and loved, contextualizing his treatment—and adultification—for the rest of the novel, even if such treatment is unintentional. With Burrich’s casual talk of “hunt[ing] them down and burn[ing] them,” however, the novel also introduces an implicit threat behind this adultification.

“But take him now, Regal, and shape him, and a decade hence you will command his loyalty. Instead of a discontented bastard who may be persuaded to become a pretender to the throne, he will be a henchman, united to the family by spirit as well as blood.”

Fitz is in a constant battle against his objectification in the eyes of the royal family. Throughout the novel, Fitz is never treated like a child by his family but instead as a pawn or even an animal, sent to sleep with the dogs. King Shrewd’s speech illustrates this perspective; he views Fitz as a rogue element to be controlled before he betrays the throne instead of as a person with thoughts and feelings. Fitz’s loyalty is something to be manipulated; Shrewd never considers that Fitz can make his own decisions (and does, by the end of the novel, when he views Verity as the true king instead of Shrewd).

“But [Burrich] was no longer the right hand of the King-in-Waiting. Other than watching over me, he wasn’t Chivalry’s man at all anymore. No wonder he couldn’t look at me without resentment. He hadn’t sired the bastard that had been his downfall. For the first time since I had known him, my wariness of him was tinged with pity.”

Burrich’s intense love for Chivalry and intense hatred for himself both shape and ruin his fatherly connection to Fitz. Burrich sees both himself and Chivalry in Fitz; in Burrich’s eyes, Fitz is their child, but with all their “bad” traits and no chance of being socially accepted. Burrich and Fitz’s relationship is damaged by grief, misunderstanding, and a mutual need to belong to something or someone, highlighting The Importance of Human Connection.

“But early on, Chade found the limits of my obedience. In laming the horse, he had suggested I cut the frog of the animal’s foot. I never even considered doing that. I informed him, with all the worldly wisdom of one who has grown up around horses, that there were many ways to make a horse limp without actually harming him, and that he should trust me to choose an appropriate one.”

This passage quickly characterizes Fitz as someone intensely thoughtful and caring—what makes him a “good” assassin is that he does not leap to harm as the immediate solution to his problems. Fitz’s confidence in certain areas is an important aspect of his character; when he knows that he understands a topic, he does not hesitate to use all his knowledge to find the wisest, least harmful solution. Fitz’s love of animals, however, is also vital; he is much more willing to harm people than he is animals, showing his intense allegiance to them and the way he views animals as family just as much as any person.

“A year had passed since I’d last seen her. How could a person change so much? The dark hair that used to be in sensible braids behind her ears now fell free past her shoulders. And she was dressed, not in a jerkin and loose trousers, but in a blouse and skirt. The adult garments put me at a loss for words.”

Adulthood, in the world of the Six Duchies, is synonymous with gender presentation. Although women in the novel are not necessarily limited by society in the way that historical medieval women were, this passage illustrates that growing up still comes with certain expectations for behavior. Molly is no longer “Nosebleed,” a gender-neutral name for an adventurous child prone to fights, but Molly Chandler, a growing young woman, illustrated by the specific references to her blouse and skirt. Fitz’s struggle to accept this shows his ultimate struggle with fitting in with society, something that Molly seems to not struggle with at all—perhaps because of her social station or perhaps because this is just who she is.

“Fitz fixes feists fits. Fat suffices. It’s a message, I believe. A calling for a significant act. As you are the only one I know who endures being called Fitz, I believe it’s for you. As for what it means, how should I know? I’m a fool, not an interpreter of dreams. Good day.”

At first, the Fool’s first prophecy reads like nonsense, but the knowledge that “feist” is a word for a small, yappy dog reveals the exact events of the next chapter: Fitz will use fat to fix the health problems of Lady Grace’s fitful dog. The alliteration of “Fitz fixes feists fits” presents the Fool’s statement as a riddle, disguising the meaning of the phrase from Fitz, who sees the Fool’s statement as nonsense talk.

“This was Verity’s way. Weeks had passed since we had last spoken, but he took no time for greetings. Chade said it was a lack in him, that he didn’t make his men feel their importance to him. I think he believed that if anything significant had happened to me, someone would have told him. He had a bluff heartiness to him that I enjoyed, an attitude that things must be going well unless someone had told him otherwise.”

Verity is consistently characterized as not fitting in with the rest of the court, much like Fitz himself; this passage shows the effects of this on the people around him, providing Chade’s negative opinion and Fitz’s positive opinion, which ultimately counterbalance to prove Verity’s authenticity. While Shrewd and Regal manipulate others for their gain, Verity, as his name suggests, is straightforward and honest. However, in keeping with the duplicity of the keep, this trait is treated as a weakness by others in the court who want him to be different.

“The age of the Fool at the time of his arrival at Buckkeep has been a matter for conjecture. From personal experience, I can vouch that the Fool appeared much younger, and in all ways more juvenile than at present. But as the Fool shows little sign of aging, it may be that he was not as young as he initially appeared, but rather was at the end of an extended childhood. The gender of the Fool has been disputed. When directly questioned on this matter by a younger and more forward person than I am now, the Fool replied that it was no one’s business but his own.”

This passage provides important characterization and description for the Fool, highlighting his otherworldliness. The Fool defies categorization; his age cannot be defined, his gender cannot be defined, and his very place in the world (that of a jester) is defiantly uncontrollable. Although never stated explicitly as a rule in the Duchies, jesters in history often had “jester’s privilege,” allowing them to speak and act freely without fear of repercussion. The Fool’s prophecies hint at the same privilege, yet unlike actual jesters, what the Fool says is of dread importance.

“But these folk gave off no feelings at all. Imagine water with no weight or wetness. That is how those folk were to me. Stripped of what made them not only human, but alive. To me, it was as if I watched stones rise up from the earth and quarrel and mutter at another.”

Fitz’s character is intensely tethered to the experience of life and being human, and his horror at the Forged ones is based on their lack of humanity. Despite Burrich’s constant fear that Fitz will lose himself to the Wit and become a beast, passages like this prove that Fitz’s humanity is at the core of his character. This passage utilizes metaphor to build the horror of the Forged ones, representing them as elements like water and stone but lacking in the qualities that make them what they are.

“For in deciding, our villagers are saying in their minds, not ‘if we are Forged’ but ‘when we are Forged.’ And thus they have already been raped in spirit, if not in flesh. They look at their kin, mother at child, man at parents, and already they have given them up to death or Forging. And the kingdom fails, for as each town must decide alone, so it is separated from the whole.”

Chade’s insight here typifies the political dialogue included throughout the novel. At times, entire paragraphs are devoted to characters, including Fitz, pontificating on the political ramifications of certain choices or actions made by people or groups within the kingdom. Chade’s dialogue here also addresses the tension between hope and despair; the people of the kingdom have different approaches to the threat of Forging, but their inability to unify under a banner of hope for the future spells danger for the entire kingdom.

“‘Chade, I know the Fool is strange. But I like it when he comes to talk to me. He speaks in riddles, and he insults me, and makes fun of me, and gives himself leave to tell me things he thinks I should do, like wash my hair, or not wear yellow. But…’ ‘Yes?’ Chade prodded as if what I were saying was very important. ‘I like him,’ I said lamely. ‘He mocks me, but from him, it seems a kindness. He makes me feel, well, important. That he could choose me to talk to.’”

Once again, Fitz’s dialogue here speaks to the concept of the jester’s privilege, but most importantly, this passage illustrates his intense loneliness and yearning for companionship. Fitz longs to be treated like a human being, illustrating the importance of human connection, yet the people around him often do not acknowledge him at all or only do so to criticize him or talk to him about his father. The Fool’s teasing is important to Fitz because it makes him feel like an individual worthy of the Fool’s time and not just another fixture at the castle.

“‘Sometimes, you are so like him that…’ She choked. ‘You should have been mine. It isn’t fair, you should have been mine!’ She cried out the words so fiercely that I thought she would strike me. Instead, she leaped at me and caught me in a flying hug, at the same time treading upon her dog and overturning a vase of greenery.”

Patience’s desperate cry here contains a double meaning. On the one hand, it speaks to her attempt to adopt Fitz as her own; she is protesting not being able to raise him as her son. On the other hand, Patience could also be addressing her inability to bear a child and her wish that Fitz should have been hers biologically. Both meanings are vital to Fitz and Patience’s complex relationship—but both conclude with her loving him as her own.

“There was a woman, actually, little more than a girl. She had a way with birds. She lived in the hills to the west of here, and it was said she could call a wild hawk from the sky. Some folk admired her, and said it was a gift. They took sick poultry to her, or called her in when hens wouldn’t set their eggs. She did aught but good, for all I heard. But Galen spoke out against her. Said she was an abomination, and that it would be the worse for the world if she lived to breed. And one morning she was found beaten to death.”

This passage both characterizes Galen as violent, controlling, and prejudiced and emphasizes the discrimination in the Duchies’ society, highlighting the intense repression that both Burrich and Fitz necessarily overcome to survive. The stakes are raised by the revelation that Galen has murdered people over the Wit—while previous passages have discussed their dehumanization and disenfranchisement, this passage makes it clear that Fitz’s very life is at stake for something he cannot even control, developing the theme of The Tension Between Identity and Belonging.

“It was inside me. The more I sought it, the stronger it grew. It loved me. Loved me even if I couldn’t, wouldn’t, didn’t love myself. Loved me even if I hated it. It sets its tiny teeth in my soul and braced and held so that I couldn’t crawl any farther. And when I tried, a howl of despair burst from it, searing me, forbidding me to break so sacred a trust. It was Smithy.”

Despite Burrich’s rejection of the Wit, Fitz’s life is saved twice by two dogs who loved him more deeply than anything else. Smithy’s deep love for Fitz in this passage provides contrast with Fitz’s intense self-hatred, brought on by Galen’s mistreatment and years of isolation and rejection. This argues that self-love is not enough to sustain a human being—Fitz needs those connections to others to survive. The imagery of the “tiny teeth” in his soul indicates how this idea physically pains him but forces him to acknowledge and accept it.

“[Regal’s sugar-crystal women] wore gowns like butterflies’ wings, and ate as daintily as sparrows, and seemed to flutter about and perch always in Regal’s vicinity. And he would sit in their midst, in his own silk-and-velvet hues, and preen while their musical voices tinkled around him and their fans and fancywork trembled in their fingers.”

This passage utilizes vivid imagery to detail the women surrounding Regal, all of whom want to marry him for power. Fitz’s disdain for them is clear through the delicate language he chooses, in which the women “flutter” and “perch” and their voices “tinkle[],” but he is equally disdainful of Regal. This creates a clear system of value in Fitz’s head, if not in the world at large: Living grounded and heartily equals success, while delicacy, glamour, and illusory pomp are to be mocked and rejected.

“It seemed to me that I had lost everything when I lost Smithy. Or perhaps in my bitterness I set out to destroy what little was left to me. I sulked about the keep for weeks, cleverly insulting anyone foolish enough to speak to me. The Fool avoided me. Chade didn’t summon me. I saw Patience thrice.”

Grief is a constant threat in Fitz’s life, and this passage emphasizes the self-destructiveness that grief and depression can cause. Fitz needs others yet pushes them away. Although Fitz condemns himself for this behavior after Chade chides him, it is also clear that Fitz, who also recently lost Burrich, did not have a stable support system in the first place. Patience does not understand him, and the Fool’s tenuous relationship with him is not intimate about grief and suffering. Thus, Fitz’s lashing out at the world makes sense—he has no one he can truly trust.

“‘But what does the devouring of one man matter, if it saves a kingdom.’ Verity did not bother to disguise the bitterness in his voice, and to me it was plain that it was not the Skill alone that he spoke of.”

The idea of sacrifice appears throughout the book, with distinctions drawn between sacrifices made from love and sacrifices made out of duty. Verity feels that he and Fitz do not matter as people to Shrewd and the political machinations of the throne, yet both would sacrifice themselves for the cause without hesitation. This is sacrifice out of duty. Verity longs to be able to sacrifice himself out of love or be loved enough to not have to sacrifice himself, yet he will never receive this treatment from Shrewd or Regal.

“I don’t know how long I knelt there, as silent as if it were truly a sleeping babe. But eventually I rose, and backed out of the Fool’s room, and then drew the door silently closed behind me. I went slowly down the myriad steps, torn between dread that I might encounter the Fool coming up and burdened with the knowledge that I had discovered one denizen of the keep who was at least as alone as I was.”

Fitz’s unintentional intimacy with the Fool emphasizes the intensity of their yet-undefined relationship and the Fool’s role as his foil. Fitz himself is as mysterious as the Fool, yet, like the Fool, everyone believes that they know what they need to know about him. Fitz needs to recognize himself in the Fool—without accepting that they are equally in need of one another, they cannot view each other as fully human. Recognizing the Fool’s isolation is the first step in what becomes a long saga, with the series continually returning to their complex relationship as the thematic center.

“[Kettricken] had an immense mass of yellow hair that I was becoming accustomed to in Jhaampe, with some of it braided up and coiled about her head, and some flowing loose down her back. Her face was grave, her bare arms muscular.”

Princess Kettricken’s physical description emphasizes her strength and character, even though her “grave” face is later revealed to be just one facet of a complex personality—she is not grave but instead hasty to act, stubborn, and desperate to be loved and valuable, just like Fitz can be. Kettricken’s muscularity also emphasizes her capability as a person. She is not simply a princess but a powerful figure capable of leading a country.

“I thought you were stubborn and sullen. You thought you had been grievously wronged. No wonder we have been so much at odds.”

The entire complexity of Burrich and Fitz’s troubled relationship is summarized in these three short sentences—neither of them has ever truly been honest with the other, and both are too afraid of rejection to change this in the future. Burrich’s efforts to love Fitz by not letting him use the Wit are cruel, and Fitz’s anger is justified; Burrich’s actions have only driven him further away from Fitz in turn. Neither one of them allows themselves to view the other as a “good” person, which only makes it harder for them to come to terms with each other when Fitz is a teenager.

“After I put [the poisoned knife] into [Cob], he managed to hit me twice, good solid punches, before he fell back, dying. Good-bye, Cob. As he fell I suddenly saw a freckly stable boy saying, ‘Come along now, there’s some good fellows.’ It could have gone so many different ways. I had known this man; killing him killed a part of my own life.”

This passage emphasizes the real effect assassination and death have on Fitz. His desperation to feel human is numbed and even damaged by his profession; he recognizes people he knows as part of him, yet he must kill them to save himself, killing himself in small ways in the process. Fitz recognizes, in this passage, that people are infinitely complex. Cob is a traitor and a murderer but was kind to Fitz once and might have been capable of that kindness still—yet he must die to protect the kingdom and save Fitz’s own life.

“I flung my strength to Verity, reserved I had not suspected in myself. I opened up and let go of them, just as Verity did when he Skilled. I had not known I had so much to give. ‘Take it all. I would die anyway. And you were always good to me when I was young.’”

Once more, Fitz’s desperation to be loved and treated as a child worthy of love colors his unreserved devotion to Verity. The simple act of treating him well, in Fitz’s eyes, has earned Verity the right to take Fitz’s entire life for his own survival. Fitz’s lack of love and belonging means that the smallest token of affection earns his entire heart, emphasizing his unhealthy view of relationships and loyalty.

“To the end of my days, I will bear the scars he gave me. His worn teeth sank deeply into my hand several times before he managed to drag me from that pool. How he did it, I will never know. But his head still rested on my chest when they found us; his mortal bonds to this world had broken. Nosy was dead. I believe he gave his life freely, recalling that we had been good to one another when we were puppies. Men cannot grieve as dogs do. But we grieve for many years.”

Nosy’s relationship with Fitz is defined by pain until the end. The scars that Nosy leaves on Fitz’s hand in the process of saving his life symbolize their entire relationship—Fitz has been scarred by Nosy, however unintentionally, repeatedly, and this has affected Fitz’s entire worldview. At the same time, Nosy’s simple, sacrificial love demonstrates that, once again, Fitz has been saved by the animals that Burrich insisted he reject. Fitz has been raised to believe that his love is harmful and wrong, but Nosy proves that Fitz’s love is valuable and important.