“The Waystone was his, just as the third silence was his. This was appropriate, as it was the greatest silence of the three, holding the others inside itself. It was deep and wide as autumn’s ending. It was heavy as a great river-smooth stone. It was the patient, cut-flower sound of a man who is waiting to die.”

The second novel begins where the first novel ends: with a clear description of Kvothe’s loss of enthusiasm and will to live. Rothfuss cements the reader back at the Waystone Inn by introducing the three silences of the space, with Kvothe’s silence being the most pressing and the most painful. This repetition ties the novels together while providing insight into Kvothe’s frame of mind with the telling of his story. It is a sharp contrast between the Kvothe who exists in the frame narrative and the Kvothe of the past, leading the reader to immediately worry about what caused such an abrupt transition.

“So yes. It had flaws, but what does that matter when it comes to matters of the heart? We love what we love. Reason does not enter into it. In many ways, unwise love is the truest love. Anyone can love a thing because. That’s as easy as putting a penny in your pocket. But to love something despite. To know the flaws and love them too. That is rare and pure and perfect.”

Kvothe’s description of love reinforces that no one, and nothing, is perfect, but a lack of perfection does not make someone any less deserving of love. This belief contradicts his view of himself. While he looks to the outside world and believes that things should be loved despite their flaws, his actions and negative self-talk within the context of interpersonal relationships show that he struggles to believe that he is equally deserving. It is made evident that he has a kinder view of others than he has for himself.