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Content Warning: This section of the guide includes discussion of child abuse, animal death, and suicidal ideation.
Assassin’s Apprentice is written from an intimate first-person narrative, creating a memoir-like tone and style that allows the reader to witness Fitz for who he is and who he tries to be. As the child of a prince but born outside of marriage, Fitz exists in liminal space; while he “belongs” to the royal family, nobody seems to want him or know what to do with him. In addition, Fitz’s ability in the mysterious Wit is central to the narrative, affecting both his view of the world and his relationships with others. Throughout the novel, Fitz struggles to reconcile who he is with who he must be in order to belong at the palace, and this tension drives not only the action of the novel but also Fitz’s character development as he grows into adulthood.
From the beginning of the novel, Fitz is revealed to be a child with the unique skill of mentally and emotionally bonding with animals, a talent that Burrich later identifies for him as the Wit. Although the origins of the Wit are never fully explained, Burrich’s revulsion for it illustrates its stigmatization in the kingdom. He cruelly separates Fitz and Nosy and impresses upon Fitz the importance of hiding the Wit from everyone else. However, Fitz’s desperate yearning to use it colors the entire narrative. It is a fundamental aspect of his identity, and when Fitz is forced to deny it, he is put in the position of denying his very identity to achieve belonging in the strict environment of the royal household.
The need for Fitz to deny his talent sets up a dynamic that plays out in numerous ways in the novel, in which his quest to discover himself is obstructed by his constant need to repress and minimize his identity for his own safety. Just as he must hide his skill with the Wit, he is also hidden away himself because of his status as Prince Chivalry’s son, born outside of marriage. This status will never change, and, as he discovers, even Patience’s acceptance and love of him cannot change the political realities of his existence. This tension adds an inherent grief to Fitz’s coming of age, as he is never openly able to express his identity. Fitz’s process of becoming himself and finding a way to belong in the world of the Six Duchies can never be complete; in fact, his very existence is dangerous to his royal relatives, who make him a pawn to exploit his status and avoid him being used as leverage against them. Although Fitz finds small ways to be himself with intimate friends and allies like Molly and the Fool, he can never achieve full public self-actualization. This tension is still present at the end of the novel—although Fitz has become more confident in who he is and what he believes in, cementing his identity more firmly, true belonging still eludes him in the society that he has no choice but to call his home.
Throughout Assassin’s Apprentice, the protagonist, Fitz, is devastatingly lonely. His ability to create and maintain connections with others is permanently damaged by the rejection and isolation he experiences during his childhood. He has few friends at Buckkeep, and his family members are necessarily distant due to their social status. In addition, the attempts that he does make to connect, as with the animals at the keep, are thwarted by Burrich. This sets up a pattern that Fitz continues to follow as he gets older, pulling away from others out of a fear of intimacy brought on by these repeated social traumas. The challenges he faces and the development of his character throughout the novel emphasize the importance of healthy human connection, particularly to a growing child.
One way in which the novel explores this tension between connection and isolation is through Fitz’s relationships with animals. In this respect, his closest human connection, Burrich, becomes antagonistic in his determination to sever Fitz’s natural connections to animals throughout the novel. Burrich goes as far as to separate him from Nosy (to the point that Fitz thinks Nosy has been killed), condemning Fitz to an ever-deepening loneliness. Even Fitz’s connection with Smithy is cut short by Smithy’s death. Although not intentional on Burrich’s part, his actions communicate to Fitz that he is not worthy of intimate connections. By severing these stable, intimate relationships, Burrich shapes Fitz’s mentality to be prepared for loneliness on all fronts, human and animal—not just because he must be alone but because having relationships sullies him somehow.
Burrich also affects Fitz’s sense of self-worth through his rejection of Fitz’s natural gift with the Wit. He encourages Fitz to hide his talent, forcing him to effect an imposed distance between himself and everyone he keeps his secret from. Between his separation from animals and his secret keeping, Fitz has very few opportunities to have consistent and healthy relationships with anyone, human or animal. Fitz recognizes the isolation of the Forged ones with horror because, in many ways, he fears becoming a person who cannot see others as worthy of care or compassion. Whenever he gets close to someone, something happens to remind him that his place in the world and in others’ lives is not fixed or easy.
By forcing Fitz to disconnect from both humans and animals, Burrich has unintentionally created a situation where Fitz is so desperate for connection that he will endanger his life for it. Fitz’s loyalty to the throne causes him to nearly give his entire life to help Verity, even though Verity didn’t need all his energy. In addition, the abuse that he endures under Galen leads him to nearly kill himself on more than one occasion in an attempt to overcome Galen and his students’ rejection. However, the novel offers some hope for Fitz in his other relationships. Patience, for example, wants him to be her son; Verity protects him fiercely and advocates for his well-being at court. Fitz is never unloved, but because he has been isolated and traumatized for much of his life, he cannot recognize these relationships for what they are or what they could be.
Fitz’s role as an assassin in the royal court comes with constant questions about what loyalty truly means, as well as when one should question the power structure that controls them. From an early age, adults impress upon Fitz that if he steps outside of the careful structure of the castle, he will be killed. As a result, Fitz develops an intense loyalty to the throne. Fitz’s role, however, is that of a killer taking orders from a leader who believes that they have ultimate control over the lives of others. The novel never truly defines if this is “good” or “bad,” but Fitz’s journey into young adulthood introduces nuance and complexity into his life, building the idea that authority and power are never perfect, making unquestioning loyalty a complicated issue.
At first, Fitz doesn’t question the morality of his duties. Becoming an assassin for the “good” of the kingdom is not something that Fitz extensively questions; he has few other options. At first, his loyalty to the kingdom is absolute, but his perspective is limited. He panics when he is seemingly asked to betray the King’s loyalty by stealing something from him, even though the King himself had given him the instruction. This shows Fitz’s strengths and flaws in a single moment—he is doggedly loyal but shortsighted about nuance and the dangers of those in power. The King never questions the morality of what he asks Fitz to do, and even Chade merely tells Fitz to become an assassin only if he is comfortable doing so.
As Fitz carries out his missions as an assassin, he begins to understand the moral complexity of his duties. He rarely questions his orders, typically believing in the missions he is sent on. However, his intelligence allows him to find a way out of killing people who he does not believe “deserve” to die, like negotiating with Lady Grace or seeing through Regal’s plot to have him take the fall for Rurisk’s death. As his character grows and develops, he questions his orders and the motivation of those who give them, something that, at first, he didn’t feel able to do.
Fitz’s growth helps develop the idea that loyalty to a power structure—whether it be a kingdom, a country, or a royal family—is inherently complex, with moral gray areas. The supremacy of the royal family in the Six Duchies, including their complex interpersonal struggles, relies on their absolute authority, but by the end of the novel, Fitz redefines his loyalty to be more fluid, defined by the good of the kingdom rather than obedience to the throne. Fitz eventually decides to be loyal to Verity as a person instead of the king as a concept, demonstrating the possible good in loyalty. While Verity is not perfect, Fitz’s loyalty to him leads to better outcomes than if Fitz had stayed unthinkingly loyal to the royal household as a whole.



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