Of All the Brothels in All the Warcamps and I Walk into His

by Gard3nwitch

Summary:

After a literal highstorm doesn't kill the damnation bridgeman, Brightlord Matal decides to stuff him away in a brothel instead. Maybe that would finally break the man.

TWOK au where Kaladin is the whore Adolin rescues.

Chapter 1: Just Like Any Other Man, Only More So

Adolin stopped, mid-sentence, as a door exploded behind him. Tibon and Marks assumed assault positions, flanking him.

A man, tall and lean with shoulder length black hair fell face-first into the dirt outside the door. He was nearly undressed, wearing only a simple leather skirt. An officer with light blue eyes and a green uniform came out the blasted door, kicking the man in the stomach, yet the man made not a sound or movement, other than to curl around the blow, though painspren wriggled up, long and sinewy, around him. People on the street huddled, walking more quickly and shrugging away from the sight.

The man swung his leg back for a second blow. Adolin stepped forward, between them. It didn’t matter the station, you did not treat an axehound this way, much less a person. He shoved down the spike of anger that had flared in him. The lighteyed man had red knots on his uniform—not high ranking. Adolin’s first instinct was to summon his Shardblade and watch the man go running in a panic. Yet a calmer, more practical voice in his head reminded him that they were trying to mend things with Sadeas. So Adolin simply stood between the two. The man began buttoning up his coat, maintaining his aggressive demeanor as he set his foot, the one he’d raised for another kick, back on the ground.

“You don’t belong here, friends,” he sneered, “seem you wandered into the wrong warcamp.”

“We have legitimate business here,” Adolin answered coolly, trying not to look at the man on the ground. He wanted this officer’s attention on him, not redirected on his victim. Then smiled. A smile could do wonders for a situation. “Whatever your problem with this man, I’m sure it can be resolved without violence.”

“He’s a whore,” Sadeas’s man said abruptly. Adolin glanced at the establishment. Several women with exposed safehands, and a thick-set darkeyed Herdazian woman crossed her arms at the scene. The anger he’d stuffed down started to bubble again. Not just a disagreement, this man was abusing his station at the expense of someone with no power.

“I can see that,” Adolin said, and, for the sake of his father’s attempts to reconcile with Sadeas, stiffly stuck out his hand. Sadeas’ officer spat on it. Damnation, how drunk was he this early in the afternoon? Well, Adolin couldn’t be blamed for frightening the fellow a little, then.

“I see,” Adolin said, keeping that same hand raised towards the officer, and summoned his Shardblade. Ten heartbeats.

As it coalesced from mist in his hand, the officer stumbled back in the mud and fell down into it. Any help that had surrounded him scattered, and then so did the officer, cursing. A sharp, dark eye looked up at him through dirty locks of black hair. Adolin thrust his Blade into the stone and looked to the darkeyed whore on the ground.

He was handsome, to be sure. Taller than most, strong jaw, proud cheekbones and eyes that looked like they’d seen too much for his years, which Adolin estimated to be fewer than his own. The man clutched the broken shaft of a spear to his chest and didn’t seem the least bit disoriented. Storms, had he been about to use that? That would have been certain death, and nothing Adolin could have done to prevent it. He held his hand out anyway. The man glared at him, dark eyes, not just in color, under darker hair. He tried, and failed, to stand on his own. Adolin kept his hand extended, though his instinct told him this man was suspect.

The man, looking like he’d rather spit on Adolin’s hand himself, took it at last, and Adolin pulled him to his feet. He hunched, holding his side where he’d been kicked. He dropped the broken shaft.

“Out of curiosity,” Adolin said, “What did you do to him?” One of those severe eyes lifted through his hair to meet Adolin’s. The man seemed to be deciding whether or not to answer.

“He broke our agreement,” he said finally, “He wanted me to…doesn’t matter. I corrected him. Then he refused to pay.” Adolin cringed internally at the man’s tone. Like the treatment was what he expected. No one should have to deal with that, no matter what they did for a living.

“Well,” Adolin said halfheartedly, “I suggest you get paid upfront from now on.”

“Hm.” Something like a sarcastic grimace came over the man’s face. This was not how people reacted to being rescued.

“And…” Adolin continued, attempting to salvage the situation, “maybe head for the border, stay away from Sadeas’s camp. I could arrange for transport.”

“Tch.” The man actually clicked his tongue at him and headed back inside the brothel.

“Ho!” Adolin called, “Weren’t you listening?” Scowling, the man pushed back his dark hair and Adolin started.

Slave brands, and, Adolin narrowed his eyes, was that a shash glyph? His knowledge of glyphs was poor but he thought he recognized that one. Dangerous. Violent. No, this man could not leave the camp. As such, he stomped back inside. Adolin noticed that many hurried hands of women reached for him in care.

As he disappeared in the hallways of the brothel, Adolin, ignoring his Guard, approached the Herdazian woman.

“Thank you, Brightlord,” the woman greeted him kindly, but casually, “that could have been a right mess, it could. Would you like a round with one the girls? Free of charge, of course. That was a lot of spheres you just saved.”

“Was it?” Adolin asked, genuinely surprised, “He’s good looking enough, but his demeanor is wanting.” The woman barked a genial laugh.

“Oh forgive me, Brightlord, but you’ll be Adolin Kholin judging by the uniform, the hair, and the…” her eyes sparkled a little, leaving Adolin slightly confused and thrown for how well she knew the warcamp elites. Though maybe...he gave the building another look. It was nice. Stone walls, not soulcast, a balcony and deck, west-facing, with a stiff awning. The madam and the working women were dressed and refined, save for the lack of sleeve or glove on their safehands. This was a high-end establishment, catering directly to their elite. Of course they’d be familiar with him.

“The what?” he asked, “You won’t offend me, go on.”

“Well,” and her eyes still twinkled annoyingly, “The inherent prudishness, Brightlord, pardon.” Adolin felt himself visibly balk.

“Prudishness? How is it prudish to acknowledge his distinct…” Adolin’s eyes flicked to the door where the man had disappeared inside. The woman only smiled.

“Sure, Kal’s not a top earner. But you’d be surprised how much you brightlords will pay to be ordered around by an ornery darkeyes. And that,” she leaned in conspiratorially, “he is distinctly good at. Plus, he acts as a bodyguard for the girls,” she shrugged, “so he earns, and earns his keep.” Adolin jerked a little. He knew a lot, courtesy of his sergeants when he’d spent two months as a spearman. He didn’t know this.

“You’re telling me our highlords actually pay for him to…” he trailed off, reeling slightly.

“Well, not yours, so much. But the kingdom’s as a whole, yes.” There was a moment of silence. “Want to book an appointment?” This time Adolin did step back.

“No!” he said it with more force than the situation likely required. He turned to go but his feet wouldn’t move with him. There was another moment of silence before he leaned in towards the woman, speaking quietly so no one else could hear, “No charge, you said?”

Chapter 2: Kaladin, Alethi, Age 20. Cannot Return to His Town. The Reason is a Little Vague.

Notes:

I'm using Casablanca quotes as chapter titles because you can indulge whatever stupid whims you want, actually. That's what the internet is for.

Adolin left his mount, not Sureblood, the white Rhyshadium would draw far too much attention, secured to the post out front. He straightened his vest, a splash of blue on an otherwise drab outfit of browns and whites. He had even covered his hair. The blonde on black coloring wasn’t completely abnormal, but on the other hand he’d courted a fair few of Sadeas’s scribes, and fewer but more than zero of his officers. He generally tried to keep that quieter. He wasn’t embarrassed, and the Vorin church laid no such restrictions on romantic attractions, but he did feel a certain...expectation to provide heirs, even if Elhokar already had a son. As such, visiting a brothel, even a very nice one, to see a man...he’d much prefer if people didn’t hear of this. Well, he’d much prefer if his father didn’t hear of this. Besides, he wasn’t here for the reason people usually visited brothels. It seemed to him that this man, Kal, did not lie with his clients. Out of sheer curiosity alone, Adolin had to see what he did do. Plus, it was on the house. He wasn’t breaking the codes...he shook his head. No, he definitely wasn’t breaking the codes. He was satisfying his own absolutely overwhelming curiosity. He still took care to turn his head down as he entered.

He sought the madam, the Herdazian woman whom he’d since learned was named Tuera. He found her at the bar, drinking a watered-down violet wine. She stood, steady as a rock on her feet and greeted him with an incline of her head.

“I can say without a shadow of a doubt that you are the most prestigious guest we’ve had the honor of serving, Brightlord Kholin.” Adolin internally recoiled at that. This wasn’t a busy time, Tuera wouldn’t have given up a popular slot on a complimentary session, and there was no one else in the bar, but still. He smiled anyway at the greeting. Sure enough, Tuera’s eyes and posture melted a little.

“I assume discretion is part of your generous offer,” he said.

“For a few spheres, I can guarantee it.” Adolin cocked an eyebrow, maintaining his smile. So she was taken by him, but not so much that she lost her business acumen. He could respect that. He took a sapphire broam from inside his vest pocket.

“Don’t use my name again, madam.” She gave him an agreeable grin and pocketed the broam. She was attractive despite her years, which Adolin estimated at forty-five or so.

“Down the hall,” she motioned, “last door on the left. Kal’s expecting you.” I should hope so, Adolin thought, but didn’t say it. He said nothing else but walked in the direction she’d indicated, which might have been rude but his palms were suddenly sweating and his heart was beating somewhere around his stomach. His feet moved according to the directions he’d received and he was at that door, knocking.

Moments passed. Or minutes, even.

He knocked again. This time a sharp voice answered from inside.

“Did no one ever teach you how to open a door, brightlord? Or are you just not that bright?” That startled Adolin’s hand away from the door. What in the Almighty’s tenth name…? He opened the door and stepped inside. It was dim in here, there were no windows and only oil lamps for light. Two chairs sat in front of an unlit hearth, and a sideboard stacked with various drinks was placed to his right. The man, Kal, lay on a bed large enough for two placed against the wall opposite the hearth. He barely opened an eye as Adolin entered.

“Finally figure out how a door works, brightlord?” The way he said the title it may as well have been an insult, “I’m not giving you back that minute you spent standing out there at the end of the session, by the way. One hour means one hour, no matter how you choose to spend it.”

“Uhh…”

“Eloquent,” Kal said, closing his eye again, “I see why they put you in charge.” Real indignation flared in Adolin’s chest at that. It was the Almighty who had created everything, not him. He was only trying to follow his calling.

“Kal, was it?” he asked. The man sat up at that, swinging his legs off the bed and stood, scowling. And oh that was a storming scowl.

“Kaladin,” he growled. “Storming woman could at least get my name right. So you’ll be Adolin Kholin, then. Of the supposedly honorable Dalinar Kholin.” The indignation turned to anger inside Adolin.

“Is this what you do, then? Slander reputable lighteyes?” Kaladin strode across the room, speaking nonchalantly as he poured himself a glass of orange wine. For a whore who didn’t go to bed with clients, Kaladin sure wasn’t dressed like it. He wore a simple, soft leather skirt that cut off at mid-thigh and sheer takama, a long robe garment for men. That was it. His body bespoke a strength one didn’t get from just entertaining highlords all day. Artists would have loved him, every muscle was delineated. In the moment Adolin could hardly appreciate it.

“Slander? His son is visiting a whorehouse, how honorable can he be?” Adolin felt his face flush.

“Insult me, if you must, but not my father.” Without missing a beat Kaladin took a long drink from his goblet and said,

“You’re visiting a whorehouse, how honorable can you be?” Adolin had rarely felt such outrage, even in exchanges with Wit. “Also, ‘reputable’ and ‘lighteyes’...you just about made me laugh there, brightlord.”

“Ah yes, I forgot we were all fools for following the Almighty, Kal.” The man’s eyes somehow darkened even further.

“Honor is dead.” The words hung between them, feeling different than the insults so far. Then, “But unfortunately, spoiled lighteyed brats are not.” Adolin furrowed his brow, taking a step back,

“This is what you do?” he asked. Surprisingly, Kaladin’s scowl retreated, and he almost looked his age.

“Well...yes,” he answered, “Tuera said you were curious, said to give you the full experience.”

“People like this? They pay for it?” Kaladin narrowed his eyes at him,

“This isn’t a test? You really don’t want—”

“Storms no, man. Please stop.” To Adolin’s astonishment, Kaladin visibly relaxed. What on Roshar was going on here?

Kaladin took out another glass.

“Wine?” Adolin hesitated. “It’s included,” Kaladin added. He nodded.

“Pink,” he said. It was still early. Not even mid-day. With a slight pang of guilt he thought that Kaladin must only have gotten two or three hours of sleep before his arrival. He poured it for Adolin, using, Adolin noted, proper winehouse technique. That, combined with the way Kaladin spoke, even his name, which wasn’t a simple one like most darkeyed names, stoked a much different curiosity in Adolin than the one he’d come in with. Kaladin slumped in a chair by the hearth, drinking his orange wine.

“I should...I want to thank you for stepping in that day.” He gestured for Adolin to sit in the chair across from him. Adolin stepped forward, a little numbly, shocked at the change in demeanor. Here sat a man, not full of acrimonious insults, but exhausted at the end of a long day. Indeed, several exhaustionspren circled his head.

“This isn’t an intro to another insult, is it?” Adolin asked cautiously as he sat with his wine. Kaladin smiled at him. It was only a half-smile, to be fair, but it was real. Adolin released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“I didn’t want to admit...I didn’t want to need your intervention, but I did. Need it, I mean.”

“Not from where I was standing. I saw that broken spear shaft you dropped. You could have gotten out of it.” A grimace crossed Kaladin’s face.

“Maybe. They would have killed me for it.” Adolin didn’t know what to say to that. Beside him sat, to his judgment, a passionate man and skilled fighter, maybe a soldier judging by his posture, who knew when to withhold, a man who spoke like a lighteyes but worked in a whorehouse bearing not only slave brands, but a shash brand. To top it off, he was a whore who didn’t lay with his clients. So Adolin said the only thing he could think of,

“What in damnation happened to you?” Kaladin looked at him a long moment, sideways, over his shoulder, tapping his forefinger on his wine glass as though deciding something. In the end, he let his head fall back against the back of chair and turned his gaze to the ceiling.

“I was placed into Sadeas’s bridge crews. Bridge Four. I did something that really messed up a plateau run. So they strung me up in a highstorm. Well, I lived.” Adolin sat forward, nearly vibrating with curiosity. That was a lot of story in only a few sentences and he had several questions about all of it. Kaladin stood, stretching. Adolin could see the distinguishing lines between his back and chest. Instead of appreciating the man’s form this time, he only wondered if Kaladin got enough food. Well, in truth he did both. Kaladin continued, “I guess they thought that if they couldn’t break me with the bridge runs or a highstorm, they could break me with this. Only…” Kaladin drained the rest of his goblet, “they didn’t count on Madam Tuera. She was perfectly content to keep me as a bouncer or a dishwasher.”

“Then how…?” Kaladin peered at him with a single, tired dark-brown eye through wavy locks of shoulder-length black hair.

“I got into a shouting match with a lighteyes at the bar. I was telling him exactly where he could stick his wine glass when he asked for a room and told me to keep going. After that, Tuera put me on the schedule. Pays better than dishwashing.” Again, Adolin was at a loss for words.

“I don’t suppose I’ll ever hear the full story.” Amusement, but no smile crossed Kaladin’s face.

“You only got this far because you got me out of a situation.”

“How are your wounds?” Adolin asked, embarrassed that their bout of insults had precluded this question.

“Remembered, have y—” but Kaladin stopped, mid-quip, and cocked his head as though listening to something. His eyes fixed on a point over his opposite shoulder. Adolin sat forward, his interest, if possible, intensifying. After a long moment, Kaladin let out a sigh. “It’s fine. I’ve had worse.”

“Have you?” Adolin asked, wondering if he’d been beaten by other patrons.

“Yeah,” Kaladin replied, “Strung up in a highstorm, if you recall.” Adolin blushed.

“I-I’m sorry…I meant—” Kaladin waved him off, which was good, because Adolin had no idea what he had been going to say.

“No, I’m sorry, brightlord—” This time the title didn’t sound quite so much like an insult but Adolin found he liked this version even less. It was so...tired. Defeated. A lifetime of being called ‘brightlord’ and in this moment he hated it. Shut away from the outside world here in this dim, cozy room he strangely felt as though it shouldn’t matter. Not here, anyway.

“Adolin, please,” Adolin offered. Those intense brown eyes locked on him. He doubted very much that anyone of his dahn had ever asked to be called by name. Under those eyes Adolin felt a little stiff, a little warm, a little...he shuffled in his seat.

“I’m sorry, Adolin,” he said, “You’ve been kind. Truly.” The way he said it only made Adolin sorrowful at the implication that most were not kind at all. He felt an overwhelming urge do...something.

“Is there anything I can…” But the offer faltered in his mouth as Kaladin’s posture tensed again.

“Unfortunately, princeling,” Adolin raised an eyebrow at the mocking title, but Kaladin didn’t say it with the same bite as ‘brightlord’ so Adolin let it pass, “most things can’t be solved with a grandiose display of Shards.”

“It’d be easier if they could,” Adolin said. “If I could just run down the street holding my Blade a couple times a day to get everyone to behave.” For the second time he thought he almost teased a grin out of the man.

“This isn’t your warcamp.” Adolin’s stomach tied into a knot. That was all too true. He couldn’t go meddling about in Sadeas’s domain, not when relations with him were precarious at best. But he also didn’t want to give up.

“Food?” he said, “Supplies? Fabric, or needles, or something?” Kaladin raised his head, perking up, and turned on Adolin.

“Bandages? A few field medic kits?” He asked, sounding enthused, excited, “Antiseptic? Fresh water?” His face was suddenly lit with hope and relief as he looked at Adolin, eyes wide. For a moment he looked like the youth he actually was.

It was beautiful.

Adolin’s breath caught in his throat. He never knew anyone to be so enthusiastic about medical supplies, but he supposed they were more of a rarity here. His brain was having trouble sending words to his mouth so he only nodded mutely. Kaladin stepped toward him then stopped.

“I-I don’t know what to say, Adolin.”

“ ‘Thank you’ is the general term,” Adolin said as his mouth finally caught up. Kaladin’s features darkened again, aging himself a few years in a matter of seconds.

“I’ll thank you when the supplies actually show up, princeling.” He was certainly a suspicious one, wasn’t he?

“It’ll take me a couple days to requisition everything, but you’ll have them, bridgeboy.” Kaladin wrinkled his nose in disgust.

“Bridgeboy?”

“I think that’s my hour,” Adolin said quickly, standing, “not one minute over, right?” He felt a tad bit guilty for the nickname, but on the other hand he wasn’t about to give this man, Kaladin, too many liberties in addressing him. He wasn’t a rug to be trod on. Besides, he wasn’t the one who had started the name calling. It was pretty innocuous, actually, as far as name calling went. It wasn’t like he’d chosen something in reference to the place they were currently in.

Kaladin’s jaw was clenching and unclenching, seemingly debating whether or not to say anything more. Adolin paused on the way out and, though this hour had been on the house, dropped a few spheres on the sideboard before stepping out.

The hallway seemed bright compared to the dimness of the room. Adolin had almost forgotten it was barely mid-morning. He walked back to the bar where Madam Tuera nursed her watered-down violet wine surrounded by ledgers.

“How’d our Kal treat you?” she asked, not looking up.

“With contempt, insolence, and a touch of indifference.”

“You’ll be wanting to book him again, then?” she said matter of factly, still immersed in the ledgers.

“In four days’ time. For the evening, not just an hour.” This earned him an appraising glance as she pulled a large book over from the far side of the bar counter.

“I can give you from first moonset on,” she told him, looking at the bookings. “In the future I can book the same time in perpetuity.” Adolin nodded, though part of him was screaming caution at him. What if his father found out? That alone almost made him hesitate, almost made him pull back, until he saw Kaladin’s harsh posture and somber, dark eyes in his mind. Adolin wouldn’t be just another to witness and subsequently ignore that suffering.

“You’ll pay now, then,” Tuera said, “ ‘till I get to trust you better. Three broams if you please, brightlord.” That made him balk.

“Three?”

“For a whole evening. With one of my more specialized attractions.” Well that was certainly one way of putting it. Adolin opened his pouch of gems yet again and dug out three broams. He fisted them, saying,

“This also buys your silence, that extra discretion you mentioned, yes?” The woman examined him for a moment, as though wondering how far she wanted to push her luck. “Aye, brightlord,” she agreed at last, “ S’long as you do your part. No traipsing in here in one of your fancy outfits, no summoning Blades or the like. So long as you do that I can keep my end of the deal. We have a high-end clientele though. Can’t stop them from recognizing you. Can’t promise you won’t have to make any more deals. They won’t find out about you from me and mine though.” Adolin added two more spheres.

"You'll let me enter through the kitchens and go directly to the room. I won't turn up early, won't stay late." Tuera inclined her head to him. Acceptable terms. Adolin nodded again, curtly, and set the broams and spheres on top of her ledgers.

He stumbled out into the sunlight, suddenly feeling exposed, and onto his mount in a daze. What had he just done? What had he just agreed to? Yet, as he nudged his mount with his heels and guided her onto the road, he felt four days to wait was four too many.

Notes:

Kaladin: Fuck you and your entire ruling class.

Kaladin: God is dead.

Kaladin: Have I told you how much you all suck?

Kaladin: Sorry, you must level up to unlock my tragic backstory.

Adolin:....

Adolin: I like it, another!

Chapter 3: How Much Trouble? Too Much Trouble.

Notes:

Ten days ago I was at just under 4,000 words and I thought I'd end at 20,000. Um. No.

So. I'm super nervous about chapters 3, 4, and 5 because I'm well aware of how these kind of plot building chapters in a story that promises explicit content can be, well, boring. Especially trying to provide a fresh spin on things we already know. Unfortunately, I feel that the only way Kaladin would fall for TWOK Adolin is through interactions with other people, and I just don't have it in me to gloss over it.

But fuck it, because ultimately this is a self-indulgent enterprise.

However, if you're just here for the DRAMA and INTRIGUE, it starts at chapter 6. You'll miss the slow-burn tho =/

Adolin thought the anticipation he felt would wane after a day or so back in his own warcamp. He was like that sometimes. He got carried away in the moment and then came back to himself after some time apart. This time he found, rather, that he became more anxious, more resentful that he had three days to wait, two...It was surprising, but pleasantly so. It meant he wasn’t flighty. In his quiet moments his mind drifted back to the memory of Kaladin sitting slouched in that chair and thinking on the elegant curve of the muscles in his leg. These moments made him blush. That wasn’t what this was about, it really wasn’t. Adolin honestly did want to help. Just the same, if he was going to walk around in practically nothing then Adolin couldn’t help if he...noticed.

He woke the morning before the day he was to see Kaladin again only to decide he couldn’t wait the extra day, despite his promise to Madam Tuera that he wouldn’t show up early. His body was already alive, as if he’d skipped over the sleeping part in his impatience. He remembered the look on Kaladin’s face when presented with the possibility of real medical supplies. A little drop of warmth settled in his stomach. No, he didn’t want to wait to see that again. He had most of the supplies anyway, he was only waiting on the antiseptic, lister’s oil. He could bring that to his real appointment tomorrow.

Adolin wriggled out of his morning training by inventing an errand to follow-up on his meeting with Brightlord Reral in Sadeas’s camp, though Zahel would make him pay for it later. He could see that he would be volunteering many errands to Sadeas’s camp. At least it would make his father happy, that he was taking the attempt to unite the highprinces seriously. In reality, Adolin thought that was impossible.

He rode the near hour to the gates of Sadeas’s camp in two sets of outfits, his blue Kholin uniform on top of a plain shirt and trousers. For the moment he left his hair uncovered, but he had a cap for later. He had given it a great amount of consideration and this was the best he could come up with. He needed to be himself to enter the camp, trying to hide there wouldn’t work, and it would arouse suspicion at the same time. On the other hand, he couldn’t risk walking into a brothel in his uniform.

As he wound his way around towards Madam Tuera’s he paused behind the old barracks of the warcamp that had been slowly abandoned as more permanent structures had come up over the years. It was there that he shuffled off his uniform, folded it carefully into his saddlebags, donned his cap, and made the rest of the trip to the brothel.

Dismounting, he untied the basket of supplies from the saddle, then the saddlebag. Maybe it was overly cautious, but he also couldn’t risk someone rifling through saddlebags and finding his uniform. He started to feel nervous as he approached the door. What if Tuera turned him away? It was still quite early, no way Kaladin would be with a client.

Stupid. He could just drop off the supplies and leave, right? That’s what this was about. Not...not seeing Kaladin. Just then the door opened and Adolin dove behind a porch column.

“Yes, yes,” Kaladin was saying with an air of annoyance, “I’ll be back by noon for lunch. Stop mothering me, Tashe. You shouldn’t be cooking anyway, there’s no proper ventilation in there and you’re due any time now. Have Latha do it.”

Due? Oh. Adolin blushed, feeling a little foolish. Babies would be a natural accompaniment to a brothel, wouldn’t they? He peered around the corner of the column. Indeed, the woman seeing Kaladin off had a very full belly. He didn’t hear the reply though because...because...

Kaladin wore an open leather vest and pants that cut off just below the knee. He carried a small sack over his shoulder. He raised his face, closing his eyes, and for a moment seemed to soak in the heat of the early morning sun. Adolin was about to step out, casually and nonchalantly mentioning he was in the area, but...

Kaladin took off down the road at a brisk pace. Adolin found himself following at a great distance. It was early enough that there was no traffic yet on the roads.

“Well, yeah.” Kaladin’s voice drifted back to him. “What else would it be?” Adolin squinted, trying to stay behind but also looking for Kaladin’s companion. “Why are you asking me? Aren’t you—” A beat. Then nothing. Kaladin didn’t speak again.

Well...Adolin talked to his sword, his horse...he supposed talking to yourself wasn’t so different.

Adolin was beginning to think Kaladin might just be out for a simple walk, though it had sounded like he was going somewhere specific. Maybe that had been a fabrication to get some time off. Just as soon as he started to wonder he nearly walked into a stack of wood.

Kaladin jogged into the open space in the middle of Sadeas’s lumber yards, hailing a group of thirty or so men who broke formation and greeted him with cheers. One of those large, portable bridges sat on the ground to the side of the men.

Storms. Adolin couldn’t be here. People of his rank just didn’t come to these places. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t in uniform or that his clothing wasn’t eye-catching. He simply bore all the indications of a fairly pampered life; that had been pointed out to him in detail the first time he’d tried to go out with some of the infantry men of the eighth and seventh dahn. It was in the way he walked. They’d spent a good twenty minutes on him trying to change his gait. Adolin never had succeeded.

A large Horneater man slapped Kaladin on the back, making the man nearly stumble face first into the ground.

“Kaladin!” With his Horneater accent it sounded more like ‘Kala-deen’.

“Storms, Rock,” Kaladin coughed.

“Ah! You have no proper food at that place. You will be needing stew to take back, yes?”

“Not my fault I don’t have Teft kicking me up at the crack of dawn. What are we running, sir?” Adolin chanced more of a look around the corner of the wood pile he was hiding behind, and followed Kaladin’s line of sight to a shorter man, graying hair at his temples. He felt a rush of anger towards Sadeas that he’d enslave a man of advanced years to this kind of brutal work. It was bad enough he did it at all.

“Nah, nah, you’re not getting any extra work out of me, boy.” The man, Teft, had a gruff, no nonsense voice that reminded Adolin of every sergeant he’d ever had and made him immediately fond of the man. “I rounded them up for you, that’s it.”

“I’m not in the bridge crews anymore,” Kaladin protested, “I can’t tell you what to do.”

“Like that ever stopped you, Kal,” said a lean man with a narrow face.

“They can’t take you from us,” another man, handsome with long arms chimed in.

“You’re Bridge Four,” affirmed a man with a clipped, Azish accent.

“This thing is obvious, ha!” Adolin nearly stepped out from his hiding place to properly see the smile that crossed Kaladin’s face.

“I think you men might regret that after running twenty laps around the lumber yard.” The affection of the moment hung a little longer before Kaladin snapped, “Am I your commander or am I your commander? Get going!”

They did. Storm it but they did. Adolin had rarely seen such commitment to a commander. They were bridgemen but Kaladin had them moving just like any competently trained army Adolin had ever seen.

Oh storms. Stormsstormsstormsstorms! He crouched back behind his hiding spot but the bridgemen would be jogging around soon. Kaladin was making them take the wide loop, of course he was, and Adolin was trapped. He couldn’t run back the way he’d come, it was too conspicuous, oh he was trapped, seconds away from being found out. Kaladin would know he’d followed, his father would find out, Sadeas would think he’d been sneaking about for completely wrong reasons—

“Ho! What are you doing there, boy?” Boy? Adolin looked up from his panic to see a grizzled, dirty looking man with pale tan eyes. Maybe eighth dahn? Through his frenetic, pounding blood, clear thoughts broke through. That always happened to him on the battlefield, too. He cringed internally at what he had to do, at the same time that he recognized this for the saving grace it was.

Adolin rounded his shoulders to give himself an air of wimpiness and put on his best, brattiest impression,

“Don’t tell my father, oh dooon’t. I got lost on my way home from town this morning. Have you seen Makel? Storming man abandoned me.” Adolin elongated the vowels in a whine. As he’d hoped, the man seemed thrown.

“Your...wait, who?”

“My father. You know, everyone does. Don’t tell.” Fortunately the man seemed to relax and barely restrain himself from rolling his eyes. The bridgemen ran past the opposite side of the wood pile to avoid the scene behind it. With a long-suffering air the man gestured vaguely.

“The main road’s that way, brightlord. This isn’t the kind of place you want to get lost in again, keep up with your friends next time.” Adolin jerked his jaw up a little, sniffing, grabbed his bag of supplies, and stalked off in the direction the man had indicated. He thought the man actually did roll his eyes as he left.

Well, whatever. Adolin enjoyed a near miraculous escape. No one wanted to deal with a snotty highlord. He spared a glance back to the lumberyard where he could now see the bridge hoisted on the shoulders of the men. They were training, actually training to carry their bridge. And it was clear that Sadeas had nothing to do with their discipline. It was Kaladin, all Kaladin. Storms, didn’t he realize Sadeas was only using the bridgemen as bait? That they were expendable? He’d outright said as much at the feasts.

No wonder they’d wanted Kaladin out of the way.

*****

Adolin arrived the next evening on a different mount. An older but pleasantly spry bay mare. He gave her an appreciative pat as he dismounted and relieved her burdens. He’d made the quartermaster nearly cry when he’d ask for double the supplies with last minute notice. He’d got them, though. If Kaladin was going to train his bridge crew like an army, Adolin was going to make sure they had the support for it.

Following the smoke and smell of spice, Adolin clumsily pushed open the kitchen door, his hands as full as they were.

Movement didn’t stop necessarily, that wasn’t possible in a kitchen, but the air shifted. It was a mix of men and women in here and the women weren’t bothering with a glove on their safehands. Adolin blushed a little but then again, why would they, given where they worked and the messy nature of food? He smiled at them.

“Hi,” he said, clutching his satchels, “Adolin Kh—Adolin. I’ll be using this entrance, I’m sure Tuera mentioned...”

“Ay, Madam mentioned,” one of the women said, Thaylen, by the eyebrows, “And what kind of treatment will you be enjoying from our Kal tonight, eh?” A round of snickering passed through the kitchen. Adolin found he wasn’t embarrassed. This was no different than a little razing when you got assigned to a new squad. He adjusted his grip on the satchels and found his grin a little wider.

“The genuine kind, I hope.”

“Only kind he’s got!” said a Veden man tending to a pan of curry.

“Good luuuuck,” added another woman, Alethi, by the looks. Another round of tittering passed through the room, “Bartender will be here late if you need to nurse your wounds on your way out.” Adolin winked at her in thanks. She blushed.

Unfortunately he couldn’t walk smoothly out of the kitchen as he’d have liked after weathering their initiation. He lumbered gracelessly around the tables and trash bins with his satchels that were filled to bursting before he was able to stumble out into the hallway and amble inelegantly down to Kaladin’s room. He even had to kick the door to announce himself instead of properly knocking. He heard scrambling inside. What in damnation…?

The door opened.

“You really showed up, you—” Kaladin cut off as he looked at Adolin, who was now starting to sweat with the weight of the satchels.

“May I?” Kaladin shook his head minutely and backed lightly away, as though a little faint. Adolin wasted no time letting the satchels drop off his shoulders. He ran a hand through his hair, sweaty from the smoke in the kitchen and from the effort of carrying the supplies.

Kaladin gaped at him. Adolin felt his stomach flutter nervously. He ran his hand through his hair again.

“I have to confess something.” He took a breath. Why was he so nervous? He had just piled at least two months worth of medical supplies plus food at Kaladin’s feet. Perhaps it was the objective insanity of what he’d done. “I meant to deliver some of this early, yesterday. I arrived right as you were leaving and I...followed you.” Kaladin’s face contorted, not in anger but in bewilderment.

“That was you?”

“You knew?”

“Sy-I mean, I knew someone was following me.” Adolin stared a moment, then shook off the odd correction.

“You know, if you hadn’t been so storming ‘mysterious’ when we met, I wouldn’t have had to,” Adolin defended, “I don’t normally follow strange men around camps I’m not strictly supposed to be in.”

Kaladin folded his arms, glaring.

“Good to know.” Adolin pointedly ignored his tone.

“Anyway, I...seems to me you’ve got more than one litter of axehounds on your hands so…” He gestured towards the two satchels. Kaladin’s gaze dropped, and he with it, his knees hitting the stone floor. Indignation melted from Kaladin’s face as he opened one and began pulling out its contents.

“Bandages, wraps, tourniquets, needles...is that silk thread?” Then, “Pork?” Adolin had already felt his body relax at the change in demeanor when Kaladin looked up at him, brown eyes sparkling with hope, “Knobweed?” he asked. Adolin smiled.

“Lister’s oil, in the side pocket.”

“Lister’s oil?!” Kaladin dug into the side pocket and pulled out a significant jar of the stuff. He gazed at Adolin. Storms, was he going to cry? Instead, Kaladin collected himself and pointed at the pot hanging over the dark hearth.

“Go fill that with water, behind the kitchens. I need to sterilize everything.” Adolin started.

“Hang on—”

“What?” Kaladin looked up, sharply now, “You thought you were going to just laze around all night watching me sort and catalog everything and gush my gratitude for the benevolence you’ve bestowed on us poor darkeyes?”

“Oookay,” Adolin said, his smile dropping and he squatted down to Kaladin’s eye level. Kaladin tilted his head, like he had that first time, like he was hearing something Adolin couldn’t. Adolin ignored it. “First off, a ‘thank you’ wouldn’t actually kill you, you know. I almost gave my poor quartermaster a stroke asking for that second bag yesterday morning.” Kaladin frowned. “Secondly, I just don’t think it’s the best idea for me to be walking in and out of here for something like a water errand.”

Kaladin stared at him a moment, then let out a long sigh.

“Thank you, Bright—”

“Adolin.” Another moment. Longer. Kaladin’s brown eyes flickered a little golden in the dim light. His thick, long hair covered the brands on his forehead that Adolin knew were there.

“Thank you, Adolin,” he said, and the stiffness in his voice was gone now. Adolin hadn’t even realized it had been stiff until it wasn’t.

“You’re welcome.” Adolin smiled again. Kaladin broke their gaze.

“I’ll go get the water. Do you know how to start a fire?” Adolin almost sat back on his butt in surprise.

“Do I...of course I know how to start a fire!” Kaladin just shrugged.

“You wouldn’t be the first spoiled brat I’ve come across who couldn’t.” He paused and, not a smile, but a smirk crossed his face. “Which, by the way, you gave the lumber master something to complain about all day. Telling anyone who’d listen about useless, drunk—”

“Are we going to sterilize medical supplies or not?” Kaladin looked at him, amused, but merely stood, gathered the large pot, and left.

He returned to a blazing fire. Adolin gave his best impression of Jasnah’s ‘I told you so’ expression.

Kaladin gave him a plate of curry.

Notes:

I did tag the abuse of ellipses.

ALSO I did watch Casablanca this weekend.

It's good. Like, I knew what was going to happen, but that's probably because it was a trope-setting movie. Interested in a youtube deep dive for more context if anyone has a recommendation!

Chapter 4: I'd Like to Think That He Killed a Man. It's the Romantic in Me.

Notes:

I'm so glad the horse community finally has the hot!boy horse!girl representation it deserves in Adolin.

Adolin woke before dawn, his stomach a mess of jitters. He wanted to go again. That was insane. He was insane. He’d almost been caught last time. There was no way he’d be able to pass off his presence as a drunken mistake a second time. He could be seeking a meeting with the general who oversaw the lumberyards? Yes, that was good.

No, actually, it was an awful excuse and it would crumble the second he had to answer any questions. Adolin bounced up onto his feet and out of bed anyway, dressing hurriedly. He dug into a drawer and withdrew a small clutch. He’d been able to obtain a range of different scalpels. He wasn’t sure if Kaladin would know what to do with them, but they fell under the blanket of ‘medical supplies’, so he’d jumped at the chance to get them. And...he might need a peace offering because he was pretty sure he was going to irritate Kaladin by showing up again. Adolin smiled in the dark of early morning. That was even more reason to do it.

He’d think of some excuse on the way. It was almost an hour’s ride to Sadeas’s camp-he was going to have to start bribing the guards there for their discretion-and then another, what, half hour to the lumber yards? Plenty of time.

Adolin chose a painted gelding today with a wide back and round, barrel-like ribs. As he reached for a saddle he paused, an absolutely thrilling idea occurring to him as the first streaks of pink appeared in the sky. He took just the bridle instead.

With no pack save for the scalpels tucked into his coat, and for once no Plate and no uniform to be wary of dirtying, he only bridled the gelding and mounted, bareback. As he rode out onto the plateau in simplicity and crisp morning silence, a warm horse under him, on his way to annoy a bridgeman, Adolin felt unrestrained giddiness. He nudged the gelding into a canter. The gelding wasn’t fast, not like Sureblood, but it didn’t matter. His gait was smooth and Adolin’s heart soared in his chest as the shapes of the Shattered Plains passed him by. This was happiness, pure euphoria, and Adolin inhaled every second of the chill dawn air that rushed against his face.

When the gelding’s coat started to grow slick with sweat Adolin slowed him to a walk, patting his withers.

“Thank you for that, friend.”

He was still grinning widely when he approached the gates to Sadeas’s camp and tossed a sphere to each of the guards before raising his forefinger to his lips to indicate their silence.

The sun was starting to rise in earnest as he tethered the gelding by the water trough. Adolin didn’t wait to see if Kaladin would exit; he went ahead and started down the road to the lumber yards. He figured either he’d beat Kaladin there, which would be funny, or he’d catch up to him, which would be less funny but still acceptable.

He jogged for a few minutes, enjoying the physicality of the morning so far, until ahead he spotted a tall figure with black hair. Adolin's jog turned into a walk, slightly disappointed he wouldn’t see the look Kaladin would have had to find Adolin already waiting at the lumber yard, but. Oh well.

Wait. Kaladin had disappeared from the road ahead. Just about as soon as he’d realized it, Adolin felt...something low on his back.

“You,” Kaladin loomed behind him like a stormcloud, “are a terrible spy.” Feeling embarrassed at his initial panic, Adolin twisted away. The thing on his back had been a stick.

“Storm you,” he said, reddening. “And I wasn’t spying.”

“Fine. Why are stalking me today?”

“I’m not…” Adolin protested, but then he saw Kaladin wasn’t angry. His relaxed face and posture could just about count as a smile. What should he say? That he was completely intrigued by Kaladin’s work with the bridgemen? That he wanted to know more about Kaladin the commander, Kaladin the soldier? Fortunately, Kaladin just shook his head.

“You’re so weird.”

“I’m lighteyed. It’s basically a requirement.” Kaladin rolled his eyes at that, but Adolin was pleased to see that he looked a little amused.

“If you’re going to insist…” Kaladin reached into his pocket and took out a small vial of something, “the clothes are still too fine. Do you even have it in you to dress like a normal person? And the way you carry yourself...nothing you can do about that, I suppose. So here.” He held the vial out to Adolin. Adolin took it.

“What is it?”

“That,” Kaladin turned and continued walking, “will darken your eyes for a few hours, princeling. You’ll never be able to pass for a low dahn, but you might be able to pass for a high nahn.”

“Like you?” Adolin asked, seizing on the opening to inquire about Kaladin’s past.

“Nice try. Three or four drops in each eye if you want to come with. And…” Kaladin turned, walking backward and appraising Adolin for a little bit before stopping and scooping up a bit of fresh crem from yesterday’s highstorm, not yet hardened. He approached Adolin and mashed it into his hair before smearing it down his face.

“What the—” Adolin smacked his hand away. “Bridgeboy!” Kaladin smiled satisfactorily at him now.

“Can’t have you looking too pretty, princeling. Plus, your cologne; you smell too good. That’s how I figured out you were around. A little crem should take care of it.” Adolin tried to ignore the way his heart skipped at that and tried to take it as the admonishment it was and not the compliment he wanted it to be.

“I can’t go back to my family with dark eyes, Kal.” Kaladin shrugged and faced forward on the street again.

“Don’t go back for about four hours, then. Or even better, don’t follow me at all.”

Well that wasn’t going to happen. Adolin tilted his head up and let three drops of the liquid fall in each of his eyes. Belatedly, he realized how stupid that was. He barely knew this man. It could have been anything in there. Indeed, Kaladin seemed to be thinking along the same lines and was looking at him with an expression that amounted to dumbfounded amusement. To his credit though all he said was,

“Ookay, then.” Storms. At least Adolin seemed to be proving that he wasn’t a threat.

“It worked?”

“Congratulations, you’re a brightlord no mor—what are you doing?”

“What?” Adolin wiped the dew from his Shardblade, using its pristine surface to examine his new eyes. Storms, but that was strange.

“Dismiss it, you idiot!” Kaladin was glancing around frantically, but they were alone on the road. Adolin did, the Blade puffing to mist, though he didn’t see what the big deal was.

“Rule one,” Kaladin panted, looking shaken, “no summoning Shardblades to admire your own reflection.”

“No one is around!” Adolin pointed out, though he was getting the sense that Kaladin thought he was conceited, bordering on vapid. Kaladin groaned.

“I don’t suppose there’s anything I can say to make you turn around and go home.” Adolin shrugged.

“Don’t think there’s anywhere else I can go for about, what was it, four hours?” Kaladin covered his face with his hand looking awash with regret.

“Come on, then.”

They walked for a time in silence. Well, Adolin walked. Kaladin ambled like a rolling storm cloud, his face just as thunderous.

“So…” he said, unable to stand the silence any longer, “you and your family...what trade did you practice?” More silence. Adolin was beginning to think Kaladin might not have heard him so he opened his mouth to repeat it.

“No.” Kaladin said, “You’re here because I, apparently, can’t stop you. But I have no interest in being part of whatever game this is you’re playing. I’m just waiting for you to get bored of it and leave me alone. Why don’t you prattle on about whatever fancy thing you had for dinner last night, or whatever it is lighteyes talk about.” Adolin nearly sputtered, having no idea how to respond to that, or even what he’d done to deserve it. He thought their last evening together had gone well. Even this morning hadn’t seemed bad so far.

“I had a very nice curry, actually. Not fancy at all, very spicy. But at least I knew from the start it was going to bite me.” Adolin turned, walking backward so he could see Kaladin properly. The man’s face soured. “You’re educated, clearly. I bet you know your glyphs and everything. You don’t seem like the thieving type. So how’d you end up here? Did you kill someone?” Kaladin scowled and stopped, a distant look appearing in his eyes.

“Killing isn’t what got me here. It’s what came after.” Adolin’s breath caught, feeling suddenly tense.

“What came after?” Kaladin’s eyes cleared and refocused on him.

“Pushed the last man who wouldn’t stop following me into a chasm.” Kaladin started walking again, ducking around Adolin. “Best to go ahead and get bored before that happens to you.”

Blinking out of a daze, Adolin thought that if Kaladin really wanted to be left alone he should work on being a little less storming fascinating. Adolin got bored easily, or so he was told. He didn’t think so. He just liked people. Liked their stories. Besides, he broke into a jog to catch up to Kaladin, he couldn’t imagine a time where he wouldn’t find the man completely enthralling.

*****

The men of bridge four were already in the lumber yard again when they arrived, sweating from their warmup. Adolin felt overdressed in his shirt, vest, rough trousers, and sandals. That was about two more items of clothing than the average bridgeman, it seemed. Storms those fellows could use some shoes. The man with the narrow face turned suspicious eyes on Adolin.

“What’s this, Kal?” Kaladin rolled his eyes as he tied back his hair. Adolin noticed he left enough loose to cover the brands on his forehead, tucking the ends of those pieces behind his ears instead.

“He’s a new bouncer at the...house.” Apparently Kaladin couldn’t bring himself to say ‘brothel’. “After what happened a couple weeks ago the women insisted I let him tag along.”

“Ha!” The large Horneater bellowed, “I think they do not know our Kal very well! Still, is nice thought.”

“You look a bit delicate to be a bouncer, gancho,” The one-armed Herdazian man said it jovially, so Adolin took no offense.

“You’d be surprised, Lopen. I’ve seen him scare off a group of six men.”

“How drunk were they?”

“Don’t be like that, Moash,” Lopen said, “You wanna be on those women’s good side, yeah? Maybe Kal’ll set you up with one of them.”

“No woman wants man with such a face, ha!”

“Shut it, Rock,” Moash slapped the Horneater’s arm. Adolin found himself grinning at their camaraderie.

“What is your name, tiny bouncer?” Tiny? Adolin balked a little at that. Sure, Kaladin was a few inches taller, but he wasn’t tiny, this Horneater, Rock, was giant.

“Adolin,” he said, craning his neck up at the man. Rock nodded approvingly.

“Is good name. You mind stew with Lopen. For hungry bridgemen after training, ha!”

“You’ll be telling me about those ladies, eh gancho?” Rock hung his head gravely.

“Am sorry for this, little Adolin.” Adolin followed Lopen to a corner of the yard where chipped and mismatched bowls and spoons sat beside a large pot of steaming stew. There was no fire here to keep it hot, so Adolin figured his job was to stir it so it didn’t congeal.

“Kal, lad,” the older, graying bridgeman from the other day had tugged Kaladin aside, away from the group. “How much trouble was it, really? You said it was nothing, two weeks back.”

“It was nothing, Teft. They’re just overly worried, that’s all.” Teft just glared at him, looking unconvinced. Adolin hid a small smile for how everyone worried for this stone wall of a man.

“Anyway, how’s Leyten?”

“Eh...it’d be good if you could look him over. The fresh bandages and clean water you brought helped a lot, but he wasn’t up for eating this morning and I’m hesitant to completely blame Rock’s cooking.” Oh! That reminded Adolin. He dropped the spoon back in the pot of stew and ran out to where Teft and Kaladin were talking.

“Kal,” he said, “I forgot this was, uh, delivered for you last night.” Ignoring the way Kaladin glared at him, Adolin pulled the clutch of scalpels from his vest pocket and tried not to smile too broadly since they were in front of Teft. It was storming difficult. Kaladin’s eyes widened in surprise as opened the clutch, his fingers touching the various instruments reverently. Guess he did know what to do with them after all. Kaladin looked to Adolin, his mouth falling open a little. Then he remembered Teft was there, too. The discerning sergeant, Adolin knew he wasn’t technically but he was, looked between Kaladin and Adolin and seemed to Adolin to be wondering just how much of the truth he’d been told.

“Uh, right,” Kaladin said, blinking away his surprise, “I didn’t expect them to arrive so quickly.”

“Oi! I’ve only got one arm here, and it’s getting tired.” Adolin jumped, then trotted back and took the spoon from Lopen, resting in a squat.

“Don’t suppose you’d introduce me to any of those fine women?” Lopen said. Adolin grinned at him.

“Dunno...they’re a pretty shrewd group; not at all like the stereotypes.”

“Oh come on, now! I’m ‘armless. Completely ‘armless, I promise.”

“It’s not that, it’s—oh storms,” he laughed as his mind caught up to the pun, “Lopen, that was terrible.”

These bridgemen completely defied Adolin’s expectation. Before knowing Bridge Four he’d only ever seen the bridgemen as miserable, broken things. But these men were downright lively. They carried their bridge with ease. The time passed quickly, too quickly in Adolin’s opinion, and Kaladin was announcing it was time for him to leave as the lumber yard workers started to arrive for the day.

As he and Kaladin made their way back, Adolin started to feel a sense of squirming unease.

“Kal,” he said once they were far enough away to have some privacy on the road, “What you’ve done here is incredible. Those men are...I like them. But I know Sadeas and,” Adolin took a deep breath, “and I know for a fact Sadeas considers bridgemen expendable. He’s never going to care that you have a trained bridge crew.” Kaladin’s face grew dark and contemplative.

“I know.”

“He’s a complete eel,” Adolin added, “A crem-crusted—what?”

“I know,” Kaladin said, a little more loudly this time. “I figured it out when I completely ruined that plateau assault, the one that got me strung up in a highstorm. Before that I thought, maybe if I showed them that bridgemen could be more, deserving of armor and training...bah. They don’t care. We’re just bait to distract the Parshendi from the real army.” Adolin walked in silence for a moment, half relieved he hadn’t been the one to break the news, half…

“Then why do you keep going, keep training them?” Kaladin stopped, looking at him with piercing brown eyes.

“Someone has to care,” he said, “someone has to start. The lighteyes don’t care, so…” Meaning prickled through Adolin’s body. This man, Kaladin, was a storm. Dark, rumbling exterior containing a tempest of passion within. The very blood in his veins seemed to slow as he perceived it, could almost understand it. Suddenly Adolin knew, as deeply and fully as anything, he would be consumed by that storm if he let himself. If he even had a choice.

The storm subsided, and the understanding Adolin had almost grasped slipped from him. Kaladin started walking again.

“Besides,” he said as Adolin stumbled to catch up, “Maybe if they’re trained they’ll have a better chance of surviving the plateau runs.”

“How did you manage to single-handedly undermine an entire plateau assault?” A small grimace crossed Kaladin’s face.

“Side-carry,” he answered.

“Side-carry?” Adolin repeated, tripping over his own feet in his astonishment. Kaladin nodded grimly. “Storms, man. Yeah, that’d do it. Can see why you would try it, though. It’s Sadeas’s fault, really, for not considering a bridge crew might want to protect themselves.”

“He said I was selfish to try it.” Anger whipped through Adolin’s stomach.

“Selfish? You don’t ask men to do what you wouldn’t do yourself, and those bridges...” He chewed his lip. If he could ever get that man into a duel...Kaladin put him under a contemplative gaze, but didn’t say anything else. They walked the rest of the way to Madam Tuera’s in silence, but the nice kind of silence, the kind Adolin didn’t mind.

“Tomorrow, then?” Adolin said as he untied his gelding’s reigns from the post. Kaladin’s nose wrinkled.

“Stormfather,” he cursed, “You’re not coming every day, are you?” Adolin smirked, shaking the small vial of eye drops at him. “Kind of have to now, don’t I? I’m purportedly your bodyguard, it’d be suspicious if I only came with you every once in a while. And your next round of supplies should be ready before tomorrow night.” Kaladin started, as if he’d forgotten their official appointment tomorrow. He scowled and shook his head. The morning sun glanced attractively off the loose curls in his hair.

“Guess I’ll be seeing a lot of you.”

“Good thing I’m refreshing and engaging company.”

“You’re...all right. As spoiled brightlords go.” Adolin’s chest warmed. He’d never been so glad to receive such a mediocre compliment/insult combination.

“I’ll definitely be having you dictate my memoir.” Was that almost a smile? Adolin supposed he could settle for that. He swung himself onto the gelding, feeling energized to begin the day.

*****

Adolin arrived the next night right at first moonset. He’d only just gotten away from Zahel. He was beginning to run out of excuses for his tardiness to morning training. It just wasn’t possible to make the ride back and get into his Plate in time. He took the usual two satchels off his saddle, one for the brothel and one for Bridge Four. They weren’t nearly as heavy as that first time, now that he was going off more specific requests. Bridge Four was in constant need of antiseptic and clean water but the women needed more domestic type things, ointments for burns and rashes, smaller bandages for day to day injuries. Things that were necessary, but not necessary enough to be a high priority over little stuff like food. Adolin even brought a selection of dried peppers and other spices for the kitchen staff, which stopped their insinuations about what Kaladin may or may not be ordering him to do. Well, mostly.

“Last week he went through here to fill a great big pot of water,” said the Thaylen woman, who Adolin had since learned was called Nriln, “Were you so hard up you made that much of a mess for him, brightlord? Can you be a little cleaner tonight?” Adolin’s face turned as red as the peppers he’d brought. He...he couldn’t do anything with that. He looked to the Veden man who was tending the stove and figured he was as close to a head chef as the establishment had.

“None of these spices go into her dinner,” he said, pointing at Nriln. The entire kitchen burst into raucous laughter, Nriln included. He pushed his way through into the hallway and down towards Kaladin’s room. A door to his right opened and a man stepped out, smiling shyly at a very pretty woman with dark green eyes and long brown hair done up in intricate braids. She was also so expectant with child that Adolin half expected it to fall out as she waved the man off. He nodded kindly to her and went to open Kaladin’s door.

“Oh, he’s got someone hanging on in there,” she said quickly and quietly to Adolin. “I can hear it through the walls.”

“Ah,” Adolin said awkwardly, “I really can’t be seen...um…”

“You can wait in here,” she offered, gesturing to her room with her exposed safehand, “I have a little while before my next one.”

“Uh,” Adolin blushed a little at the safehand but he didn’t see a better option, “sure. Thanks.” He squeezed past her with his satchels.

“You can have a seat on the sofa,” she said and set about making up the bed. She was really, really,

“Should you still be, you know, taking clients?” Probably rude, but the question was out of his mouth before he could stop it. The woman stood, hand on her hip, her intricately embroidered blue robe flowing exquisitely around her. She wore a kind smile on her delicately painted lips.

“Bah,” she dismissed, “It’s fine. Not a bad thing to enjoy your work, is it?” Adolin felt his ears turn a little red.

“Guess it depends who you ask.” She chuckled elegantly.

“I suppose it does at that. I’m Tashe.”

“Oh! Kal’s fond of you.” Tashe laughed a little more. She really was quite charming.

“Kal’s fond of just about everything, but don't tell him so. He’ll be hiding mink kits in his room next, claiming he couldn’t leave them out for the storms and then complaining that they tear up his sheets. And you are…?”

“Adolin, sorry,” he apologized for his forgetfulness. He wasn’t prepared for the way Tashe’s fine eyebrows tried to disappear into her hairline.

“You’re Adolin?” Adolin cocked his head in interest, but he wasn’t sure he liked the emphasis there. He heard raised voices in the room over. Whatever was going on, Kaladin was losing patience. Then a door opened and slammed. Boots stamped down the hallway.

Less than a minute later the door to Tashe’s room opened. Kaladin stood, arms folded, in his soft leather skirt and sheer takama.

“Thought I heard…” he muttered, “You stealing my clients now, Tashe?” Adolin was about to interject until he saw that Tashe was still smiling.

“I don’t think he’d be persuaded. He’s just as handsome as you said, Kal.” Kaladin actually spluttered, color rising on his chest and neck.

“I didn’t say that, storming woman.”

“Sure you did,” Tashe replied lightly, expertly tucking the bedsheets under the mattress.

“I said he was so stylish and primped he looked like he’d never seen the outside of a salon.”

“Hey!” Adolin started, feeling that was exceptionally uncalled for. Tashe quieted him.

“Hush, now. That’s just Kal-speak for ‘more handsome than sin’.” Adolin saw Kaladin shake his head nearly imperceptibly, his eyes going wide. Tashe shrugged. Well now, what was that silent conversation about? Before Adolin could decide whether or not to say anything, Tashe said,

“Well, you boys have eaten up my break, and this one here says I’m not to take any clients for a full eight weeks after the baby comes, so I need to get my work in while I can. Out, out.” She shooed them away. Adolin gathered his satchels and nodded appreciatively to her.

*****

“I like her,” Adolin said as Kaladin closed the door to his room.

“You would.” Kaladin bent to unpack the satchels. After organizing the bandages into small, medium, and large-they frequently came mixed up-Kaladin took the pot from the hearth.

“Go ahead and make the fire again. I’ll be right back.”

“Wait,” Adolin said quickly, “Er, I don’t suppose there’s any other place to get water, other than behind the kitchens, is there?” Kaladin raised an eyebrow, considering.

“Ah, Nriln got to you. She grew up around sailors and her humor is a little...crass.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Adolin grumbled.

“Sorry, but there’s not.”

“Could you maybe tell her to ease up a bit?”

“I’ve done many stupid things in my life, and I’m not going to add telling Nriln to watch her mouth to the list. Besides,” Kaladin’s eyes sparkled slyly as he exited, “a little humility is good for you, princeling.” The door closed.

With only a little more mulling over Nriln’s crudity, Adolin built the fire and it was starting to catch well when Kaladin returned with a full pot of water and two plates of stuffed flatbread.

“She says if you can get Thaylen cinnamon she’ll back off.”

“Thaylen cinna—she’s dreaming. How am I supposed to get that? It’s still the storming Shattered Plains.”

“Just passing on the message.” Kaladin hung the pot in the hearth but it would probably be an hour or so before the fire was hot enough to bring it to a boil. In the meantime, Kaladin handed him a plate and a goblet of yellow wine and sat on the ground next to him.

“Adolin,” he said, staring pensively into the fire.

“Hm?”

“I need you to stay behind tomorrow morning.” What an inopportune time to have taken a large bite. Adolin tried to argue anyway.

“Buff ewe shaid—” Kaladin looked at him with incredulity.

“Chew, man. Almighty, you are single-handedly humanizing your entire rank, do you know that?” He shook his head with bafflement. “Anyway, we have chasm duty tomorrow. You...can’t go down there. It’s not...it’s not a good place, Adolin.”

“I’m accustomed to war and all the gore that comes with it, bridgeboy.”

“I just—” Kaladin’s eyes left the fire, flicking up, and he listened for a moment. He seemed dismissive of whatever it was he heard. “I just need you to stay behind tomorrow.”

“Why do you do that?” Adolin asked.

“Do what?”

“Stop and look away at something else, like you’re hearing something the rest of us can’t.” Kaladin shook his head again, brushing him off.

“It’s just a...thing.”

“ ‘Kay.” Adolin couldn’t help but feel like he’d just been lied to twice in the last minute. First about the chasms and then about the ‘thing’. Adolin knew ‘things’; Renarin had a few of them. This seemed different to him. He was considering pushing the point when a few exhaustionspren began to twirl around Kaladin’s head. Adolin felt a surge of sympathy for him.

No wonder. Up most of the night, then training with Bridge Four at daybreak, making medical rounds until he had clients.

“Why don’t you get some rest,” Adolin suggested, “I can boil some bandages on my own.”

“I’m fine,” Kaladin said. Predictable.

“You’re not.” Adolin pointedly eyed the exhaustionspren. Kaladin looked annoyed, as if just noticing them, and batted them away.

“I’m fine,” he said again.

“Kal,” Adolin said, sighing and standing, proffering his hand to Kaladin just like he had on the day they met, “you’ve won all our bouts so far. Let me have this one.” Kaladin stared at him just another moment before his shoulders slouched, his back rounded, and he took Adolin’s arm.

“There,” Adolin said, heaving him up and sitting him on the bed, “Blanket, pillow, and sweet dreams of chasm duty.” Kaladin gave him a long-suffering glare but swung his legs into bed anyway and rolled over. Adolin had the sense he was much more tired than even the exhaustionspren had let on to go along with this. His eyes closed like the heavy doors of the king’s gem vault.

“Don’t overboil them or the fibers will disintegrate,” he muttered. It was Adolin’s turn to shake his head with quiet exasperation. He sat back down on the stone floor to finish his meal and wait for the water to boil.

Chapter 5: I'm Willing to be Overcharged

Adolin awoke early, his body alive and buzzing despite the limited sleep he’d had. He rolled onto his side. It was still dark outside the shutters. Kaladin had told him not to come this morning. He should try and go back to sleep and actually be on time for his own training. He restlessly closed his eyes when a voice inside equivocated with him. He said you couldn’t go into the chasms. Adolin’s eyes sprang open and he shuffled into his plain clothing. He pocketed the vial of eyedrops but left off his cologne. Besides, he thought as he grabbed a sack from the corner of the room, got a delivery.

This time he did wait to see Kaladin leave, and then a good ten minutes after that before he tethered his horse, the bay mare. He slung his sack easily over his shoulders. It wasn’t heavy. He still made certain to walk a little more slowly than usual. It was a relief when he reached the lumber yards to find them empty. But then...what exactly was he going to do? If they were all going down into the chasms today then they might not come to the lumber yard at all. Storms, Adolin really hadn’t thought this through.

A breeze wafted through his hair and with it came the scent of spices, fire...Adolin’s pulse picked up. Stew. He followed it for a few minutes before he came upon a line of bridgeman camps, but only one was lit. Rock sat outside the barrack tending his morning pot. He startled, standing as Adolin approached, but relaxed just as immediately.

“Ah, is only little bouncer. Come, come,” he invited.

“You’re not on chasm duty?” Adolin asked. Rock waved a large hand dismissively.

“This thing they do, it is beneath me. I am third son.”

“Scavenging?” Adolin guessed.

“No, not that. Other thing they do.” Rock didn’t elaborate, instead sitting back down beside the fire and motioning for Adolin to join him. Adolin pursed his lips but didn’t press for information. “Besides, someone has to watch sick bridgeman and cook stew! But you, you are not supposed to be here, I think.” Adolin set down his sack.

“Latha, Tashe, and the others weren’t having it. Storming near shoved me out the door. And I was looking forward to my morning off,” he lied easily. “Though I did take a collection. You’d be surprised what people will leave behind when they’re getting run off the premises, and you can imagine the girls don’t have much use for these.” He picked a sandal out of his sack. It was worn but still in good condition. Rock looked at it with a little awe.

“This is good thing! Will help with blisters, but will it help with stinky bridgemen feet?” Adolin chuckled.

“You’re on your own there. Also, here,” he tossed a stack of flatbread wrapped in cloth onto the stone next to Rock. “Extras from last night’s dinner. For the stew.” That brought a full grin to the Horneater’s face.

“Kaladin has been holding out on this thing!”

“Kaladin doesn’t know how to charm the cooks.” Rock laughed and slapped Adolin so hard on the shoulder that Adolin nearly went face-first into the stone.

Other than the near flattening of his face, the time passed enjoyably, though when Adolin expressed skepticism at some of the spices used in the stew Rock called him an ‘air-sick lowlander’, whatever that meant. He even let Adolin tend it while he went to coax the injured bridgemen into drinking water. Adolin had finished ladling it into bowls and was settling back with his own next to Rock when he spotted a group of about twenty or so men on the horizon. He dipped his flatbread into his stew, defiantly taking a bite. He had listened, respected Kaladin’s request. Still...was one of the figures up front moving a little quicker?

Kaladin stormed straight to them, maybe the only man ever who could look menacing in an open vest and loincloth. He snatched the flatbread from Adolin’s mouth.

“What are you doing,” he demanded, seething.

Adolin chewed on the part he’d already bitten off.

“Eating stew,” he said casually around his mouthful.

“I told you we were going to be in the chasms today. I told you not to come. Yet here you are, in our camp. How did you even find our camp?” Adolin took a second to enjoy how much he’d agitated Kaladin.

“Followed the scent of amazing stew,” Adolin swallowed, giving Rock an appreciative glance. Kaladin crumpled Adolin’s stolen flatbread in his fist.

“Stop talking about stew!” Adolin offered him a bowl.

“So you don’t your st—” Kaladin stuffed the crushed flatbread back into Adolin’s mouth with quiet fury. “You won’t be wanting your bowl, then?” Adolin finished, calling after him, grinning. Kaladin made a rude gesture back at him without stopping, presumably going to tend to the injured.

Adolin spared a moment for the way the sun shone on his dark tan shoulders, the backs of his legs. Well, it wasn't his fault a loincloth was what it was. Then he shoveled the rest of the stew into his mouth, said a quick thanks to Rock for the meal and conversation, and, grabbing a few bowls, caught up to Kaladin.

“Tashe would’ve killed me if I let you leave me behind!” He complained for the sake of the other bridgemen, and because of the way Kaladin’s shoulders bristled at the lie.

“Weren’t you wearing trousers this morning?” Adolin asked in a low voice, now walking shoulder to shoulder.

“Shut. Up.” Kaladin growled, equally as low, ducking under the entrance to the barrack. Adolin was trying to think of another angle of verbal sparring when the smell of rot flooded his nose.

It was dim in the barracks despite the bright sun outside and the open storm shutters. The mood was drastically different in here compared to sitting next to Rock as he made stew. Kaladin took a metal box from beside the door-how much had that cost him?-and knelt next to a stout man with curly hair. The man was bandaged at the shoulder, opposite arm, but the worst was his leg. It was broken, splinted but crawling with rotspren.

Leyten,” Kaladin’s voice was gentler than Adolin would ever have expected from the man and his hands were exceedingly tender as he pulled back the bandages on the leg, shooing away the rotspren. He inspected it grimly, then took the clutch of scalpels that Adolin had given him from inside his vest. He handed one out to Adolin.

“Hold this in the fire for no less than one minute and bring it back to me. Touch nothing but the handle.” It didn’t even occur to him to refuse and Adolin did as ordered. When he returned Kaladin motioned Teft over. “Teft, Adolin, hold his shoulders. Adolin, that shoulder has two more arrow wounds, take care, but hold firm.” Adolin knelt next to the graying bridgeman and placed his hands along the collar bone and upper arm. Kaladin delicately but quickly sliced a section of black, decayed flesh from the leg. Their precautions were just that, precautions. Leyten wasn’t conscious enough to do much more than twitch at the pain.

“The skin will grow over,” he motioned for Teft to come watch, “But this must be kept covered and moist. Apply the lister’s oil twice a day and this,” he indicated a different container, “is for burns but will help keep the skin wet while it heals. You remember how to bandage it?” Teft nodded. Kaladin looked to Adolin. “See if you can help him eat a little of that stew.” Adolin nodded, mind fogged over with too many thoughts but he took a bowl he’d set down near by and set Leyten’s head into his lap where he knelt. He watched as Kaladin tended to two more men, Narm and Dunny, while he coaxed broth into Leyten’s mouth.

*****

“You’re a surgeon,” he said quietly as they walked back towards Madam Tuera’s, “or you were studying to become one. Did your father teach you?” Kaladin was silent for a moment.

“I’m a field medic.”

“You’re not.” More silence. “Why’d you join the army? You’re too young to have joined as a full surgeon. The way you train those men...you have battlefield experience.” Kaladin didn’t respond to that. He was burning with curiosity but he grudgingly changed the subject. Adolin knew him well enough now to know he wouldn’t be pressed into an answer. He could be goaded into conversation, however.

“You were wearing trousers this morning, I’m sure of it.”

"You're a better spy than I thought."

"Not spying," Adolin said, "just making sure you wouldn't stop me."

Kaladin threw his head back, letting out an exasperated groan.

“Maps’s were ruined in the last plateau assault, all right? They say the bridgemen have already received their allotment and the nights out here are colder. Every little bit helps.”

“So you literally gave him the trousers off your—”

“What, are you going to show up with a bag full of pants next?”

*****

“Yeah, you’d be surprised what people will just give you if you say you’re taking donations for the army.” Adolin thoroughly enjoyed the look on Kaladin’s face as he led the men back from chasm duty two weeks later. He grabbed Adolin by the arm and towed him aside.

“What are you doing?” he was whispering, but seemed to be struggling to keep his voice quiet.

“Trousers, blankets. Don’t worry, they’re “donations”.”

“What happens when people start asking questions?”

“Kal, bridgemen aren’t going to wonder why they got a donated blanket or an extra flatbread, they’re just going to take it and move on.” Kaladin seemed to chew on his reply, then lowered his voice even further.

“What about when your father starts asking why the supplies for his army are going to a competing highprince?” Adolin felt a little uneasy. He hadn’t thought about that, of course. Doing so would have been smart.

“I’ll worry about that. Come on,” he jerked his head toward the barrack, “you’ll like this.”

He and Kaladin entered the barrack that now smelled like sweat, dirt, and men but had lost the odor of blood and decaying flesh. He watched as Kaladin’s eyes landed on Leyten, who was sitting up, resting against the barrack wall. Kaladin crossed the room in three strides and squatted to inspect Leyten’s leg. Even splinted as well as it had been, he would likely never walk properly on it again. Adolin had been told he’d been trampled by a horse. He’d seen those injuries, fresh and years on. One of the Kholin surgeons couldn’t have done any better than what Kaladin had done, but many could have done worse.

Adolin startled slightly to see tears in Kaladin’s eyes as he found no rotspren on the wound. That was surprising to Adolin, though he knew how deeply the man cared. Part of him thought it would just take...more, somehow, to get through the rough exterior.

“Won’t be running bridges anytime soon,” Leyten said.

“You’ll cook,” Kaladin said, blinking his eyes clear. “Rock will teach you.”

“You will learn to have proper taste, ha!” Rock said, stepping over to them and handing Leyten a bowl of that morning’s stew. He made a gesture to Kaladin, or to just beside Kaladin?

“What was that?” Adolin asked.

“Prayer,” Rock answered, “For little mafah’l—” Kaladin shook his head sharply and Rock cut off. He shrugged his massive shoulders and went to give Dunny his bowl. Narm was well again and had joined the rest of them for chasm duty. Kaladin set about administering the lister’s oil anyway to prevent any returning infection. He did the same for Dunny and then started carefully packing the supplies away into the metal box.

“I’ll do that,” Adolin offered.

“I—”

“I know where it all goes. Go eat.” As though reluctant to leave his precious medical equipment in less capable hands, Kaladin hesitantly relented and let Adolin finish up.

Adolin finished packing everything away without damaging a thing and gathered the empty bowls from Leyten and Dunny. With a touch of delight he remembered holding Leyten’s head in his lap that first day he’d found their camp, spooning broth into his mouth. Now he finished a full bowl. He made sure they both received an extra blanket and instructed them to rest, as he knew Kaladin would have done. He was about to leave when he heard a voice that made him pause by the entrance.

“I don’t trust him, Kal.”

“You barely trust me.”

“Seriously, he shows up and so do all these new supplies. You don’t think that’s funny?” Adolin winced. So much for bridgemen not questioning good fortune.

“That’s not it. I’ve been earning more, recently, that’s all.”

“You won’t say how, though.” A pause. “Tell me they’re not—”

“Drop it, Moash.”

“Kal—” Kaladin must have given Moash one of his harsh, silencing glares because he said nothing more. Adolin waited a few minutes to be sure they’d gone before he exited.

*****

“No, Adolin,” Kaladin grabbed his wrist. “Lengthwise.” Adolin groaned, shaking out the hot strip of fabric and trying to ignore the way every nerve in his body was drawn to Kaladin’s hand on his skin.

“Why?” he finally demanded.

“Because,” Kaladin answered with an edge to his voice, “if I need to bind a wound I want it to reach around the limb, not have to do it in the moment.” Oh. That made sense. If he’d just said that...Adolin re-folded the boiled cloth correctly.

“You’re bored.”

What?

“I’m not,” Adolin replied, a little salty, “I’m just annoyed you’re a poor teacher. Was your father this bad at teaching, too? Is that why you never became a full surgeon?” Kaladin frowned and clicked his tongue at the probing comment. Adolin threw down his folded bandage on the wood slab before him, frustrated, but not with his task. “What happened?” Kaladin just sat, folding bandages.

“You can’t afford my story,” he said flatly.

“I’m willing to be overcharged.” Those dark eyes flicked up at him, piercing him.

“How much is a soul worth?” Adolin stared at him feeling, not for the first time, like he’d been hit over the head. How did he just...say things like that? He ran a hand awkwardly through his hair.

“Storms, man. You’re a walking pile of contradictions. You’re maybe one of the best soldiers I’ve ever seen, one of the best commanders, but you’re a slave. You’re wasted as a slave.”

“Everyone is wasted as a slave,” Kaladin grunted, finishing his stack of large-sized bandages. Adolin nodded his head in concession to that and continued,

“You’re a surgeon but you joined the army as, what, a message runner? A scout? Spearman? You’re barely old enough for anything else.”

“I’m not a surgeon. Just got some training as a field medic.”

“Ha!” Adolin shouted a dry laugh, “If you’re a field medic then you can call me an archer, not a Shardbearer.”

“Might be fun. You Shardbearers do get so upset when no one recognizes your big shiny swords.” Proving Kaladin’s point, Adolin had to stuff down a retort that his elegant Blade wasn’t a shiny sword.

“And then there’s your current, er, situation. You’re a whore but you don’t…” Kaladin started to roll the medium-sized bandages. He shot Adolin a look through long strands of black hair.

“Hm. Got me there.”

“My point is—”

“Oh good, I was afraid there wasn’t going to be an end to this.” Adolin smiled. A few weeks ago Kaladin’s quips had really got to him. Now he recognized them as Kaladin’s way of playing with him. Like a boy who went too hard with a wooden sword the first time, Kaladin wanted to make sure he was included.

“My point is,” Adolin repeated, “you’ve got all these conflicting parts. You can’t blame me for being curious.” Kaladin took a deep sigh and shook his hair out of his face. His eyes were pleasantly soft as he looked at Adolin. In turn, Adolin tried to ignore the way the fire lit his dark tan skin with a warm glow, making him look more handsome than usual. Strange how those moments always snuck up on Adolin.

“I don’t blame you for being curious, Adolin. But it’s…” He frowned, seeming to struggle for the words. Adolin remembered the conversation he’d overheard with Moash and his heart dropped in his chest.

“You don’t trust me.” He didn’t know why that hurt like it did. Of course Kaladin didn’t trust him. It was easy to ignore the world at times, here in their cozy sanctuary that Adolin purchased once a week. Rather, it was easy for Adolin to ignore it. Kaladin was darkeyed, and branded. This wasn’t time off for him like it was for Adolin. Adolin was always paying for Kaladin’s time, always the one with the power, even if he wasn’t explicitly wielding it. It was sitting there, waiting like Adolin’s Shardblade, to be summoned at a moment’s notice. And Kaladin had never made a secret what he thought about lighteyes, it wasn’t his fault if Adolin hadn’t been paying attention. Storms, it still stung, though. “It’s because I’m lighteyed,” Adolin muttered.

There moment where Kaladin studied him.

“It’s not like I talk about it with darkeyes, either. I don’t talk about it with anyone. It’s just...difficult, you know?” Adolin nodded. It didn’t make him feel better but...he understood that. He never talked about his mother, except maybe with Renarin, sometimes. Neither of them talked about the years after. Too painful.

“Yeah, I do.” Kaladin pushed the wooden slab of clean bandages toward him.

“What, like the time you lost your favorite pair of boots?” Adolin knew it was a jest, that he was trying to return to their usual rhythm, but it prodded too hard right now, too deep.

“Don’t, Kal.” Kaladin backed off.

“Sure,” he said. He started folding again. Then, his jaw working, seeming uncomfortable he said, “Look, if it helps, I trust you more than any other lighteyes.” Adolin closed his eyes as the words raked over that fresh wound. Part of him appreciated what Kaladin was trying to do. But.

“You know what, it really doesn’t. Somehow I don’t think the standards are that high.”

“On the contrary, you’ve raised them considerably.” Adolin hated that he almost laughed at that. Trying to breathe his tension away, Adolin took a loose bandage and started to fold it.

“It’s not your fault,” Adolin found himself saying. “Guess if I were you I’d feel the same. We like to boast about our greatness but it’s usually all crem water. The highprinces are all spoiled children. My father’s trying to change them but it’s useless. Still,” Adolin chanced a glance up at Kaladin. The man was looking thoughtful. “Still, I had about as much choice in my dahn and family as you did.” Kaladin set the slab of folded bandages by the fire to warm and started on the small-sized ones.

“If there were one of you I could maybe learn to...it’d be you. But why do you care so much whether or not I trust you?” Adolin shrugged noncommittally at the floor. I like you, is it so bad that I want you to like me back?

He couldn’t say that of course, but those eyes of Kaladin’s were still on him. A panicked banging on the door rescued him.

“Kal, Kal, KAL!” Kaladin leapt to his feet and had the door open before Adolin even stood up.

“Storms, Saan, don’t—”

“Tashe’s started her labors.” There was a pause.

“Have her waters broken?”

“Yes.”

“Is it clear or does it look a little muddy?”

“Clear.”

“How is she?”

“She’s rearranging her dresser.” Saan shared a light grin.

“All right, it’s okay. Go be with her. I’ll come along shortly.” Kaladin closed the door and pulled his hair back, all of it this time. He looked so calm but Adolin felt jumpy and nervous.

“Shouldn’t you, you know, get going?”

“These things don’t move as quickly as everyone thinks. She’ll have only started the first stage of labor.” Adolin stared at Kaladin as these words hit him.

“Sure,” he said dryly, “But you’re no surgeon.”

“I’m no midwife,” Kaladin retorted in a clipped tone, “...but I have assisted before,” he admitted. “It was a small town...anyway...I’m the only thing they’ve got.” Adolin noticed the slight quiver to his hand as he reached for the freshly boiled bandages.

“You’ll need bandages?” he asked in surprise.

“There’ll be blood, lots of it...and sometimes you have to...pack it to stop the bleeding.” Adolin felt his eyes widen along with his understanding and empathy. “Order the kitchen to boil water. Always good to have. After that, go. I’ll-I’ll be awhile.” Adolin had seen similar looks on the faces of soldiers about to march into battle. Kaladin wasn’t as calm as he first assumed.

Adolin did as he asked but didn’t leave. Instead, he came back to the room, feeling useless but also not wanting to go. He listened hard at first, to pick out the shouts that started to come more frequently from upstairs. But then the music from the bar became stronger, drowning those sounds, and the bed looked tempting with its thick quilt…

*****

Adolin woke to silence, though he’d had a distinct impression that it was a noise that roused him. He waited for any other indication of sound and was about to drift off again when he heard...tiny voices? He rose and padded out of Kaladin’s room.

Adolin followed those voices out through the kitchens into the yard where he found a group of children, ages ranging from barely walking to having imaginary Shard battles with their friends. The remnants of the breakfast were scattered around, some of the younger ones still clutched flatbread in their little fists. No sooner than he had taken in this sight than a boy, six or seven? pummeled into his gut, trying to get away from his friend. He looked up at Adolin, eyes going wide to find him there, until Adolin smiled at him. Then he ran over to his friend waving his stick.

“You can’t do that!” But the woman at the edge of the yard watching the children turned a keen eye on him. It was Latha. Adolin had only met her once. She was pretty in a sharper way than Tashe, with strong cheekbones. She had the fuller Alethi figure, too, though her hair carried streaks of red, denoting Veden or Horneater heritage. Her sleeves were an even length but she wore a glove on her safehand in front of the children.

“Madam wouldn’t be happy if she knew a guest saw the children,” she said, approaching him. She had a deep voice for a woman, but not unfeminine. Sultry. She actually reminded him of his Aunt Navani. ….aaand he swore to himself to never make that comparison again.

“I don’t mind,” Adolin replied, grinning at their play. “I did happen to overstay my time.”

“It’s not that,” Tuera nearly made him jump, approaching from behind. She smelled like alcohol and smoke from the night, though again she was quite steady on her feet. “It’s that sometimes a well meaning guest gets it into their head to help. Find “good” homes for them. ‘Specially the ones that turn out lighteyed. We care for them just fine, thank you. No better place for them than with their mothers, right?” Storms, as if Adolin would dare disagree under that gaze.

“I wasn’t thinking you didn’t,” he said quickly, and truthfully. Tuera nodded firmly.

“We’re not like some of the others. This is a good place. A proper home. We care for them, teach the girls to read and all, ‘til they’re old enough to join a trade, choose their own way. No forcin’ no one to do anything.” Under her stern eye Adolin thought at last he might understand what she was getting at, and what she was worried people might think. He could honestly say that had not remotely occurred to him.

“They look perfectly happy,” he said fondly, watching the boy who had run into him locked in a stick battle with another kid. He remembered doing the exact same thing in his childhood, except his sticks were wooden replicas of actual Blades.

Hang on, Adolin leaned forward. No wonder the boy was beating his opponent back, the kid’s stance was weak. Well, just because they were play-fighting didn’t mean their form had to be bad…

Kaladin found him some time later correcting the initial steps of flamestance down a row of increasingly small children holding various sizes of sticks.

“You haven’t gone back?” Adolin felt a little embarrassed. That would have been the obvious thing to do. Who stuck around a brothel to sleep alone and then play with children? Him, apparently.

“What, when there are future soldiers to be trained?” he said, letting the confidence of the reply outshine his embarrassment. One of the girls in line actually squealed at that. Adolin hadn’t found it in him to exclude the girls. They were only kids, after all, and in fairness he’d received more than one solid whack from a girl as a child. Kaladin’s expression clearly said, ‘you idiot’ but in a nice way.

“Sorry,” he announced to the future soldiers, “I have to go to my own training, and my master is going to be very cross.” A little part of him spiked with disquiet at how true that was. Zahel was growing increasingly terse with him. The girl who had squealed ran up to hug his leg. Adolin didn’t know what to do with that, so he patted her back awkwardly. One of the younger ones who had been more running around playing with his stick than anything else said,

“No, more!” Adolin chanced a glance at Madam Tuera and Latha, who were now enjoying tea against the stone fence. Despite their initial hostile disposition they seemed perfectly content to let Adolin take over the entertainment for the morning.

“Maybe later.” Latha rose from her resting place to take over. Adolin briefly admired the way her hips moved and filled her skirt.

“Anytime. You’re a gem, you are,” she called in her sensuous voice and nope that absolutely did not remind him of Aunt Navani. Adolin turned and followed Kaladin inside, drawing a few anticipationspren, like red streamers, as he did.

“Well?” he asked as Kaladin slumped against the kitchen wall. Three or four exhaustionspren circled him. Then a gloryspren appeared beside his ear. Kaladin beamed. Adolin’s heart lifted. Did he have any idea how he looked when he smiled like that?

“Baby girl. Healthy.”

“And Tashe?”

“Well. Tired, though.” Adolin reflected his smile.

“She’s not the only one.” Kaladin looked at him, and for once seemed content in his exhaustion. Perhaps because it wasn’t forced on him, but because of a job well done.

“No lumber yard?” Despite their obvious solitude, Kaladin cast an eye around.

“It’s past the time I would be...noticed.” Ah. So he’d only managed to bribe their sergeant, the real one, not Teft who effectively was, for a certain amount of time.

“See you tomorrow, then?” Adolin said as he made to head back out the kitchen door. Kaladin’s eyes drooped and another brown exhaustionspren puffed around him.

“You’re still not giving up?” he asked.

“Sorry,” Adolin replied with a grin, not sorry at all.

Chapter 6: Maybe Not Today and Maybe Not Tomorrow but Soon

Notes:

Sooo I had to split up chapter 6 due to it being over 7,000 words. That's too long, y'all. That's a college essay.

Technically I suppose I could cut the bit where Adolin just hates on Sadeas for a whole page but. Eeeeeh don't wanna. So while in my head the chapter title refers to Adolin trying to figure out how to help Bridge Four, I suppose it can also refer to the next chapter that finally earns the rating, lol.

Adolin kicked Kaladin in the chest with both feet, sending him soaring away through the air. Kaladin stood, grunting a little and massaging his chest as Adolin climbed back into his stance. He’d nearly been pinned. Fortunately Kaladin was even rustier at wrestling than he was.

“Now, you’re not likely to get an opening like the one Adolin got,” Kaladin said, dusting off his arms, “I hesitated, thinking he was down. Never assume your enemy is down until you’re sure they’re dead. All right, let’s break up and try out those moves.” Kaladin moved to stand by Adolin and observe.

Adolin had been cajoled into showing the men a few basic wrestling maneuvers, stuff that was mostly good for bars, stuff a bouncer would know. Still, anything was better than nothing on the battlefield.

“You know,” Kaladin said in a low voice, “I would have thought it was impossible, but they actually seem to like you.”

“Moash doesn’t.”

“Moash doesn’t like anyone,” Kaladin countered. “He was the last one to fall in with what we were doing. It’ll just take time.” Adolin held his tongue, not wanting Kaladin to know he’d overheard their conversation a few weeks ago. In fairness, Moash had accepted a bowl of stew from Adolin this morning, something he’d been pointedly refusing up until now. Maybe Kaladin was right. Anyway, today was a good day. Bridge Four’s barrack was, for the moment, empty of injured or dying men.

A few moments passed where they watched the men attempt what Adolin had shown them, with varying degrees of success. What didn’t vary was the expression on each man’s face. Camaraderie, and the enjoyment of a moment of freedom in Damnation. The half-baked idea that had been simmering in his mind on over the last couple of weeks swelled abruptly in Adolin, demanding to be said. He took Kaladin by the arm and ushered him away, further from the group.

“I could buy your writ of slavery.” He said it only as audibly as he dared, his blood suddenly thundering in his ears. Kaladin looked at him a long moment, searching. Longer. Too long. Too searching. Adolin always did this, always screwed things up. He tried to think ahead, think from different perspectives. He just...never came up with anything. Until someone pointed it out, then it seemed obvious.

“You could do that?” Kaladin asked, his lips barely moving. “You would do that? For all of Bridge Four?” Adolin stopped, then realized how his words might have sounded. But...could he? An entire bridge crew?

“No,” he admitted, “I can’t. Not on my own. Not thirty or so writs. My father would have to do that. But I could buy yours. I’d forgive it, you’d be your own man again. I could make sure you receive a respectable position in our army. You could talk to my father, tell him what you’ve done here. I’ll back you up, I’ll—” Storms, this idea wasn’t half-baked, it was more like he’d only put some of the ingredients in a bowl, and none of the important ones. The look Kaladin gave him was nearly pitying.

“It’s...it’s a kind thought, Adolin.” Adolin nodded, feeling suddenly drained for how quickly his pulse was racing a few seconds ago. He didn’t feel kind, he felt stupid. Kaladin wouldn’t go anywhere unless he was certain these men could come with him. Adolin couldn’t blame him; he wouldn’t either in the same position. With frustration he thought that Jasnah could figure this out. They didn’t have Jasnah though, they only had him. And he had no idea where to begin. How to act on the knowledge that what was happening here, with the bridge crews, was deeply wrong. He’d known it, but this, being so close to it...and why did he feel it more strongly now on a good day? The answer came quickly.

Tomorrow might not be.

*****

Sadeas’s bulbous face swelled with laughter as he ate his pork. Adolin ground his teeth. He found the feasts more suffocating than usual these days. His uniform felt stifling compared to the relative freedom he was enjoying in the mornings in a simple shirt and trousers. He wished he were seeing Kaladin tonight. The mornings were quickly becoming not enough, and he was starting to worry about the men during the days Sadeas assaulted a plateau. And besides, the opulence of these feasts on a weekly basis had always seemed silly to him, but good to get out and interact and complain about how silly having weekly feasts was. Now they seemed downright obscene. Plus he could no longer stomach even looking at Sadeas. Every time he did he saw those men lying broken on straw mats in the barrack of Bridge Four, their wounds stinking and covered in rotspren as Kaladin applied antiseptic with shaking hands. If he actually had to talk to Sadeas he thought he might put a dagger through his throat. He was picturing doing just that when Renarin sat down next to him, sliding a thin chain between his fingers.

“Janala is looking for you.”

“Storm Janala,” Adolin muttered, sinking into his seat. “She can’t even handle a walk around the warcamp.” Renarin eyed his relaxed posture, then rested against the back of his own chair. Good. Dalinar might be unimpressed with this casual display at a formal event but storms. How was it a formal event when it happened every week?

“They’re debating who you’ll court next. I wouldn’t care, but it’s been long enough that they’re desperate enough for insight to talk to me about it.” Adolin grunted dismissively. The truth was the courting game, the dance, the sly remarks and innuendo, didn’t hold his interest the way it used to. In fact, he hadn’t even thought about courting anyone in the weeks since he’d met Kaladin. He didn’t want to court anyone. Well, except for...no. He quashed that thought before it could be finished. That kind of thinking would just get him into trouble.

“What are we doing here, Renarin?”

“Specifically, here right now? Suffering.” Adolin smiled. Renarin was funny, and not in the way people said. They just didn’t understand him.

“Agreed,” Adolin said, appreciating that the crowd and din of the room was worse for Renarin than it was for him. Usually he liked the noise and activity of people gathering. Renarin always hated it. “But also, what are we doing? We’re not fighting a war with the Parshendi, not really. We’re just fighting them for the chance a gemheart. Once we have that, we retreat. We don’t keep fighting them.” Adolin paused, thinking. Renarin slid the golden chain, their mother’s, through his fingers. “Father’s right. About all of them.” Renarin looked at him, a touch of surprise in his eyes, but he only nodded. Adolin’s gaze was drawn to Sadeas and a burning sensation rose in his throat. Never ask your soldiers to do something you wouldn’t do yourself. Yet Sadeas sent men to die as bait. No armor, no support, just death. It was laughable to the point of idiocy to think he’d ever consider that for himself. If the bridgemen weren’t lucky enough to die in the initial run they’d die slowly of exposure. A wound that would otherwise not be lethal would kill a bridgeman anyway if he was prevented from getting help. Alone and unaided on the plateau...Sadeas took a long drink from his goblet. A bit of wine gathered, then slid out the corner of his mouth. Adolin clenched his jaw, imagining driving his dinner knife straight through that soft, pompous, wretched—

“Let’s get out of here,” he said, standing.

“Really?” Renarin wouldn’t dare leave on his own, but if Adolin was egging him on...Sadeas wiped his mouth. Adolin fisted his cutlery. Then he dropped it with a clatter on his plate.

“Really. Let’s go...anywhere else. My room. We can play cards, like we used to. It’s been ages.” Renarin nodded with a look that was outright enthusiastic, for him at least.

“Ah, Prince Adolin, leaving so soon?” Wit said in a silky voice as they approached the entrance to the feasting hall, “But I’ve not yet had the pleasure—” Annoyance flaring inside him, Adolin checked him with his shoulder on his way out, which, instead of an insult earned him a respectful grin.

As he walked with his brother back to his room in the main Kholin house in silence, Adolin felt his secrets and his concerns begin to stack and threaten to overwhelm him. His worries for Bridge Four, over what each new day might bring for them, how he might approach his father about purchasing their freedom, how he could possibly continue to provide any necessary aid for the people of Madam Tuera’s if relations with Sadeas deteriorated too badly, and...and how his feelings for Kaladin were turning from curious friendship to something...more. Much more. How that frightened him for so many reasons, class, station, social standing...he felt he might burst with all of it.

And yet, under the dim violet light of Salas, on this empty night when everyone was still at the feast, he also felt safe.

“Renarin,” he said, “I need to tell you something.” Renarin turned his bespectacled gaze on him. Adolin made a little cross with his forefingers in front of his lips-the sign they’d used as children as agreement to not tell anyone what they’d done or said. Neither of them had ever broken this unspoken promise. Renarin echoed his gesture, and nodded. Adolin let out a deep sigh. He couldn’t tell Renarin everything, but he needed to confess something, enough to relieve the pressure a little.

“I think...I think I have been courting someone. His name is Kal, he’s a-a soldier in Sadeas’s army. And...and he’s darkeyed.” Renarin inhaled sharply, his eyes widening slightly.

“Brother, that’s—”

“I know, I know!” Adolin tugged at his hair, “I’m an idiot and it can’t last, I know it can’t, but I’m still courting him anyway. It can’t last but I need it to last. Renarin, he’s wonderful. He has this black hair that falls in waves, and his eyes, I don’t mean the color, I mean the way he looks at me...”

Renarin, bless him, didn’t plague him with questions about what their father would say or any of that. He just listened as Adolin told him about Kaladin, all the way back to his room. When Adolin paused to set out the cards Renarin said,

“I guess if Janala comes asking me for information again I’ll just tell her she’s not your type.” Adolin laughed, feeling lighter than he had in days.

*****

That lightness prevailed through the next two days but Adolin felt tension leave his muscles as he dismounted behind the kitchens of Madam Tuera’s. He saw Kaladin in the mornings, yes, but those were increasingly filled with his concerns over how to rectify the atrocity Sadeas was commiting there. It seemed more and more like going to his father was the only option, though that would mean a lot of explaining and could very well end with his confinement to the Kholin camp. At least right now he could continue to bring supplies each week which was better than the nothing they’d get if Adolin acted before he was sure how to approach it.

These evenings, which were becoming somewhat sacred to him, were filled with precious time he had alone with Kaladin. Unfortunately the contented anticipation he felt at the prospect of seeing Kaladin evaporated the moment he stepped through the kitchen doors into the hall. It was replaced by an ominous sensation that prickled the hairs on Adolin’s neck and turned his stomach. He dropped his satchels by the door and turned left towards the main entry and the stairs to the second level instead of right towards Kaladin’s room. He crept, on edge, not knowing why but trusting it, and put foot on the bottom stair right as a crashing noise came from above and he was catching Tashe as she was thrown down the stairs. A low ranking lighteyed man ran down the stairs after her.

“She’s nine days post-partum, you…!” Evidently Kaladin couldn’t think of an insult bad enough. The man reached Adolin before Kaladin was halfway down. Holding Tashe to his left side and acting on instinct, Adolin drew back his right fist and clocked the fellow.

It was a good hit, nearly perfect. His hand didn’t hurt too badly from it. The man fell to the ground but wasn’t unconscious. The stories about knocking a man out with one punch were mostly that, stories. Painspren grasped up around the man from the stone.

“Who did I just hit?” Adolin asked, looking between Tashe and Kaladin.

“Purportedly,” Kaladin snarled, reaching the ground floor and standing over the man, “the father.”

“Ah.” Cold fury enveloped him as he looked at the man on the floor. It looked like his anger hadn’t subsided either, though he wasn’t about to do anything about it with Kaladin and Adolin staring at him with such open hostility. He said nothing so neither did they. It was a quiet display, but it was a display and people started to gather to watch. As the scene dragged on the man backed up onto his feet, glaring at Tashe in Adolin’s arms. By the time he, wisely, turned and ran out the main door they’d drawn quite a crowd from the bar. Adolin looked to Tashe.

“Are you—”

“Fine, fine.” She cut him off. She looked uncharacteristically disheveled and there were dark lines under her eyes.

“I could find you a position with my family’s scribes, if you want.” It was an off-hand proposal, said as he stared at the door where the offending man had fled. To his surprise she stepped out of his embrace and angerspren pooled like blood around her feet.

“I’ll tell you the same thing I told him, Adolin, though I don’t think you’ll throw me down the stairs for it.” She was speaking low enough that only he and Kaladin could hear but Adolin was mindful of the crowd forming. “I like my job. I don’t need to be rescued. I like my co-workers and I like my boss and I like my job.”

“I-I only meant,” Adolin stammered, taken aback, “you wouldn’t have to deal with...that.” He again eyed the door where the man had left.

“Oh? Men don’t beat women in mansions, do they? In comfortable officer barracks, in the quiet places of palaces? At least here I have protection. And a job that I, once again, like.” She moved to go back upstairs but added, “Thank you, for only offering instead of telling me what’s best. You,” She turned on Kaladin with a pointed finger. He startled.

“Me? What’d I—”

“Next time I tell you to let me handle something, you let me handle it.”

“I—he was…!” But Kaladin ultimately fell silent, nodding. Tashe grasped the railed and made her way back up the stairs.

“Let’s go,” Adolin muttered, turning his face uselessly away from the crowd. They hadn’t dispersed. Kaladin walked on the side facing the crowd. Adolin appreciated the attempt to shield him, but he felt any damage had already been done. As he gathered his satchels he saw that some of the crowd was trying to peer down the hall. To his great...not relief, but it was touching, Javash, the large Veden chef stepped out into the hall holding a cleaver. That made the crowd soundly retreat to the bar. The quiet Veden man nodded firmly to Adolin, who managed a weak smile of thanks in return.

Adolin slumped against the door of their room.

“Well she told us, didn’t she?” Kaladin snorted dryly.

“She told me, you mean. Don’t blame her, though. Her milk hasn’t fully come in and she’s...struggling. Some of the other women are taking turns feeding the child for now. Hard to get her to eat…” Kaladin busied himself at the sideboard. “She seemed so happy when the baby was born…”

“I’m sure it’ll work out. She has you and…” The gravity of what had just happened hit him. “Storms, storms, storms,” he cursed, “What did I just do?”

“Prevented a freshly post-partum woman from a hard landing ten feet from where she was thrown,” Kaladin said, pouring two goblets of yellow wine tonight. So he was somewhat shaken, too.

“Okay, but there’s no way this doesn’t get back to my father. At the very least it’ll get back to my cousin, with her damnation spies everywhere. And then it’ll get back to my father and then—”

“You’ll stop coming.” Kaladin practically thrust the goblet into Adolin’s hand. Adolin stared at him, aghast.

“What? No,” he said, and yes, he took that distrust to heart. “It means I finally have to decide which version of the truth I’m going to tell him.” Kaladin halted, goblet halfway to his lips. He was looking at Adolin...what was that? Surprise? Consideration? Had he thought Adolin’s generosity only extended as far as there were no consequences for him? That felt like a punch sharper than the one Adolin had just delivered in the entryway. He tried to be understanding, tried to remind himself that Kaladin had been repeatedly disappointed but...it had been weeks now. Did Kaladin really think so little of him? A little seed of resolve stirred in him. Even if he did, the people, the children of this house, and the men of Bridge Four had come to rely on the things he brought. So he wouldn’t stop. So he pushed off to the side the inclination to sulk and chose to lighten the mood. Don’t show weakness, don’t show hurt...He’d always been good at that, and had become a master of it when he’d needed to distract Renarin during their father’s...anyway.

Adolin kicked one of the satchels over to Kaladin. He squatted, goblet in hand, to open it. He decided to distract with the annoying prodding Kaladin hated so much.

“What, has Kaladin ‘Stormblessed’ come to rely so much on a lighteyes that he can no longer survive without?”

Kaladin’s lips drew into a tight line as he squatted, hunched, sorting this week’s food and water by where it was most needed. Adolin grabbed his clutch of scalpels from the sideboard and took a casual swig from his goblet for effect. They sat on the floor as usual, across from each other, ignoring the fireside chairs.

“Who told you that damnation nickname?” he grumbled, picking apart stacks of flatbread and organizing them into larger and smaller piles. The air shifted and Adolin allowed himself a small smile, his job done, and relaxed. He let go of his hurt. They were together now.

“Rock mentioned it this morning. I like him, even if I don’t know what ‘airsick lowlander’ means yet.”

“If you find out, tell the rest of us. And stop trying to get information out of Rock while I’m not around.”

“It’s not like I’m torturing him for tidbits about you, bridgeboy,” Adolin chuckled. “Just talking. Besides, you’re the one leaving me alone, without a single hint as to what you’re actually doing down in those chasms.” Adolin picked one of Kaladin’s delicate scalpels to sharpen. He’d at last accepted Adolin’s presence at their camp on the days they went for chasm duty, not that Adolin had given him much choice. Adolin was coming to understand Rock’s sense of humor and he found he liked caring for and talking to the injured bridgemen. Unfortunately three more had been hurt during the latest run. Adolin focused on the fine instrument and began dutifully sharpening it. Kaladin finished with the food and water and moved on to the antiseptic and ointments. Adolin let himself enjoy the time together, and enjoy his task. He was halfway through sharpening the line of various scalpels before he noticed that Kaladin had stalled in his tasks.

“Kal?”

“Adolin,” Kaladin’s eyes meaningfully, purposefully, met his. “Down in the chasms, I’m-I’m teaching the men to handle a spear. To fight. Really fight.” Adolin nearly fumbled the scalpel he was holding and only just set it down properly in his shock.

“You...you actually told me,” he said numbly. Then, “What?” and, “I knew you were a spearman!” then back to, “What? Kal, if Sadeas knew, if Gaz knew—” Kaladin looked up sharply at him.

“Which is why they won’t.” Adolin hated the bit of fear he saw there, the little bit of Kaladin that was terrified he’d just made a horrible mistake.

“Of course not, they won’t.” When Kaladin continued to look hesitant Adolin placed his hand on his and met his eyes.

“They won’t.” Kaladin nodded, blinking and letting out a long breath through his nose.

“You actually told me,” Adolin said again, grinning now and his earlier pain dissipated entirely. Kaladin didn’t smile back, only looked at him with that penetrating stare.

“I figured you could be...trusted. With this.” His tone and expression couldn’t have more clearly read ‘this had better not be a mistake’, but his eyes flicked to a point over Adolin’s shoulder as he said it, as though that look wasn’t intended for Adolin. Whatever. Kaladin’s oddities aside, Adolin couldn’t stop grinning, feeling outright gleeful. Which...wasn’t something he’d expected from the night. He had to tamp down an impulse to hug the man. Instead, he gasped, a wonderful idea occurring to him.

“Show me,” he said, standing and returning the half-sharpened scalpels on the sideboard.

“What?”

“Out back,” he urged, “The kitchen will have closed, it must be after second moonrise by now. I was right, this whole time—”

“You thought I could’ve been a scout,” Kaladin pointed out.

“I was right this whole time,” Adolin said a little louder, “And I want to see it. Up, up!” Adolin strode to him and poked Kaladin in the side until he relented, getting to his feet.

“All right, all right,” he said, annoyed and slapping Adolin's hand, “Knock it off.”

Adolin pushed him out the kitchens into the yard between the brothel and its barn. Vines retreated as they came near. Nomon filled the sky, flooding the yard with bright, pale blue light. Adolin took the broken handle of a pitchfork and thrust it into Kaladin’s hand.

“Show me,” he said again. Kaladin sighed, taking the shaft of the pitchfork. He let the sheer takama fall from his shoulders, stepping away as it floated lazily to the ground, and tilted his head back, shaking his hair from his face. Adolin retreated back toward the kitchen door to give him room and sat there to watch.

Nomon glinted off Kaladin’s hair, his exposed neck, chest, right down to where the light dulled on the soft leather skirt. He held the broken shaft aloft and began to move through spear kata.

And oh…this had been a mistake.

Adolin remembered the forms, having practiced them himself long ago. But he’d been no master. That had never been more clear to him than now as he watched a true master of the spear. Kaladin moved like the winds themselves. As he danced, gliding through the kata, he drew windspren to him, little streaks of light twisting around his limbs. The white-blue hue of the spren was augmented by the blues of Nomon, largest of the moons. Adolin looked to Kaladin’s face and was struck to see that he was losing himself, had lost himself to the winds. His eyes were closed, face serene and revealing the true youth he was. It was...

Kaladin stopped as the kata ended, his eyes still closed, breathing in the night air. Windspren swirled around him, up his body before dashing away, giggling, into the night sky. Kaladin’s skin gleamed under Nomon’s light with a sheen of sweat from his demonstration. Adolin thought he could almost see the light rising from Kaladin, austere, lit and presented by Nomon himself.

Kaladin opened his eyes at last and looked upon Adolin. Adolin would have sworn those browns had nearly turned golden.

Adolin rose, slowly, as though in a trance. He touched Kaladin’s face, tentatively, and Kaladin let him. The gold faded from his eyes as he turned away from Nomon’s light. Adolin looked into deep brown eyes and sensed...more. The storm inside, the storm behind those eyes seemed to whip and gust.

“You’re beautiful,” Adolin breathed it, barely a whisper of wind. But Almighty, he’d never said anything more true than that. Kaladin’s hand covered Adolin’s where it rested on his face but it wasn’t to push him away. Adolin’s breath caught as Kaladin closed those eyes into his touch.

“Why do you come here?” The fingers of his free hands brushed up Adolin’s neck, alighting the sensitive skin behind his jaw. Adolin turned into it, willing those fingers to slide into his hair, wanting them to bring him closer. He shuffled a foot forward, deliberately closing the gap between them, even tilting his head up, promising Kaladin he’d be received...His entire being wanted this but the next step had to be Kaladin’s.

“I—” Wasn’t it obvious? It suddenly felt so to him. Clear as the moon above.

Long hair fluttered on his ear as Kaladin bent towards him. Adolin’s heart raced, pounding against his ribs and he sucked in a last gulp of air—

“We have rooms for just this, you know,” Nriln snorted as she dragged bags of refuse out the kitchen door. “Rooms where you can get hard and gaze longingly into each other’s eyes as long as you want before you—” Kaladin shot her a glare that would have turned most men to ashes but although Nriln fell silent, she also made an obscene jerking motion in the air with her hand.

Adolin thought he’d never been so red in his life. He couldn’t even look at Kaladin, couldn’t look at either of them. How had he not attracted an entire flock of shamespren by now?

“I’ll just…” he motioned vaguely to his mount, the painted gelding this time. The only response he got was a tightening of Kaladin’s lips, which Adolin took as assent.

*****

It was good, the logical and sane part of him later noted, as the painted gelding plodded dutifully beneath him, that they’d been interrupted. Nomon was fading and its blue light was turning green as Mishim rose. That had been too close. Adolin tried to feel relief at the near miss, but all he could think was that ‘Stormblessed’ was the only name that came close to doing Kaladin justice.

Notes:

I hope in Renarin's book we get plenty of brother moments.

Chapter 7: The Fundamental Things Apply

Notes:

TEN bookmarks?! Daaaang, thank you! Also, I really super appreciate the comments saying you like my writing style. I haven't written fanfiction in over 10 years. At the beginning of this year I found some old stuff and was musing how I probably never would again, then a few ideas took hold and here we are. This is a muscle I haven't exercised in a loooong time. I also neeever wrote higher than pg-13 so it's extra new for me, lol.

Adolin jiggled his leg, tapping his heel repeatedly against the stone floor. Renarin placed a hand on him again, and this time offered him the puzzle box he fiddled with. Adolin sharply exhaled, running a hand through his hair with anticipation for the end of the meeting. He couldn’t even say what it was about. A plateau run? And Sadeas had agreed to run it with them? What an eel, regardless. Anyway. No clue. He would see Kaladin tonight and that was all he could focus on. The way his dark hair curled over his shoulders, the lines of muscle in his arm as he extended a spear...his leg started jiggling again. Renarin shot him a sharp look through his spectacles and he stopped, actively slouching.

He nearly ran when the meeting ended. With stopping by the quartermaster for his weekly pickup, he’d only just be on time.

A hand held him back from the tide of people exiting. He looked to find his father had taken him by the arm.

“Son, we need to talk about your tardiness to training.” Renarin caught his eye on his way out and, imperceptibly, shook his head. A warning. Don’t tell him. Don’t mention Kaladin. Start small.

Unfortunately, Adolin agreed. That didn’t stop the bottom falling out of his stomach as he settled in for a long talking to.

*****

“...and you’ve been allocating increasing medical and food resources for...what, exactly? Then there’s the matter of the garment requisition and don’t get me started on the spheres you’ve spent to bribe the guards at the gate. Son,” Dalinar looked at him. Adolin, in his impatience, barely resisted the urge to drag his fingers down his face like a storming teenager. All of this he’d been expecting. He’d only thought that it’d...well...be less boring. The lecture, approaching what Adolin knew was the final accusation, continued. Dalinar always laid the foundation for his decisions. Storm it, but Jasnah came by that trait honestly from both sides.

“Why are you supplying Sadeas’s army?” Adolin’s eyes slid into focus and his breath halted in his chest, refusing to go in or out. His initial reaction was panic, but no...calm down. Dalinar didn’t necessarily know as much as he implied. He knew about the bribes, yes, but...well, maybe. He could have found the missing spheres through the ledgers and made a reasonable guess. No one knew he was spending his mornings with a bridge crew pretending to be a darkeyes or Dalinar wouldn’t have taken his time with this nice little chat. He decided on a portion of the truth.

“It’s not the army, just a few who happen to be in the army and need it.”

“That can’t be your responsibility.”

“Then whose responsibility is it?” Adolin snapped, surprising himself with the abrupt and strong emotion that ignited in him as the various faces of Bridge Four flashed in his mind, even drawing a few passionspren. “Sadeas, right? Well he doesn’t care.”

“So it has to be you?”

“It has to be someone.”

“Adolin,” Dalinar took him by the shoulders. They were the same height now. That was still odd to him. Dalinar’s voice quieted, though the room was empty. “I know you’ve been frequenting a...disorderly house.” Adolin stilled. There it was, what he’d actually been waiting for. Dalinar continued, “Son, the codes.” Adolin shrugged out of his father’s grip. So he didn’t have a counter argument for the military supplies and was moving on.

“It’s not what you think.”

“I know you’ve been visiting Madam Tuera’s.” Adolin staggered in preparing his reply, a little thrown that Dalinar knew the name; it’s not like it was posted about. He suspected his father had been withholding it in case Adolin had tried to lie. He had been seen, inside. That display with Tashe in the entryway. But he hadn’t been seen outside of it. By now Adolin was sure that the informant definitely didn’t know about his morning excursions.

“I have been,” he said, pleased to see the way his father’s eyes widened at his honesty, “And it’s not what you think. I’m not breaking the codes, I’m still battle-ready. I’m not drinking the nights away. They need medical supplies, too.” Dalinar’s eyes narrowed in contemplation.

“If you’ve become attached to one of the women and think you’ll earn her favor with these items…”

“I haven’t become attached to any woman,” Adolin insisted, and it was just barely the truth, “But for the first time I am trying to do some good.” Dalinar looked him over, sizing him up.

“Son, we are trying to set a standard, unite the highprinces—”

“How’s that going?” Adolin’s temper rose in him without warning, “I’m not breaking the codes,” and how many times did he have to say it? “I’m not drinking and I’m not going to bed with...” He almost blushed as the sudden picture of Kaladin under him burst to the forefront of his thoughts. Kaladin’s calloused, worked, and gentle hands wrapped around his back, encouraging him instead of perfunctorily correcting Adolin’s cleaning and folding of bandages. “...anyone. I swear, Father.”

There was a long moment.

“All right,” Dalinar said slowly, thoughtfully. “So long as the supplies you requisition don’t affect the well-being of our army.”

“I—really?” Adolin had been prepared for more argument.

“I...admire your compassion, son.” Adolin felt, for the first time since the lecture began, a full breath leave his chest. Relief. Dalinar was willing to see where this lead. And Adolin...Adolin took this chance to set the foundation for his eventual, monumental ask.

“Father,” he said quickly, as though he might lose leniency, “Sadeas’s use of bridges is wrong. You should press him on it but if he doesn’t yield...don’t trust him. He doesn’t…” it sounded too simple but maybe that was best. Adolin said it again, “he doesn’t care.” Dalinar paused, nodded to him, and let him leave the room.

Adolin stalked through the corridors to the Kholin quartermaster, feeling as though a great weight had been lifted from him. He hadn’t realized the toll his secrecy had been taking. Now that he just about had Dalinar’s near approval, he felt like he might lift off the ground. His father trusted him. Mostly, anyway. As he took this week’s supplies, renewed with lister’s oil and a couple other specialized items Kaladin had requested, he felt reaffirmed in the conclusion he was already set upon: his father wasn’t crazy. Or at least he was crazy in the right ways.

*****

Nriln, expectedly, opened her mouth the second Adolin’s boot touched the kitchen floor. Adolin was ready for it though, and threw a cloth bag at her face, where it lightly smacked her forehead before falling onto the countertop.

“That cost a fortune and you’re lucky a caravan was passing through. So not one. Single. Word.” Nriln opened the bag, peered in, smelled it, then gaped at Adolin. That expression alone was almost worth it.

“You’re joking,” she said.

“No, you’re not joking. For at least a year.” Though judging by the looks on the faces of the rest of the kitchen she’d already told them about what she’d walked in on last time. Fine. As long as Adolin didn’t have to hear it. He’d been prepared for some pushback but received none. Nriln only grinned and nodded agreeably, nearly quaking with excitement over the Thaylen cinnamon she held in her hands.

“Sounds a fair trade to me, brightlord.” Storms, he should have said two years.

*****

Adolin entered without knocking now, late. He found Kaladin draped over the chair by the lit hearth, a glass of something in his hand.

“Sorry,” he started, “I got held up. My father…anyway,” he set the bags of supplies down just inside the door. “I got the fresh bandages you asked for, and the litha root, though I don’t know what it’s for and I got a really cranky look from the herbacist.”

“It’s to help a mother’s milk come in,” Kaladin said shortly, “Tashe is still struggling and her baby might have an infection...well.” Adolin only felt a tad abashed, and really only for his own ignorance.

“Ah. Well, I brought something for that, too. Extra lister’s oil. Is Tashe, is it seri—”

“Why do you come here?” Kaladin interrupted. Adolin stopped as he was locking the door, as was usual for them.

“What do you mean?” Kaladin stood, glass in hand.

“Why. Do. You. Come. Here,” he punctuated each word. A demand, not a question. “You don’t want our general services, you don’t want my service. So why. Why do you come?”

“I just. I thought I was helping,” Adolin answered, slightly retreating against the closed door. Something was off tonight, was really off, “Doing better than killing on the battlefield.” Kaladin’s height made him seem intimidating in the firelight.

“You could send the supplies by courier,” Kaladin countered. Adolin tensed, starting to feel nervous. There was definitely something amiss tonight, Kaladin wasn’t himself. Adolin’s eyes flicked to the goblet in his hand.

“I suppose I could…” he said, hoping his agreement might mollify the man back to his usual countenance.

“But you choose,” Kaladin took a step toward him, “to come.” Adolin didn’t have an answer for that. Kaladin advanced. “I thought, in the beginning, you were a spoiled brat looking to entertain himself and bask in his good deed for the year, do a little more charity.” Adolin started to feel icy. “When you didn’t get bored I thought you had other...ambitions. I thought you were like some others who came here with smiles and nice words, promising they were different. Until they weren’t and I had to throw them out.” Adolin stared at him, remembering their first meeting. “The last one was pleasant for a full five weeks before he pushed himself on me. It’s become something of a competition, you know. Some think they’ll wait me out, give me enough favors, but you…”

It hurt to hear how Kaladin had been treated, how he’d been disappointed over and again, and it was suddenly much more clear why it had taken so long for him to trust Adolin as far as he did, and why he had been so furious when Adolin had started showing up at the lumber yards. He hadn’t wanted Bridge Four hurt by the fickleness he’d expected from Adolin.

“I never said I was different.”

“That’s just it, you didn’t,” Kaladin took a drink, “you just are. Weeks and weeks now you’ve been coming here and you’ve asked nothing of me.” Adolin turned his shoulder into the door. He didn’t know what he had walked into and had even less of an idea where it was going.

“You’re not yourself tonight, Kal,” Adolin told him, “We can postpone, I’ll still pay, you won’t los—” Kaladin shut the door again with his foot as soon as Adolin turned the handle.

“Weeks of coming here, paying to sit on the floor and boil bandages. Now you offer to pay for nothing? Why?” Kaladin was upon him now, nearly pinning him against the door. Adolin felt again the sort of primal fear that had developed in the years after his mother died. It was irrational, he wasn’t in danger and didn’t really feel like he was but...he asked something he hadn’t asked in six years.

“Are you drunk?”

Kaladin threw his glass against the wall, where it shattered.

“No.” He said it with such intensity that Adolin almost believed him. His father had been convincing at times, too. “Why do you come!”

And…and Adolin didn’t have an answer. At least, not one he was willing to give. I can’t stop thinking about you, you make me want to help, make me want to be better, I feel complete when I’m around you...but he couldn’t say any of that. Whether he liked it or not, he was one of the most powerful people in Alethkar. Even if he wasn’t now then he would be when he eventually became highprince. And he was falling, truly falling for this man, a darkeyed slave who worked as a whore. The distance between them in social status could fill several kingdoms. He couldn’t say any of it, because he feared what he saw in Kaladin’s eyes at times. He feared rejection, yes, but he also feared what he’d seen that night he’d made Kaladin show him the spear kata. He could deal with rejection. But to know that Kaladin held affection for him in return and not be able to...that would be too painful.

So he only gaped, his mouth and jaw moving senselessly under Kaladin’s gaze, stammering without sound, failing to produce any reply that didn’t sound fake.

“I don’t know,” he said at last. “I don’t want anything from you.”

“Liar,” Kaladin spat. Adolin winced. Well...yeah.

“I can stop,” he said, averting his eyes from the intensity Kaladin’s offered, turning flat into the door frame. His blood was rushing, reacting to being so close to Kaladin, excited by the uncertainty of the situation. “I can just send, by courier like you said…”

Kaladin was close now. Adolin didn’t smell the sting of alcohol on him but that didn’t necessarily mean…He could nearly feel Kaladin’s lips on his cheek, could definitely feel his long hair tickling his jaw. He cinched his hips back against the door. It was entirely inappropriate but at this moment he was certain he could take Kaladin in his arms and be accepted, receive in turn and he couldn’t help what that did to him. The fact that his head knew something was wrong about all of this did nothing to dampen the eagerness of his body.

In the firelight, Adolin saw Kaladin’s gaze drop down regardless of his precautions.

“You don’t want anything from me?” Kaladin asked, his voice touched with irony. Adolin’s head was hazy, his clothes were starting to stick to him. He felt like he should have an explanation but he’d never been less prepared to offer one.

“I don’t.” His insistence sounded like a lie but...that wasn’t the lie he’d told. Adolin pressed his lips together. He was dangerously close to telling Kaladin how he felt, he was dangerously...close. Kaladin hadn’t even touched him and yet Adolin felt if he only kept looking at him like that…

Kaladin shifted forward, pressing into him at last. Adolin, embarrassingly, moaned at the firm, decisive contact and couldn’t contain the reaction to hitch his hips into it. Adolin stuck his palms to the door to resist the impulse to wrap them around Kaladin, pull him near and ignore anything that might feel wrong about this.

“It’s okay,” Kaladin’s lips moved against his, “I’ll give it.” Adolin trembled at the sensual quality his voice had taken on and his mind fogged over entirely, aching to focus on everything that felt right. Kaladin’s hair draped around them, tickling his jaw. He smelled like sweat and leather. Good scents, simple. Adolin could feel the beat of his heart against his own and…

And Adolin was kissing chapped, full, beautiful lips. He forgot everything, immersed in the feeling of Kaladin in his arms. He let his hands, both of them slide into his hair, impossibly silky for one so severe. He must have been denying with enthusiasm how much he wanted this because now that he had it...he raised himself on his toes to kiss up into Kaladin, opening his mouth and encouraging their kiss to quickly turn messy. Anything for more....and Kaladin was rucking up his shirt and undoing his belt. Adolin shivered with heat as his cock was exposed to the warm brush of air from the room. There was a pause.

Kaladin’s hand, slick with oil from…somewhere…wet his cock, covering it, and Adolin broke their kiss with a groan, pressing his lips into the curve of Kaladin’s neck. His hands ran over the man’s form. Lean and defined, soft and lithe. Yes, he wanted this. And Kaladin had told him he could have it. Adolin nearly bucked into the hand around him, nearly asked for the oil to prepare Kaladin carefully, lovingly. Adolin nearly went to bed with this man and storm propriety and society itself. And if it were just those things, Adolin probably would have done it. But...the fundamental things still applied. Right and wrong, and this, the way it was happening, wasn’t right. Adolin’s body, his very heart resisted against what he had to do.

He tore away from Kaladin, and, biting the inside of his lip, stopped the hand stroking him. Kaladin was intoxicated. Maybe not with alcohol, maybe with grief or burden, but intoxicated nonetheless.

“I want this, Kal,” he whispered, entwining his fingers with Kaladin’s and bringing them to his lips. “But not tonight.” He looked Kaladin in the eye as he said it at least, owing it to him to acknowledge the anger and hurt there. Kaladin jerked his hand away, out of Adolin’s.

“Why,” he asked again, and this time Adolin answered.

“You’re wrong about which lie I told. I don’t want this from you. I don’t want it as something you’re giving to me. I want to share it with you. And I…” he paused, unsure if he should say the rest. By the look on his face, for the first time it seemed he had genuinely surprised Kaladin. Adolin swallowed, all too aware of the way his trousers hung undone around his waist, displaying just how much his body was at odds with his words, and said the rest. “I don’t want it to happen because you’re in pain and want to...want to feel something else.”

Kaladin’s eyes hardened as he looked at Adolin and Adolin knew he was right. He allowed himself some heartache for that. A tiny part of him had been hoping that Kaladin would tell him he was wrong, that that wasn’t what this was.

But no. Kaladin’s demeanor changed, becoming guarded. Shutting Adolin out.

“And if I need you tonight?”

“Then I’ll stay,” Adolin promised through his sadness, gaze unwavering, “but I won’t do what you ask of me.” It was a bluff and Adolin knew it. If he stayed...if Kaladin pressed him again...but he wasn’t called on it.

“Go,” Kaladin said. Adolin reached, instinctively, toward him.

“Kal…”

“Go.”

*****

Stormsstormsstormsstorms. Adolin rushed out through the kitchens, holding his trousers up beneath his coat and sidled quickly along the wall. He prayed the late evening rush at the bar would be enough to distract them and didn’t dare look to see how much they noticed him.

He stole out the door and away, behind the stables, out of the reaches of lamplight from the house and set his back against the cool stone wall and released his coat, sliding his hand into his open trousers and wrapping it around himself, groaning with relief. He was still wet with oil and the glide was easy. Adolin dropped his head back on the wall, full of memory of Kaladin’s lips on his own, Kaladin’s hand on his length, and touched himself.

His thoughts drifted past those lips and imagined Kaladin, a warm and wanting Kaladin in his arms Adolin’s hips swiveled up into his hand. He thought how the muscles in his back would feel, would move under his hands as he held Kal close, as he lay him down on the bed. Not here but in Adolin’s room in the warcamps, surrounded by fine silks. Adolin pictured him, the way he hoped Kal would look at him, the tempest raging passionately behind deep brown eyes, oh, with his knees drawn up to his sides…Adolin choked back a noise and tightened his grip as he slipped it along himself. Because Kal, his hand sped up, he would be tight, he…Adolin didn’t know much about the man’s past but he knew he’d never…yet he’d offered it to Adolin. That thought made a whole flood of emotion whip within him. Tonight he had stopped pretending he didn’t want that connection, and storm the consequences. He wanted it so badly.

His hand jerked faster, uncontrollable as the Kaladin in his mind’s eye threw his head back into the pillows, moaning in pleasure and gasping his name as Adolin made love to him—

Adolin clapped his free hand over his mouth to muffle the sound as he came, his spend splattering the stone beneath his feet.

Chapter 8: And Remember, This Spear is Pointed Right at Your Heart

Notes:

Oh look, they're going to have some nice time together before the shit hits the fan. That's sweet.

It was three days before Adolin considered returning for their weekly appointment. He hadn’t even sent a note. He couldn’t entertain the thought of dictating it to a messenger, and his father was already stern about it besides. He missed his early morning rides to the lumber yard, and found longing for the men of Bridge Four in its own merit, not just because it was extra time with Kaladin. He trusted Kaladin to come up with some excuse, hopefully one that would allow him to return.

He was so ashamed. First, because he hadn’t had so little control over himself since he’d been in that spearman’s squadron, needing to sneak away after hearing the explicit stories the other men told. He’d risked serious repercussions for his moment behind the stables. Second, because he still needed to excuse himself as the memory of Kaladin’s lips on his resurfaced abruptly throughout the day. If his mind was feeling particularly passionate, the memory of Kaladin’s hand made him withdraw quickly from any activity he was engaged in at the time.

On the day of their regularly scheduled meeting he finally mustered the fortitude to make the trip over to Sadeas’s camp. If he only dropped off his satchels and left, it’d be worth it. People had come to depend on this extra help. Gathering the usual supplies, donning a plain outfit, and riding the bay mare, Adolin arrived at the brothel right at first moonset.

Shaking slightly with anticipation, he secured his mount and stepped inside. He held up a hand in greeting to the kitchen staff, but kept his eyes down. He took a steadying breath outside Kaladin’s door. He’d never been so uncertain as to his reception. He knocked anyway.

The door opened more quickly that he’d expected. Kaladin, several inches taller than Adolin himself, relaxed that intense gaze, shoulders dropping as though a weight had been lifted.

“You came back,” he said, quickly stepping back to allow Adolin entrance, “Storms, I wasn’t sure if...” He buried his face in his hands and just about fell onto the bed.

“Of course,” Adolin said, albeit a little hesitantly, as he closed the door.

“Adolin, I—” Kaladin paused like he sometimes did, as though listening to something, “I shouldn’t have...I wasn’t drunk. I…” he trailed off and Adolin stepped further into the room. The man rested his elbows on his knees, lacing his fingers, and closed his eyes. “That day…Bridge Four, my men, they lost two,”

“Who?” Adolin interrupted, wanting to shake him for not saying it before, but chose to allow them both to blame grief.

“Maps and Narm.” Adolin’s heart sank and he with it, onto the bed next to Kaladin. Narm had just gotten well. Kaladin continued,

“Then I came back and Tashe’s baby…Adolin, I didn’t think she was going to survive the week.” Kaladin looked up at him and Adolin was startled to see tears in the eyes of the hard man. Kaladin turned, taking him by the shoulders. Adolin felt for his tears but he wanted Kaladin to get on with it, needing to know what had happened.

“The supplies you brought, Adolin, the lister’s oil and the flatbread…” Kaladin’s hands tightened on his shoulders and Adolin nearly snapped at him to spit it out. “Tashe’s milk came in and the baby’s infection is gone, completely gone.”

Kaladin beamed at him through the tears.

Adolin’s heart was racing as his mind processed everything, causing him to sit, dumb, for a moment before his face split in a grin and he grabbed Kaladin’s shoulders in return.

“Gone?” he said, a certain kind of emotion filling his chest. But storms, he normally wasn’t responsible for saving lives. Kaladin nodded again, still grinning like he was barely containing his glee over it. He released Adolin.

“You’re a good man,” Kaladin said. Adolin’s grin turned into a smirk.

“Careful, bridgeboy, you sound almost sincere.”

“I am.” Adolin’s smirk fell as warmth blossomed around his navel. Now that was downright unexpected. “Don’t get me wrong,” Kaladin continued, and he stood and moved across the room to pour Adolin his usual goblet of yellow wine, “you’re spoiled, vain, and arrogant,” he handed the glass to Adolin, “but a good man.” Adolin took it.

“ ‘Vain’? How am I vain?” Kaladin gave him a very flat look as he poured himself a smaller glass of yellow.

“How much did that cologne cost, princeling?”

“More than an hour with you,” Adolin chuckled, “But that’s me being spoiled, not vain.”

Kaladin shifted uncomfortably and set down his glass. Was that color in his face?

“Adolin…” Adolin felt heat rise on his own cheeks and the hand holding his wine glass suddenly felt sweaty, as though Kaladin could see all the moments he’d had to steal because of that night.

“I wish you would have told me about Narm and Maps,” he said, and there was a strangled quality to his voice as that pain struck him, “I liked them, too.” He hoped Kaladin would leave it at that. Kaladin’s eyes reverted to their usual pensive state.

“I shouldn’t have—” Adolin found he couldn’t bear to hear it, whatever it was. He cut Kaladin off.

“Well, that’s me being vain. When it happens I want your full attention to be on how wonderful I am.” Kaladin cocked an eyebrow.

“When?” he repeated pointedly.

“That’s my arrogance.” Kaladin chuckled softly, shaking his head. Adolin took Kaladin's hand in his saying seriously,

“You would have regretted it, Kal.”

“Maybe…” he said, seemingly more to himself than Adolin. Adolin’s heart fluttered unfairly at the doubt. He’d said what he’d said that night, and he maintained it. Any other time…he brought his knee up to his chest and rested his foot on the side beam of the bed to hide the, er, effect that uncertainty had on him.

“You’re…you’re a good man,” Kaladin said again and the intensity of those eyes struck Adolin. His overcoat suddenly felt like too much and—he shrugged it off—why were dark colored eyes supposed to be unattractive again? Because Adolin saw tans like fresh-baked flatbread, shimmering nut brown of a horse’s coat, and streaks of golden sun in Kaladin’s eyes. He resisted the temptation to tuck those loose locks of hair behind Kaladin’s ear.

Then he stopped resisting. He reached out, brushing Kaladin’s hair back and letting the tips of his finger’s draw down along the man’s jaw. Kaladin looked to him, a slight tinge of pink on his cheeks.

“Did you just…” Adolin smiled at him.

What would happen if he simply...ignored convention. What if he showed up with Kaladin, in front of his father, his cousin the king, and all the highprinces and told them this is how things were going to be. People did things like that sometimes. Sebarial kept a darkeyed mistress who, for all practical purposes, was his wife. Though she wasn’t branded and he didn’t really think Kaladin would approve of being a mistress. For a moment, Adolin wanted to win him a Blade if only so he’d be allowed to court him.

Then it wasn’t just a moment.

“Kal, what if I,” Adolin started, feeling like he was walking into another conversation where he’d just end up feeling stupid, “I’m really…I can duel well, really well, when I’m allowed. If I won a Blade, I could…” he faltered at the darkening expression on Kaladin’s face, and worse, he wasn’t sure what he’d already done wrong. “You’re a soldier, I mean,” he tried to correct whatever had happened, “If you had a Blade, those slave brands wouldn’t matter, you could leave, you could come to our camp, you’d have land, able to appoint your own people…” He trailed off, turning pink at the thought and at the way Kaladin was looking at him. He tried imagining explaining to his father and cousin that he was just going to give a Shardblade to a man farther beneath his station than the distance around Roshar. But then, once Kaladin had a Blade he’d immediately be of the fourth dahn...Adolin was being given the sense there were significant problems with all this, though as usual he couldn’t see what they were. Just like people didn’t sneer at being rescued, they also didn’t glower at being offered the chance at a Shardblade.

Kaladin had now done both. He visibly shuddered and let go of Adolin’s hand. Adolin quietly stood and backed away towards the door. Whatever had happened had been a pretty big misstep by that look on Kaladin’s face...

“Your time isn’t up,” Kaladin said quickly, which made him pause. “Look, that’s…that offer…but I’ve seen too many of my friends cut down by those things. I can’t wield one.” Adolin didn’t know what to say to that so he only nodded, accepting it, and said nothing. Kaladin strode to the door and pick up the brothel’s satchel of supplies. He held it out to Adolin.

“Do you want to deliver this week’s supplies yourself? You can see the baby.” The dour tension lifted and Adolin felt more excitement at that suggestion than he would have expected. He grinned, nodding as he took the satchel from Kaladin, gesturing for him to lead the way.

*****

They knocked and were told to enter. A group of women fluttered about the room. The new mother, Tashe, was seated on the bed, her long dark hair in a messy braid, breasts exposed. She held a small bundle to one breast. Kaladin didn’t stumble like Adolin did. Sights like this were probably as common to him as seeing a street vendor. Now that Adolin thought about it, there was likely very little of these women he hadn’t seen. And after all, he had delivered this baby.

Adolin’s eyes, however, darted around the room, looking anywhere but the bare chest in front of him.

“Hey Kal,” Tashe said, “Adolin. You’re shy today, aren’t you? ‘S’not because I yelled at you last time, is it?” Kaladin looked behind him at Adolin, brow furrowed at first, then he rolled his eyes. Kaladin grabbed Adolin by the arm and pulled him up to the bedside.

“She has a face, idiot, look there.” Adolin blushed, but focused on the pretty young woman, letting everything below her chin fuzz and blur. She seemed amused at the exchange, and smiled at Adolin. She looked much happier than the last time Adolin had seen her.

“Your extra food and medical supplies, prince, I owe you my baby’s life.” Her eyes glossed over with emotion and Adolin felt exceptionally warm.

“Well, I brought this week’s in person,” he said, holding up the satchel. Tashe blinked her eyes clear and she reached eagerly towards the satchel with the hand that wasn’t supporting the baby.

“Is there any more of that flatbread? I’d never had anything like it, the really dense stuff.” Adolin grinned, pulling it from the top of the pile and handing it to her. She tore open the wrapping and took a bite.

“Soldier’s rations,” Adolin said, “You can march all day on it.”

“Hey Saan!” Tashe called to a woman working in a corner of the room, “This is it, this is the stuff that made my milk come in. You’ll want it when your time comes.” Tashe tossed a piece across the room at the woman. “See, Adolin, I was barely making anything, felt like the worst failure of a mother, I did. One day of this stuff and look at me now.” Forgetting about her bare chest, Adolin followed her gesture. The breast that the babe wasn’t suckling from was steadily trickling milk. Tashe had stuffed a cloth under her swollen breast to stop it from getting everywhere. Blushing again and attracting a few red and pink shamespren, Adolin stammered,

“Th-that’s great…”

“That blush of yours is sweet. Isn’t it sweet, Kal?”

“Like a simberry,” Kaladin smirked.

“Okay, okay. So I’m the odd one out, not spending all my time around bare-chested women. You two had your fun, then?” Kaladin and Tashe wore identical, conspiratorial grins.

A tiny hiccuping sound emanated from the bundle at Tashe’s chest.

“Ooh, you all done, little one?” She looked up at Adolin, “Would you like to hold her?”

“Uhh…”

“Go on, then,” she urged him, “She’s here because of you.” When Adolin stalled she added, “My arms could use a break, yeah?” Kaladin sucked in a breath as Adolin reached for the child.

“Support her head,” he warned.

“I know,” Adolin said, though he hadn’t known and, fingers on the back of the infant’s head, took her in his arms.

She nestled sleepily against his chest. Adolin’s face broke into the same soppy smile he’d heard many men ridicule. Well, storm them. This was great. The baby was snugly, wrinkled, content, and,

“She’s so tiny,” he said. Tashe’s nose scrunched as she smiled, stretching her arms above her head.

“Didn’t feel tiny coming out, I’ll say that much. Right, Kal?” Kaladin smiled at her and place a hand on her lower leg, rubbing there.

“You did great. Though I’ve heard sergeants curse less.” Adolin grinned but lowered his gaze to the little face resting in the crook of his elbow. One restful, peaceful face that might not be here if not for the food and medicine he brought. His heart swelled, and in it lay a determination to do more. Didn’t they all deserve a fair start? Lighteyed or not? The babe blinked at him with dark violet eyes. A side of her mouth twitched up.

“She smiled at me!” Latha, who’d been busy with laundry in the corner, smirked at him.

“We call those practice smiles ‘round here, brightlord. They can’t properly smile for a couple months.”

“Oh.” Adolin flushed a little at his own ignorance. “Well, it’s nice. Does she have a name?” This time, Tashe blushed, pausing her conversation with Kaladin.

“Brightlord,” Adolin started at the title, as he’d talked casually many times with this woman. “I’d like your blessing to name her Adodani, after you. Please.”

“I...storms, Tashe. You don’t need my blessing to do anything but...storms.” He ran his hand nervously through his hair. He looked down at the beautiful little girl, her head thick with black hair.

“Don’t be a stranger, Adolin.” Tashe beamed at him, clearly taking his humility as consent. Well, she was right. Little Adodani started to fuss. “You are not hungry again, you.” But Adolin handed the babe back, and Tashe held her to her weeping breast and sighed a little with relief. It wasn’t so indecent, Adolin thought. It was fuctional. Perfectly natural.

Kaladin promised to look in on them later, though from what Adolin could see, Tashe commanded an entire squad.

“The babies, the children, they’ve been getting the food, right Kal?” he asked as they descended the stairs to the lower level.

“First pick, don’t worry,” he replied. His expression darkened, “Rough start, though.”

“They’re loved, Kal. Cared for. You and all the women make sure of that. There are more unfortunate ways to be born.”

“Better ones, too.”

“We can’t control everything.”

“Maybe not,” Kaladin said, but he seemed contemplative. Adolin stopped him with an arm across the chest, then stepped in front of him.

“You’re not alone anymore, Kal. Even if something happened to you, if you had to leave, I’m not going to abandon them. I wont forget them.”

“They’ve been forgotten before,” Kaladin said, somber.

“Not by me,” Adolin replied, feeling defiant, “And frankly bridgeboy, you’re just not that intriguing to keep me around on your own.” Kaladin snorted, a side of his mouth turning up.

“How much of that was true?” Adolin pursed his lips in an exaggerated manner, pretending to seriously consider. The various sounds of the night followed them down the hall.

“Everything before ‘you’re just not that intriguing’,” he answered. He earned a slap on the shoulder for that.

It made him smile.

They returned to Kaladin’s room and began the painstaking process of sanitizing bandages. Adolin was relieved to find that they easily returned to a companionable reparte, as if their interaction the week before had never happened. Although...after Kaladin corrected the way he was holding a scalpel twice, adjusting Adolin’s fingers on the shaft, he started to wonder if...Adolin touched Kaladin’s shoulder to get his attention instead of speaking.

“Drink?” he offered. Kaladin pointed to the sideboard.

“Tea, thanks. There’s dried fruit over there, too.” Adolin poured them each a cup of chilled tea and took the dish of fruit back with him. Again he lightly placed his hand on Kaladin’s back as he returned, kneeling, and handed him the cup. Kaladin’s fingers brushed his more than was truly necessary and Adolin held his gaze for a moment as he turned to accept and sensed...more. Like Kaladin was trying to tell him, share with him...meaning. It was in his eyes and the lilt of his lips. Adolin understood it, felt it, too.

Kaladin took the cup and set it down to the side. He looked back to his work. The moment passed. Mostly. Adolin sat next to him instead of across from him, which until now had been their arrangement. He set the dish of fruit between them and took up the scalpel again. Adolin smiled as they slipped comfortably into a new normal; one where they brushed arms, bumped knees, where Adolin could smell the antiseptic, leather, and wood of Kaladin’s day and bathe in familiarity and affinity.

So maybe it wasn’t quite as if last week had never happened.

Chapter 9: Round Up the Usual Suspects

Notes:

Probably won't have a chance to write/post until next week.

“Oh no you don’t!” the quartermaster actually backed away as he saw Adolin coming, “I don’t have time for one of your nonsensical, giant requisitions right now.” Adolin stopped, putting his hands up in surrender.

“I haven’t asked for anything yet! What if I just want a needle?” The man narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“Do you just want a needle?”

“Well...no.”

“Bah!” The man threw his hands up in the air and motioned for his wife to come inspect the list Adolin had brought. For all his bluster he couldn’t actually refuse Adolin.

“Sorry brightlord,” his wife said, far more diplomatically than her husband, “some of these we just can’t do right now. The king has ordered each highprince to submit a certain percentage of medical supplies to the hospitals in the warcamps. It’s been an unusual few weeks. Brawls are up. Sadeas’s warcamp is particularly rife with them. Why, just today a man got beat near to death.”

“Mm,” Adolin said, his brow furrowing, “It does seem to come and go in waves in all the camps but Sadeas never has cared to stamp that out of his men.”

“Aye,” the woman agreed, now making adjustments to his list. “This one was particularly bad. I was at the citizen’s hospital myself this morning complying with the king’s order when he came in. Bare as newborn and just as bloody. No one deserves that, not even—”

“Hush, Tola!” her husband reprimanded, “Prince Adolin needn’t be hearing any of your women’s gossip.” Adolin however settled his elbows on the counter and matched the twinkle in Tola’s eye.

“But women’s gossip is the best kind,” he said, “the most comprehensive.” He nodded for Tola to continue while her husband shot Adolin a long suffering look. Perhaps he thought he’d be lectured by Dalinar for indulging Adolin. Tola, on the other hand, leaned in comfortably.

“The women who brought him in had no glove or sleeves on their safehands, you know, they were...” she gave him a knowing glance, perhaps mistaking Adolin’s sudden rigidity for intrigue instead of cold, biting, paralyzing fear. No... “And him a man,” she continued. “Can you imagine? A strong, able-bodied youth choosing that kind of work? Anyway, like I said, no one deserves—will you be off now, brightlord?”

Nononononono.

Adolin thought he mumbled something about doing the best they could with his list and let his numb legs carry him out of the quartermaster’s office, where he sprinted to Sureblood’s enclosed field.

Adolin spared no time for tack, he didn’t need it for this, and swung onto the Rhyshadium’s back as he approached in his field and jumped him over the fence on to the road. It couldn’t be, it just couldn’t. He’d seen Kaladin this morning, he’d been fine, he ran the bridge all over the storming lumber yard. Adolin was aware of several people shouting at him but it all seemed like it was coming from far away.

Sureblood galloped, seeming to move faster than usual. Of course, he usually carried a full Shardbearer. Adolin vaguely appreciated that, had he been less terrified, he would have laughed with the enjoyment of riding Sureblood so unrestrained; with no Plate, no saddle, no bridle even, nothing between him and the horse. He was even drawing some windspren, dancing and twirling around Sureblood. As it was, he raced across the plateau in his full Kholin-blue uniform and tried not to panic. It was impossible, he knew it was impossible...but he had to be sure.

He galloped to the gates of Sadeas’s camp without a thought of slowing down. The guards there yelled for him to stop, but Adolin didn’t. What were they going to do, stand firm in the face of a Rhyshadium? Indeed, they scattered when Adolin refused to slow down. It was something he only did when he reached the citizen’s hospital. Adolin threw himself from Sureblood and stumbled a little, it was a different feeling than dismounting in Plate, and slammed his shoulder into the heavy, stump wood hospital doors.

“Kaladin,” he heaved at the poor, scared looking scribe at the front desk. He barely listened to her stammered excuses, stalling. His eyes quickly found a stairwell and he ran to it. He was too high-ranking for her to deny, even if he was from another camp. Adolin stalked through the doors into the main ward, passing the various curtained beds with quickness until…until he saw a familiar tall form. He pulled back and steered his momentum to Kaladin’s bedside.

Kaladin was… Adolin would have liked to have said that he’d seen someone survive worse.

He hadn’t.

Kaladin’s right eye was swollen over, his right arm and leg were set and splinted with a thick cut of wood and bandages. His torso was wrapped and a bruise bloomed up his chest on his right side. His left…well his left looked as though someone had taken a grater to it. So he’d rolled onto his left side on the stone as they dragged him along it and just…taken the beating.

Storms.

Adolin took Kaladin’s left hand, the least damaged one. It was warm and twitched a little as he held it, thank the Almighty. He’d been prepared for it to be cold and lifeless. Judging by his mangled right hand and his lack of injury to his jaw and nose, Kaladin had used that hand to protect those. His left only bore a few scratches.

Kaladin startled awake, which then made him wince with pain. Several sinewy pain spren wriggled up from the bedsheets. Somewhat foggily, Kaladin searched. His good eye focused on Adolin.

“Princeling,” he muttered, his voice a terrible rasp. Adolin had heard that sound before, when men struggled to speak as blood sat in their lungs. And…Stormfather, Adolin realized, Bruises on his neck as well. Did they try to strangle him in the end?

“Kal,” Adolin breathed, and he felt like tears should come but they wouldn’t. He was beyond that. Storm it, this man was accomplished with a spear, he was a soldier, so…“What happened?” he demanded, “When?” He...he felt sick. If Kaladin had been brought in this morning...Adolin had just missed this. If he’d gone inside with Kaladin, seen him back to his room…

“They were waiting at the bar. S’not uncommon to get some coming off duty, Tuera didn’t think anything of it. She’s here, too, somewhere. They broke her arm. Bastards.” But...Adolin’s head felt flooded. He was still trying to grasp the real, inescapable truth of Kaladin on this bed.

“But...why?”

“I told you before, it’s become a bit of a twisted game among some to get me to...well. I guess they thought if they came early, caught me unprepared...anyway. I told them no.” Adolin felt his mind grinding to a halt. Yes, Kaladin had mentioned, but off-handedly, like it was an annoyance to him, an irritation.

“So they nearly killed you?” Kaladin gave him a pitiful look, one that told Adolin he didn’t understand anything about the world.

“I’m a darkeyed whore, Adolin,” Kaladin said with a grimace, “And I said no.”

The truth of it dragged on Adolin and he sat, sagging onto the stool beside Kaladin’s bed. He pressed his palms into his eyes, which were becoming wet. The tears had caught up to him at last. If Adolin had known, really known...he’d never have left, he’d have been back each night just to guard. But of course, they’d picked a time when there’d be the least protection. He tried not to remember what Tola had said about his state as he’d been brought in. Bare as a newborn. Storms, how many had there been? Adolin’s nausea threatened to bubble into his throat and he found he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

Kaladin turned his palm up in invitation. Adolin took it blindly, bring their hands to his lips. The warmth of Kaladin’s hand acted like a balm on the pain he felt. He was alive. The pulse in the hand he held was strong. It would be okay.

Fury edged in as his initial panic subsided.

“I’ll kill them.” Adolin dried his tears on his uniform coat. “Do you know who they are?” It was true and he knew it. If he ever found out who had done this he would kill them. Surprisingly, a certain glint appeared in Kaladin’s good eye.

“I do,” he said and pushed himself into a seated position. Adolin made a fearful, choked sound, “Oh, don’t,” Kaladin said in reply. Strangely, there seemed to be fewer painspren as he raised himself. Was his voice clearer? “But I’m not going to tell you. Not that they wouldn’t deserve it, but you’re frankly not the first client to come with condolences. Gossip travels storming fast. They’d barely set my leg when he showed up.” Adolin wondered if that right eye of Kaladin’s seemed less swollen than before. “I think he’s taking care of it. If it makes you feel better, one of them is already dead. Javash killed him in the struggle.” Adolin let go of Kaladin’s hand and crossed his arms. There was a lot there. Was this client-presumably a ranking highlord-addressing the actions of his underlings? Or dealing with someone else’s? But all Adolin focused on was,

“There was someone here before me?” Kaladin did grace him with the shadow of a grin this time, and, yes, he could see that eye now. He was certain it had been swollen over when he entered...

“You’re my favorite,” he said. Adolin frowned.

“I bet you say that to all the brightlords. Or highlords?” Kaladin shook his head in response to Adolin’s attempt to narrow down the visitor.

“Not happening.”

“Fine,” he said with a true edge of frustration, “Be mysterious.” As if to comply, Kaladin cocked his head, ever so slightly, hearing something the rest of them couldn’t. Adolin ground his teeth. Another mysterious thing. Mysterious, because Kaladin wasn’t crazy. Insufferable, insolent, and strange. But if he was hearing something, he really was hearing it.

Kaladin slumped on the pillows.

“You’re tired,” Adolin said, laying his hand on Kaladin’s forearm and even risked brushing his thumb over the soft skin there. Kaladin seemed to lean into the touch without moving and the skin under Adolin’s thumb pimpled.

“I’m starving,” Kaladin yawned. Adolin found himself smiling. The man seemed much farther from his deathbed than when Adolin had arrived. Even the rasp in his voice had gone.

“I’ll see to it you’re fed, then.”

Kaladin didn’t smile, but his features softened in appreciation. That was as close to a thanks as Adolin was likely to get. Kaladin paused again, focusing on a point by his toes. This time, for the second time ever, Adolin gave in to that particular curiosity.

“Are you ever going to tell me what that’s about?” Kaladin looked to him.

“It’s just a thing.”

“It’s not.” Kaladin shrugged noncommittally in reply. Adolin felt his frustration build to a crescendo inside him and…then he let it go. He sighed.

“Just going to double-down on the mysterious thing then, are you?” Kaladin stifled another yawn. As his chest expanded with his yawn, Adolin noticed the coloring on the bruise over his ribs. It looked over a week old, at least. Maybe two. Adolin flushed to think how he’d just wept over a man in a condition that was perfectly, completely not life-threatening. He looked like he’d only had a bad bar brawl.

“It’s kept you coming back so far,” Kaladin said. Adolin appreciated the flirtation, recognizing that it was good Kaladin felt well enough to joke, but he didn’t give in to it.

“One day I might like a few more answers, bridgeboy.” He gave Kaladin’s arm a gentle squeeze, “Rest. I’ll make sure you get something proper to eat.”

Adolin stopped at the front desk on his way out.

“The patient in bed fifteen,” he said to the scribe he’d frightened earlier, “Give him something better than soulcast bread and bland meat.” He opened his pouch of spheres to pay for it, only to find that, despite the highstorm three days ago, they were all dun. He paid for Kaladin’s meal and hurried away.

Okay. Yeah. There was something going on here and it was decidedly not normal. He couldn’t explain it...this was instinct. He mounted Sureblood. The Rhyshadium was right where Adolin had left him. They didn’t need to be tied down like normal horses. He patted the horse fondly, remembering the day Sureblood had chosen him; the day Adolin had learned to trust his instincts.

Chapter 10: Kiss Me Like It's the Last Time

Notes:

So, I lied. I writed. I heated up leftovers to cover the fact that I didn't cook. I am an accessory to porn.

But the most damning thing of all, none of you will get this. But if I had to write this whole parody monologue again...I would.

In his desperation for answers, Adolin wrote to Jasnah in detail. Well, some detail. He’d recited over and over in his head what to dictate to a scribe that would be passed off as innocent conversation, but might strike the proper chords with Jasnah. She was the only person he could think of who wouldn’t laugh him off and who might actually know something. He didn’t dare use a spanreed. He wanted to give Jasnah time to reply to his odd questions. He’d sent the letter off the night after he returned from visiting Kaladin. That had been just over two weeks, twelve days, ago.

Eleven days ago he’d received, in his estimation, the worst dressing down he’d ever gotten from his father. His actions, though they made sense to him at the time, had been exceptionally improper. He’d galloped, bareback, in full Kholin uniform, to a citizen’s hospital in Sadeas’s camp, to visit a man who, hospital staff had on good authority, was a whore and a branded slave. A shash brand, no less. There was no covering that up. Though, fortunately, no one seemed to know his name. Adolin thought there were multiple bribes working on that front.

Aunt Navani was trying to spin it the best she could, tying it back to Elhokar’s order to donate supplies to the civilian hospitals. It wasn’t working. It had been a public ward. Adolin had openly wept. He’d held and kissed Kaladin’s hand. All of it was so blatantly un-Alethi and remarked so compellingly on their relationship yet Adolin couldn’t see how he could’ve possibly acted differently. He’d been terrified, he hadn’t been thinking. Adolin found he felt badly that he had caused even more problems for his father, but he couldn’t feel badly about his actions specifically.

“You swore to me, son, that you hadn’t become attached, that you weren’t—” Dalinar cut off, apparently unable to say it, even in his anger. Adolin decided against reminding him he’d promised he hadn’t gotten attached to a woman, specifically. Dalinar wasn’t one to appreciate those kinds of equivocations. So Adolin just said,

“I haven’t laid with him.” His father’s ears turned red. Perhaps it was because when Adolin did choose to answer him it was with annoying honesty that Dalinar, in his growing frustration with Adolin’s silence and lack of remorse had finally shouted in an empty meeting chamber,

“What is this man to you, Adolin?” Adolin hadn’t had an answer for him. Not one that he could share with everyone so worked up. He wasn’t stupid, no matter how often he felt like it. He knew now, deep down, for certain that what Kaladin was to him, what he wanted him to be, and it would never be permitted. He wasn’t Sebarial, he couldn’t just make a darkeyes his mistress, never wed, and ignore the consequences. He was cousin to the king, he was third in line for the throne. His match would have to affirm their legitimacy, not make others question it. He understood that.

Yet, as he had proved this entire time, he couldn’t stop. He felt like with enough stubbornness he could just...shove society out of the way. If he stood firm he could make them move for once. His anger made him want to do something reckless. He wanted to proclaim his intention to pursue a man so far beneath his station the drop would shatter Plate. Though maybe Dalinar would actually prefer he wed a sas nahn instead of sneaking around brothels at nighttime. Alone in his sitting room, Adolin laughed out loud at the idea of presenting that to his father, not to mention the absolute aneurysm it would give the Vorin church. But it wasn’t a decision he could make by himself. That’s what gave him real unease. Kaladin would have to weather it with him, undoubtedly receiving the worst of it. Kaladin liked him, he was sure of that, but did he...would being with Adolin be worth it to him?

In the meantime, he had to wait. Both for Jasnah’s reply and for Kaladin’s recovery. So he summoned an ardent to read him the old stories of the Knight Radiants. He hadn’t heard them in many years, and though these stories were tinged with disdain, he felt a quiet, anticipatory excitement as he listened to them. It made him think of his mother’s stories, as he’d rested at her side with Renarin, smelling her perfume and giving him a sense of comfort.

He didn’t think the ardents were very pleased with his requests. The church disliked anything to do with the Radiants, and they would already be viewing his behavior as erratic. Taken in combination with his father’s visions, he was sure the entire family was downright worrisome. But what else could he do? He had to do something to pass the time. He couldn’t go see Bridge Four; his entire reason for being there as far as they were concerned was to watch out for Kaladin, and he was still in hospital. He sent supplies to Madam Tuera’s by courier; he didn’t dare prompt another shouting match with his father by going in person. On top of that, they hadn’t been called out on a plateau run in days, and his muscles were complaining at the protracted training sessions.

On the fourteenth day he was leaving a long meeting that his father had insisted on. People had given up goading him publicly about the man in the hospital bed once they realized he simply wasn’t going to respond. He shuffled behind Roion, wishing to rush past, when a messenger nearly pushed him aside in her haste to deliver her message. Adolin was dropping back out of privacy when he caught the words,

“...just released.” And the slight twitch of Roion’s head...he couldn’t explain how, he just knew. He forced himself to fall behind further until Roion was out of sight.

Then he bolted for the stables.

...Where he found his father standing, arms folded, by the bay mare Adolin had become fond of.

“After all you’ve endured over the last weeks,” Dalinar growled, and Adolin knew that by ‘you’ he meant ‘we’, “and you’re still going to see him?” Adolin didn’t have the answer Dalinar wanted, so he only set his jaw. Dalinar’s lips pulled back in a tight line. If he’d been a less disciplined man he might be pulling his hair out. “What are you thinking, son? Look at what you’re risking!” Adolin met his eye.

“I’m not breaking the codes.” Dalinar looked like he wanted to take Adolin by the shoulders and shake him. Indeed, his fingers clenched into fists at his side.

“You’re sowing division in this army,” his father hissed, obviously trying not to let his voice get too loud, “giving the men reason to doubt the authority they follow. There’s more to leadership than just following the codes, and regardless of that...storm it, Adolin, he’s a slave!”

“That’s not his fault!” Adolin snarled, and hauled a saddle onto the mare. Dalinar did grab him now.

“Even if it’s not! Adolin, you are actively undermining everything we’re trying to achieve. No one will take us seriously if we thwart tradition.”

“You’re going to stop having secretive little talks with Aunt Navani, then?” Adolin retaliated. Dalinar stepped back, letting go of his arm. Adolin felt a little bit of pride. In fact, he drew a single gloryspren. He’d made the Blackthorn retreat.

“That’s not the same—” Dalinar took a moment to compose himself and studied his son. Adolin took the opportunity to bridle his mare and tried not to look at Dalinar. Whatever he saw, Adolin didn’t know as he was only feeling stubbornness, made some color drain from his father’s face. “Adolin,” and he sounded a little bit, impossibly desperate, “are you saying this isn’t one of your flings? You haven’t—you haven’t fallen for this man…Adolin?” Adolin felt his face flush as he tightened the girth. The mare stamped impatiently, echoing Adolin’s feelings.

“Adolin.” His father pushed him back against the stall with a hand on his chest. Adolin made to get out of it but Dalinar held firm. “It’s not just about our leadership, son. Have you given a thought to what the other highprinces and highlords might do if we, if you were vulnerable like this? If you forfeited their chances at combining our houses for the sake of a sas nahn?” Adolin stopped struggling. He hadn’t...no, he hadn’t considered that. “Assassins, son. Never mind the erupting scandal. It’s not just our reputation, you’re endangering his life with your affections.” Adolin slumped against the stall, his head falling limp on his chest and anguish threatened to overwhelm him. His father’s hand turned sturdy and comforting on his shoulder.

Then Adolin thought of Kaladin. His suspicious nature, the way he moved through spear kata and hoisted a storming bridge. That he’d survived a highstorm and a beating that should have killed him. Adolin considered what he suspected of Kaladin.

Adolin raised his head and dodged around his father to stick his boot into the stirrup and mount the bay mare.

“I’d like to see them try.” A couple shockspren, like little yellow triangles, burst around Dalinar. Rare, those.

“At least tell me his name, perhaps we can—” Adolin shook his head but the action might have been lost to the mare’s gait as he nudged her into a canter.

*****

He arrived at the indistinct stone building about an hour later. He adjusted his clothing in the stall with the mare as he noticed he’d mis-buttoned his shirt as he dismounted.

It was early, as brothels went. Mid-day. Adolin wasn’t likely to encounter a crowd and there wasn’t anyone in the kitchen yet to hold him to conversation or in the hall as he strode down to Kaladin’s room. Not that he was in the mood for conversation, after that encounter with his father. He didn’t even knock, but the door was unlocked. He was completely unprepared for what he came upon.

Kaladin was reclined, drifting, in a bathing tub. A few flower petals floated on top of the water. He cracked his eyes lazily at Adolin. Wet ringlets of black hair clung to his face.

“Should’ve known,” he grunted, “barely been back two hours…” Adolin only gaped, his mouth moving soundlessly and stupidly.

“A bath?” he finally managed in a strangled croak.

“Mmm,” Kaladin said agreeably, “the girls thought I could use it.”

“Flowers?”

“There’s really no telling those women anything,” he said with a shrug, “Very kind, though I would have appreciated a shave. Maybe Malah could. She does the girls.” Kaladin didn’t blush as he said it but Adolin sure did. He felt like he should say something to distract from the fact that he’d walked in on Kaladin in the bath, and Kaladin hadn’t told him to get out.

“I’m sure she could. Your face is probably less delicate than her usual canvas,” Adolin muttered. Kaladin, unexpectedly, laughed. He sat up in the tub, clutching himself around the chest.

“Don’t, princeling,” he gasped, “My ribs, they still…” Need to eat more spheres? The thought came to Adolin unbidden. It should have seemed ridiculous. It didn’t.

Despite his sore ribs, Kaladin looked remarkably well for someone who had been beaten near to death just under three weeks ago. His right arm and leg bore some evidence of injury but they weren’t splinted. There was barely any color to the bruise on his right side now.

“My father says I’m endangering you by coming here,” Adolin blurted out.

“Oh?” Kaladin just ran a wet cloth over his shoulders.

“He says other families will send assassins after you for stealing their chance to marry off their daughters.”

Kaladin scoffed.

“I’d like to see them try.” Adolin breathed out his burden. His agitation disappeared. It was much harder to be worried here, in this cozy room, than under Dalinar’s dire proclamations.

“That’s what I said.”

“You lighteyes. Your egos are truly boundless.” Kaladin deepened his voice mockingly, “‘Ah yes, a darkeyed slave is the reason I can’t marry off my daughter.’” Adolin couldn’t find it in him to force a laugh. He felt suddenly stiff.

“I haven’t courted anyone recently. Not since I met you. It’s been a topic of some interest, actually.”

The cloth Kaladin had been washing with, and his smile, dropped. He stood and reached for a towel beside the tub. Adolin turned away instinctively. Whether it was being a bridgeman, with their garb of open vests and loin cloths, or working at a brothel, his general comfort with Adolin or a combination, Kaladin had never seemed the type to be shy. He always carried an air of modesty despite his skant clothing. But never shy.

Now though, the modesty had...gone.

“Adolin,” Kaladin said this seriously so Adolin turned around from ostensibly examining this day’s wine selection.

Kaladin had wrapped the towel around his waist, thankfully, but his curls fell further down his shoulder than usual, wet as they were, dripping beads of water into the hair on his chest. His beard, nearly three weeks full, glistened with droplets. And, Ashes eyes, he looked good with a beard. Adolin had to remind himself to breathe. He was no longer pretending he held no attraction, physical or emotional, for this man.

“Adolin,” Kaladin said again. Almighty, the remaining rivets of water on his abdomen weren’t helping, “I want to thank you for buying me lunch, that day you visited.”

“Uh,” Adolin barely remembered that, the mystery of the dun spheres had consumed him, and this was an abrupt change of subject. “You’re welcome?”

“See,” Kaladin continued, “others paid my hospital bill.” Oh stormfather, he was stupid. In Kholin princedoms, hospitals and medical care were subsidized by appropriate tax percentages, though he was aware not every princedom was the same. He was a storming idiot not to have considered that. Was Kaladin really about to chew him out for it though?

“I thought that was taken care of,” he said, a little abashedly. Kaladin waved his hand dismissively.

“No, you misunderstand. You bought me a real lunch. You...you don’t think like they do.” Adolin sucked in a breath, waiting, though it didn’t seem like he was going to get a lecture. Kaladin moved, but closer to the fire burning in the hearth, and blessedly not toward Adolin. “To them,” he said, staring into the flames, “I’m a service. A unique one, but a service. They want me to get better so I keep providing it. So they pay my hospital fees. You…just wanted me to have a good meal.”

“I didn’t know there was a debt,” Adolin admitted, fully. Kaladin turned his head toward him and raised an eyebrow.

“And if you had?” Kaladin was squeezing the excess water from his hair, letting it run down his side and storms that did not help.

“If I had,” Adolin said quickly, his heart racing nonsensically, “If I had I would’ve paid it.”

“And you’d still have bought me lunch.” Kaladin stood, only stood by the fire, with a towel around his waist. Objectively, more of him was covered than Adolin had already seen. Yet air froze in his chest, he wasn’t breathing; he wanted to run. Why?

“You’re a good man, Adolin.”

Oh. That was why.

“I’m not.”

“And inexperienced enough to not know you are.”

“I’m older than you.” Kaladin’s brow furrowed.

“Just take the compliment, princeling.” Adolin didn’t step back, but he shifted his weight onto his heels.

“No!” Even he didn’t know why it rose so vehemently from his chest or why it bothered him to hear Kaladin praise him but just, “Don’t,” he said. Kaladin, yards away from him by the fire, went still. “I meant it, that night, I did, but I-I only barely walked away. I wanted to share myself with you, Kal. I...I still want that.” Kaladin’s form tensed, his muscles going taut, “And,” Adolin’s chest was constricting. He wrapped his arms around himself, gripping his own shoulders, as though trying to restrain himself. “...and my only answer when my father asks why I come here is that I’m not breaking the codes. And I’m not, I haven’t. But he says it’s not enough, that everyone thinks I’m paying you for...you know. And that hurts our standing, divides us.”

A pause. Then, barely, softly this time,

“Why do you come here?” Kaladin asked it again. Adolin met his eyes. A thousand emotions burned inside him and he willed Kaladin to see them all. “Kal,” he pleaded, “look at where we are, look at who we are. I can’t, please, I can’t say it. And you should think, really think about what I just told you because...because if...if you keep going, talking like that...I won’t be able to...I just won’t.” He was shaking, his next words already on his tongue and Kaladin wasn’t moving, wasn’t stopping him, “But if...if you choose it, I would walk that path with you.”

Adolin was near panting with the effort of those words, needing to know if Kaladin would accept them and also fearing his reply. Frustratingly, Kaladin didn’t move. Adolin felt like he was being assessed, like his first day before the swordmasters. He was so aware of how his blood flooded to his groin, and clung to the faint hope that in the shadows, Kaladin hadn’t realized it, but Adolin knew he needed to go soon and take care of it like last time. His blood begged for touch and he prayed Kaladin wouldn’t speak again because he knew he wouldn’t hold out, not like last time, not now that Kaladin so resembled the warm and willing partner he’d imagined.

The bridgeman had never been so accommodating.

Kaladin’s broad chest, sprinkled with dark hair, rose and fell with tight breaths as he finally spoke.

“I’m on my own time, now. I’d...share it. With you.” Kaladin’s voice was low and the fire had dried some of his hair but a few drops still trickled unfairly down his chest. His eyes, those intense, dark eyes looked deliberately into Adolin’s and the full weight of that remark fell upon him. His own time. That meant...Adolin wasn’t paying for this. He could keep his word to his father. Dalinar wouldn’t care for the technicality but it was good enough for Adolin. Dalinar would say it wasn’t about paying for a partner; it was about convention, tradition and oaths but Adolin was about ready to throw convention and tradition out anyway to pursue this man. And hadn’t he...hadn’t he just made an oath to Kaladin? To stand with him against society itself?

There was a beat of silence between them where Adolin made his decision.

Then,

Adolin crossed the room in three strides, taking Kaladin by the back of the neck and pulling him down, initiating their second kiss. Kaladin gasped a muffled surprise into his mouth, as if he hadn’t expected Adolin to move so quickly but he didn’t break the embrace. Adolin found he liked the way Kaladin’s beard tickled his own clean-shaven face. He was excited by it, as though the swelling cock beneath the towel wasn’t manly enough. Adolin grasped Kaladin around the waist with one arm and ran his other up Kaladin’s back, the man moaned beneath his touch. It was wonderful, so much better than his imagination. Adolin pressed into him. Yes. More of that, more of the real Kaladin, the passionate man he’d been before life had become so terrible, before he’d learned discipline. Adolin wanted to know that man. He started to undo his shirt, desperate to get skin touching skin. Adolin’s heart fluttered at the way Kaladin’s breath hitched as Adolin slid his chest against his, bringing their bodies together. Adolin was starting to feel a little dizzy with the heat of his own body, with...his fingers tangled in Kaladin’s damp curls. He smelled lightly floral from the bath, he...Adolin couldn’t think about it too much; he wanted this to last and if he stopped to think about what was happening it wouldn’t...Kaladin’s hand holding the towel let go, dropping it as he reached again into Adolin’s trousers.

Adolin gasped, his eyes rolling back as he let go of Kaladin’s lips, though he arched into his touch.

“Bridgeboy,” Adolin sucked in a breath, gripping Kaladin for support, unable to deny they way his hips canted into his hand. A slightly annoyed voice corrected him.

“Kaladin.”

“Kaladin,” he breathed and then Kaladin’s hand grasped him and he fell, going lax against the man, feeling nearly faint, the dizziness getting the better of him. Maybe it was because he’d committed to it tonight, but that touch felt so much better than it had last time. Kaladin caught him under the arms as he lost control and laid him down on the bed, smirking insufferably into their kiss. Adolin would get him back later. For now he thought only of unbuttoning his trousers. He sighed as he pushed them apart and freed Kaladin’s hand.

At the same time he became aware of Kaladin’s own need, hard against his hip. He turned into Kaladin, kissing him, one hand sliding into his curls and the other low on his back, begging Kaladin to use his body.

“Oil,” he demanded, and Kaladin broke their kiss to stretch up, but it was worth it because a moment later warmth pooled over his cock and hips. Kaladin thrust against him and Adolin heard him exhale with pleasure even as his hand started moving on Adolin again.

“That’s it,” Adolin gasped. He could move his hips properly now and he did, pushing up. Any hope that they might take their time tonight vanished.

Next time.

With the oil the glide was easy and Adolin held to Kaladin, bucking uncontrollably into his hand and burying his face in the man’s long hair, letting the clean, floral scents of the bath overwhelm him. His lips scrambled along Kaladin’s neck, pulling him close, his hand on Kaladin’s hip, urging him forward. He was…

“...close, I’m so close, Kal,” he found himself whispering, “a little tighter and you’ll have me.” Adolin felt the vibration of a whine in Kaladin’s throat. Kaladin’s grip tightened and his wrist rolled and Adolin choked on his cry as he came, riding Kaladin’s hand, aware of how his fingers dug into Kaladin’s sides.

After what seemed several long moments his vision and senses returned to him. Kaladin had stilled, running his fingers deliciously through Adolin’s hair.

Adolin looked down between them. Kaladin was still hard, swollen and leaking, against his thigh. Why had he stopped? Adolin raised his head at Kaladin to ask, but just ran his tongue over his bottom lip instead, wetting it, and acted as soon as the thought struck him. He shifted down the bed and took Kaladin into his mouth.

The strangled sound he made definitely evened things out for Adolin nearly fainting on him earlier. Kaladin’s hands scrambled for purchase on his forearms, shoulders, back, shoulders again. Adolin grabbed one of those flailing hands and placed it firmly in his hair.

“I-I, ohh.” The hand in his hair massaged him there. Adolin let out a small moan to let Kaladin know it was appreciated. He trailed his tongue up Kaladin’s shaft and opened his throat around him, feeling renewed desire at the way his jaw started to ache, at the challenge to take as much as he could, and how Kaladin’s hips wiggled earnestly even as he tried to hold back.

Adolin moaned encouragingly, placing a hand on those hips and pulling them forward. Kaladin stilled again, completely.

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t,” Kaladin was stammering, his fingers curling in Adolin’s hair. Storms, was the man even breathing? “You can’t be doing this, I’m going to...and you can’t.” He was, was he? Heat flushed Adolin’s face again as deep desire blossomed anew in his groin, thrumming through him at the notion of drinking Kaladin’s spend. He suddenly wanted that very much.

He pulled up, nearly off, before swallowing him again until the head hit the back of this throat then pressed forward, as if he could take more. Kaladin tensed even more, if possible, until he let out a long, quiet sigh. The hand in Adolin’s hair rocked him gently around the cock in his mouth and warmth spilled in the back of his throat.

Realizing what was happening, thrilling at it, Adolin ran his tongue up the shaft, tasting the salt and headiness of it, and sucked, swallowing. Above him Kaladin failed to keep in a strangled sob. Adolin stayed there, drinking in what he could of him until Kaladin fell back onto the bed, listless.

At last, Adolin crawled back up to Kaladin. His dark hair covered his face and he was shivering slightly, so Adolin pulled the quilt over him. He brushed the hair out of Kaladin’s face.

“I can’t believe you...you really…” Adolin smiled at him.

“I told you I wouldn’t be able to hold back. You taste nice, by the way.” He leaned in to kiss him but Kaladin only shivered harder. The smile fell from Adolin’s face. Kaladin wasn’t cold, this wasn’t just aftershock. Doubt gripped his insides.

“Kal?” he asked, tentatively taking Kaladin’s hand, “Did I do something wrong? I thought you wanted...I thought that was…” He started to withdraw his hand, terrified that he had grossly misunderstood something, though he couldn’t see what it was. Kaladin grabbed his hand, pulling it back toward him.

“No, Adolin, you didn’t do anything wrong.” Kaladin closed his eyes and tucked his head down, resting his forehead against their entwined hands, “You were perfect, actually. That’s kind of the problem.”

Oh.

Adolin lay down on his side, facing Kaladin and cuddled up under the quilt as well. With his free hand he pushed Kaladin’s hair back, well and truly back, away from his face. He ran his hand over the brands there, willing that he could wipe them away. He kissed Kaladin’s forehead.

Kaladin let out a long, shaky breath and looked at Adolin. Blue eyes met brown. He saw reflected there the same fears he held. Anger, that they had found each other so close in proximity and yet worlds apart. Sadness, that this could never be allowed to last. And, not for the first time, something...more. More vast.

Storms, Adolin hadn’t just fallen for this man.

He wrapped his arms around Kaladin, pulling him close and holding him to his chest as Kaladin slowly stopped shaking. A thought crossed his mind that he hadn’t asked in weeks. Now he asked it again.

“What happened to you?” Kaladin paused. Then he drew in a breath and told him.

Notes:

...I will just sprinkle in the fact that Kholin princedoms have universal healthcare...

As a treat.

Also, please watch Star Trek. It really is as good as everyone says. Like, goddamn, if this 30k+ Kadolin porn set up makes anyone watch Deep Space Nine, my work is done. For fuck's sake, my next fic is based on Vic Fontaine vibes. It's called "Here's To The Losers" and is about some silver foxes 👀👀 twenty years after KOWT.

Chapter 11: Don't You Sometimes Wonder If It's Worth All This?

Notes:

Oh dear, y'all.

Adolin felt Kaladin try to wake a few times. In each instance he curled his arm tightly around the man’s waist and held until he relented and stopped trying to start his day. Days were overrated. Anyone who prided themselves on starting a day early were smug bastards in Adolin’s opinion. Sure, he did it because he had to. People who did it because they wanted to and told everyone about it…that was just wrong. At last, he failed.

“Adolin, you’ve spent the night here.” Adolin nuzzled into Kaladin’s thick hair. So soft.

“Looks like it.”

“You have to leave.” Kaladin said it gently. Adolin tucked around the taller man, splaying his fingers through the hair on his chest.

“Come with me,” he asked. “We’ll figure it out, with Rock, Teft, and the rest. We won’t leave them.”

“How?”

“I don’t know,” Adolin admitted. Kaladin sat up. A stone dropped in Adolin’s stomach. Their time really was over.

“And in the meantime they’d keep dying, getting wounded and I wouldn’t be here to protect them.” Adolin sighed, sitting up as well. Things seemed to be going well with Sadeas. Maybe he could convince his father to really pressure him about his use of the bridge crews. Dalinar would see straight through that request, but on the other hand Adolin knew he disliked Sadeas’s use of the portable bridges as well.

“I need you,” he said, “There’s no way my father will push for the purchase of thirty bridgemen. Sadeas won’t allow it, if only for the fact that he hates my father. It won’t happen, not without you. He’s a good man, he’ll do it. For you and for me, but we have to…” Kaladin pulled back, away from him.

Adolin didn’t know why. He thought he was offering a chance this time, a real chance at freedom. But he needed Kaladin for it and didn’t know why he was hesitating. And when he said,

“I’ll come back tonight? We can—” Kaladin flinched.

“I have bookings.” Oh. Right. That stone sitting in his stomach seemed to double in size. He thought of how he’d held Kaladin the night before as he spoke of growing up in Hearthstone studying medicine under his father, losing Tien, and then finally of what Amaram had done. He reached around Kaladin, pulling him close again and surging with emotion. He lost himself to it, he had already been lost to it, for weeks now. Even his father had been able to see it on his face. He knew what he wanted. He just didn’t know how to have it. He didn’t know how to tell Kaladin how much he wanted it. So he simply wished,

“I want to make a cup of tea for you in the mornings.” Kaladin just stared at him, pink rising slowly on his cheeks. Adolin thought, hoped, Kaladin might have understood his full meaning as he brushed Adolin’s nose with his and kissed him. It felt different now, away from the heat of lust. More intimate in some ways.

“Go,” Kaladin said, “before you make me think that’s something that can actually happen.”

*****

The next morning Adolin dismounted as Kaladin was leaving for the lumber yard. Quickly checking to see they were alone as the first rays of sun began to break the blackness of night, Adolin jogged to him and slid his hand along the back of his neck with familiarity. Kaladin stepped away from his touch.

“Not here, in the open.”

“We’re completely alone!” But he dropped his hand back to his side. As they began their walk Kaladin glowered. He always glowered but this felt different. He seemed to actively avoid brushing Adolin’s shoulder. The warm glow that always filled Adolin at seeing Kaladin retreated a bit.

“Kal?” he asked, “Is everything okay?”

“As okay as ever,” Kaladin muttered next to him. Their forearms brushed and there was no mistaking it, Kaladin pulled his arm away. The glow inside shrank to embers. Cold disorientation crept in on him. Something was wrong but he didn’t know what it was.

“Did I do something?” Finally, Kaladin looked to him.

“No, ‘course not.” Adolin couldn’t help feeling like that wasn’t true. That cold took hold, capturing him as a truly awful thought occurred.

He stepped in front of Kaladin and grabbed him by the arm, not letting him pull away this time.

“Do you regret...” Adolin couldn’t make it through the rest. His voice failed him. What they shared, what Kaladin had told him, his oath to stand beside Kaladin, to not hide...because that’s what it had been. He may not have said it in front of an ardent but it was an oath of bonds. He thought...he thought Kaladin had accepted that, accepted him. Now he was...he was scared. Really scared. He had no idea he could feel like this off the battlefield. He felt he might break depending on what Kaladin, whose eyes were searching his face with a furrowed brow, did next.

Eyes softening, understanding, Kaladin took him by shoulders.

“Oh, no.” Then more firmly, “Adolin, no.” The adrenaline of fear subsided and some of that warm glow reignited. Adolin could breathe. But Kaladin wasn’t finished. “It’s just...complicated.” It was Adolin’s turn to frown.

“I didn’t try to downplay that. I meant it, though, I’ll walk it with you. I’m not an idiot, I know it will be harder on you. I can’t do anything about that. Just. I’ll walk it with you.” With a quick glance around Kaladin placed his hand on Adolin’s cheek. Adolin jumped a little, startled by the unexpected affection.

“That’s not what I mean.” Adolin bit his lip, confused, but also realizing he hadn’t actually gotten an answer regarding his promise to openly court Kaladin. He’d just assumed, when they held each other and Kaladin told him...told him everything...but that comment made it seem like that wasn’t necessarily the case.

“Come with me to see my father,” Adolin said again, leaning into Kaladin’s hand, “or I can convince him to come here. I know…” Kaladin’s lips pulled tight.

“I’m not ready.” Not for the first time, Adolin got the impression that Kaladin wasn’t talking to him alone. Adolin wanted to press the issue, but experience and sense told him he would end up doing more damage than good.

For now he was glad their walk settled into their normal rhythm.

*****

It didn’t last. The next four mornings saw Kaladin withdraw again, though he’d deny that anything was wrong. He outright wouldn’t answer if Adolin brought up going to his father. Adolin couldn’t help but feel he was being tested again to see if he would give up. It created a feeling of disagreement in him that he couldn’t quite identify. Weren’t they past this? Was Kaladin ashamed of having shared so much with him that he was retreating as though he could take some of it back? Adolin wanted to be understanding, especially after what Kaladin had confided to him.

Yet he couldn’t help feeling…well, he had shared something, too. None of his courtships had ever progressed this far. He’d never experienced with anyone else what he had with Kaladin. He hadn’t thought he’d still be expected to prove himself. He thought they’d been beyond that. Adolin believed Kaladin’s sincerity that he didn’t regret what they’d given each other, yet at the same time couldn’t help feeling like he was pulling away.

As the days wore on this confusion gave way to anger. Why did he always have to lead, be the first to take the chance? Why did he have to grab the opportunity to be hurt? And be eternally understanding when he was? These thoughts drove him into a sullenness of his own so that on the fifth morning the day was warm but their walk was quite chilly. By the time they returned Adolin was planning on sourly asking if Kaladin even wanted him to come tonight for their weekly meeting.

Then a beam of sunlight broke his gloomy thoughts as Kaladin brushed his hand, barely entwining their fingers.

“Tonight?”

His dismal mood blew away. Instantly. Days of it, and he felt like he could stand up straight again, like setting down a large burden. He nodded, lips turning up in a half-smile. He missed their casual affection so much and Kaladin was looking so genuinely at him that Adolin thought he’d be permitted to kiss him; their first since he’d kissed Adolin goodbye the morning after their night together. Indeed, he leaned towards Kaladin...who backed away. But not unkindly, and he took Adolin’s hand more firmly in his even as he did.

“Kal, this week, I didn’t like it. I felt like I was drowning and didn’t know where the water was coming from.” Kaladin shifted his weight uncomfortably.

“I—morning, Javash.” He hailed the large, quiet, Veden man and let go of Adolin’s hand, squeezing his fingers as he did. Adolin understood. Tonight. He mounted his horse.

“You’re not going to enter before me every morning now, are you?” He heard Kaladin complain to the chef as he began the ride back to the Kholin warcamp. Adolin smiled to himself. For all that Kaladin accepted everyone else as his responsibility, he should allow the favor to be returned occasionally.

*****

Adolin showed up barely late to train under Zahel. The old, uh, young...middling ardent? Adolin could never decide. His swordmaster had given up reprimanding him and now only glared at him. Not disapprovingly, just...discernedly. Adolin had the feeling that Zahel understood he was late for a good reason, not out of laziness or frivolity. He hoisted his Shardblade onto his Plated shoulder, murmuring thanks to it for a good session, and was headed to his armorers to dismantle his Plate when he nearly turned the corner onto Relis and his cousin, Elit, in an otherwise empty corridor. He wouldn’t have cared but…

“Do you want what happened to Kholin to happen to you?” Relis was speaking in a barely restrained voice. Adolin froze, instinctively stepping back into his adjoining corridor. They were talking about him. He flushed. He’d been ignoring the gossip but naturally it hadn’t dissipated yet. It wasn’t like he’d stopped going, either, and now there was plenty of context for his disappearances one evening a week.

There was a clanking sound of Plate on Plate and it sounded like Elit had pushed his cousin.

“I’ve been discreet, unlike him…” And that really caught Adolin’s attention. He held his breath, barely daring to do anything else.

“I’m supposed to be looking out for you, what would your parents do?”

“They won’t know,” Elit replied sharply, “Or everyone will find out how you know.” There was a pause when Adolin only heard Plate shuffling on stone. Then Elit spoke again,

“Besides, you haven’t even tried...cousin, his eyes...you barely even need your hand—”

“I really don’t need to hear that,” Relis cut him off, and they left. By the sound of it, Relis was shoving his cousin down the corridor.

Adolin dismissed his Blade, wanting to be completely alone. He knew who Elit was talking about and...Ishar’s soul, he knew exactly what that felt like. Pressed against a door, hard, knowing that if Kaladin only looked at him a little longer...he...he wasn’t been prepared for this. One of the most intimate feelings of his life, and he shared it with...Elit? He couldn’t deal with this. Not now. Kaladin’s distance was too fresh, and yet that touch to his hand this morning…

His immediate thought was that he shouldn’t go. His emotions were too confused, too changing. He needed time.

But their plateau run with Sadeas was tomorrow, and Kaladin had promised him answers tonight. Did he want to go into battle distracted or take the chance on Kaladin’s resolution, whatever it was?

*****

Adolin secured his horse to the fence post, gambling. He gambled his trust in Kaladin, his trust in himself to keep his temper, for now that shock was receding his anger returned, indecently, to take its place. He hefted the usual satchels and stamped over the threshold to the kitchens. He barely drew waves of greeting tonight as they were otherwise engaged; Nriln read off orders via spanreed to the rest of the kitchen.

With a deep breath he entered Kaladin’s room and set the satchels down just inside the door.

The air was thick. Not familiar, not comforting. Adolin realized in that moment how much he’d been counting on this room, their sanctuary. He felt a stranger in it. Kaladin glanced at the satchels, bursting.

“That’s...more than usual, thank you.” Adolin bit his tongue.

“We’re running a plateau assault with Sadeas tomorrow,” he said by way of explanation. He wanted to plead again for Kaladin to come talk to his father. Pain in his heart spiked for the men of Bridge Four. Rock. Lopen. Sigzil. Drehy. Even Moash. But he’d been so soundly rebuffed and ignored over the last week that he didn’t dare. Not now that Kaladin was talking to him. He wouldn’t refuse to talk to anyone else, Adolin thought acidly. He wouldn’t refuse to talk to Elit.

For example.

That thought forced his mood into a downright bad one.

“Wine tonight? Or tea? I have din—”

“Do you offer Elit wine, too?” Adolin said it before he could stop himself. Kaladin paused, his hand over the decanter of yellow wine, his head tilted ever so slightly as he did sometimes, as though he was listening. Adolin clenched his fist tight enough for his nails to bite the skin of his palm. What was that?

“I make him do it, actually,” Kaladin answered mildly, though there was an edge of coolness to his voice, “I’d rather not discuss my other clients.”

“You make him shine your boots, too?” Adolin said it with dripping sarcasm but he physically started at the frown that appeared on Kaladin’s face. That...wasn’t so far off the mark. Kaladin turned to him.

“What happened today?” Even through his anger, Adolin recognized the grace he was being given. Not too long ago Kaladin would have simply shoved him from the room and not stopped to ask him why. But he was still aching from the unwarranted coldness he’d suffered from Kaladin this week.

“Why don’t you tell me what happened this entire week, why you’ve been pushing me away and I’ll tell you how Elit likes to go on about the way you look at him, how it drives him over—” Adolin cut off, unable to finish that particular sentence. He sat on the bed, running his hands into his hair and resting his elbows on his knees. He found himself unable to look at Kaladin, to see his reaction. He was jealous, which wasn’t something he’d often felt and he disliked the quality in others. But storms. This?

“Is it so crazy to not want to have that in common with an idiot like Elit?” He felt heat burst in his face, and was glad both for the dimness of the room and that he’d buried his face in his hands. Admitting his jealousy was one thing, it was another to basically tell Kaladin how much his gaze affected him. He felt Kaladin move across the room and kneel in front of him. Blessedly, when he spoke it wasn’t in retaliation.

“Elit is an idiot,” Kaladin agreed, gently prising Adolin’s hands off his face. “You knew what I do, from the beginning.”

“I’m not blaming you, Kal,” Adolin said quickly, “Never. But I don’t have to like it, do I? Kal, I want to be with you. I want to make stew with Rock, go drinking with Skar and Drehy. I want to play with Adodani while Tashe rests.” Kaladin looked up at him. He had pulled some of his hair back today in a half tail, though as usual left enough to obscure the details of the brands on his forehead. His dark brown eyes held Adolin’s, seeming like he was deciding something. Adolin reached out, twisting the ends of his hair affectionately between his fingers.

Unexpectedly, Kaladin lifted his chin up and toward Adolin, ever so slightly. Heart suddenly racing, Adolin took this invitation and kissed him. He slid off the bed onto the floor, nearly in Kaladin’s lap. A whole week of nothing but surly silence from the man...and right now Adolin didn’t care. He kissed him, pulling Kaladin close with a hand on his neck, and a thrill ran through him to feel Kaladin’s fingers brushing his face.

After several long moments Kaladin broke the kiss but didn’t pull away, instead draping his arms around Adolin’s shoulders. He was flushed and a little breathless. Storms, he was handsome. Adolin smiled. He didn’t like it, sure, but he could forget about Elit right now. Elit didn’t do that.

Kaladin rested his forehead on Adolin’s. He enjoyed the touch, but at the same time it pained his heart to feel the scars there.

“I didn’t mean to push you away this week. I…”

“Come with me to talk to my father,” Adolin asked again, running his hands over Kaladin’s sides. Kaladin’s expression darkened. He rolled his bottom lip over his teeth, thinking.

“How sure are you he’d be willing to purchase the writs of thirty men he’s never met, and then forgive that debt? Let them go free?” Adolin stopped. When Kaladin put it like that…

“I know it’s the best chance I can offer. We can get them proper positions in the army, or trained as assistant surgeons, pay their debt that way. It won’t be bridge runs. Storms, he’d like that better than the idea of us.” Adolin knew he’d said too much as soon as it was out of his mouth. Kaladin pushed away from him, standing.

“This is your way of convincing me to talk to him with you? A highprince? Who I’ve never met. To trust your judgment of your father—” Adolin felt that was a bit unfair.

“You trusted me enough to…” Adolin fell silent at the scowl Kaladin gave him. Roshone. Tien. Amaram. The names and their stories hung like weights between them.

“And I don’t want anything else taken from me, thanks.”

“Taken from you?” Adolin repeated, starting to get frustrated again, “What’s left?” He winced as he said it. But. Well. It was true, if the brutal sort of truth.

“You’d be surprised.” Adolin ground his teeth.

“What do you have that’s more important than giving your men a real chance—”

“A ‘real chance’?” Kaladin scoffed. Adolin felt heat start to rise on his neck.

“You’d really rather stay here?”

“Who loses everything when your father says ‘no’? Even if, by some chance, he agrees, what if Sadeas refuses to sell? Will Sadeas take it out on him or the poor darkeyed slobs who dared to ask his adversary for freedom?”

“And what about us?” Adolin snapped. “You won’t take a chance for us, either?” Kaladin glared at him, jaw working.

“There is no us, Adolin. There never could have been.” Kaladin might as well have run him through with one of his spears for the pain Adolin felt in his chest. As with a physical wound, shock set in and all his anger and frustration disappeared into numbness. After the way Kaladin had just kissed him?

“You want me to stop? Leave?” Kaladin only looked at him, infuriatingly quiet. Anger started to bubble up anew through the numbness. He even drew angerspren, pooling around where he sat on the floor like blood. “Or you want me to keep coming in secret, keep stealing these moments forever?”

“I…” But that was all Kaladin said. More silence, more secrecy, more refusal. Adolin’s anger spiked, white hot and blinding in his chest.

“No wonder you won’t take a chance a real freedom. You have all of Alethkar’s most powerful lighteyes pouring you wine, doing your chores. You’re quite comfortable here.” Kaladin would have looked less stunned and hurt if Adolin had hit him. For his part, Adolin knew he’d hate himself later for having said it, but right now he was too angry to care.

Then Kaladin drew some angerspren of his own. They were getting quite the workout tonight. Adolin stood at last, squaring himself with Kaladin. The bridgeman didn’t yell, though Adolin sensed the furious tempest behind his eyes.

“You’re such a spoiled princeling.” His voice was quiet. Dangerously so, full of barely contained rage. Adolin wasn’t so quiet.

“Spoiled?” Adolin sputtered in surprise, “Because I want to help you? Help all of Bridge Four?”

“Because you want to have what you want the way you want it, and you’re mad I said no.”

“That’s not true,” Adolin said quickly. It wasn’t, was it? He was trying his best to help, and it felt like Kaladin was trying his best to refuse it. But the first real stab of guilt pierced his anger as Adolin remembered Kaladin lying beaten and broken on a hospital bed. I’m a darkeyed whore, Adolin. And I said no. Cold rushed through him. Had he really just accused Kaladin of being comfortable here?

“Well apparently,” he said, fighting through that icy remorse, “we never had a chance, so it doesn’t matter.” Kaladin’s voice did rise now.

“Petulant storming brat. I didn’t say I liked it. Haven’t I shown, haven’t I been clear—”

“No,” Adolin interrupted with contempt. And that was true. Kaladin had been far from clear. He could almost see Kaladin shaking with his anger as he spoke next.

“Forgive me if I don’t exalt your attentions, brightlord—”

“Don’t call me that!” Adolin snarled. Kaladin ignored him, continuing,

“I’ve given you everything.” Far from stoking his guilt however, it only revealed the entirety of his own hurt, hurt that he had only acknowledged in parts until now. His confusion over Kaladin’s distance this last week, his constant patience in waiting for answers, waiting for Kaladin to trust him, perpetually needing to prove himself, all with unfailing understanding. Sorrow and frustration burst within him.

“So have I!” Adolin wiped away the sudden tears in his eyes, “As I’m sure you’ve heard by now,” he spat it, as it alluded to Kaladin’s other clients, “I’ve courted. A lot. I’ve even been engaged. But I never held anyone the way I...I never swore oaths to anyone else.” An oath that had never been returned. Hot tears replaced the ones he flung aside. “I don’t want you fall to your knees in praise at every satchel of supplies, but I...I might like some kind of...of…” his brain wasn’t working, he felt like he was explaining this so badly, “...if you could just tell me I’m not alone, that I’m not the only one who wants to be together…”

Kaladin was quiet, his angerspren were gone. Adolin had failed, spectacularly, to clarify his meaning. He’d taken Kaladin’s actions last week as reciprocation to his feelings, and maybe they were but it didn’t matter because...the pitch of his voice fell and the fight left him.

“You’re not going to come with me.”

He read the answer clearly on Kaladin’s face. He maybe trusted Adolin, but that didn’t extend to his father. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. No number of proclamations would make him leave Bridge Four. And even then there was that feeling, tickling at him, that Kaladin was withholding something more. For now, there didn’t seem to be anything more to say.

Adolin left.

Kaladin let him.

Notes:

I actually really like this chapter. It was challenging and I went through SO MANY DRAFTS. To have Adolin be wrong but not the bad guy because he's understandably hurt and confused. Kaladin is in the right but also needs to use his big boy words.

In the end, we all win here, because how AWKWARD is that duel in WOR now?

Chapter 12: Welcome Back to the Fight

Adolin turned over, drawing his covers up over his head, hating himself. He recognized, objectively, that he’d gambled poorly. This was worse than if he had postponed, worse than worrying over what Kaladin might say. His anger still churned, mixed with sadness and guilt, each taking turns at dominance. Now that the moment had passed, Adolin saw the sense in Kaladin’s position, even if he hated it. What if things went poorly? Would Sadeas do what Amaram had, just on a larger scale? If only to spite Dalinar? Adolin couldn’t rightly say he’d take that chance if he were in Kaladin’s position.

At the same time...Adolin punched his pillow as though it were the pillow’s fault he couldn’t sleep...he was still angry. Maybe it was unfair, he didn’t know. He did know how fatiguing it was to constantly open himself up to the man only to be shut down and not given any answers. To have to accept Kaladin’s censure with a smile and try and let the hurt roll off. And it did hurt so much that Kaladin had just accepted that they had never had a chance, that it had been hopeless from the beginning. He knew, he understood it was all well and good for him to throw off all of society’s rules to pursue Kaladin. The repercussions for Kaladin were not the same.

Yet.

Yet he knew that and had accepted Adolin’s promise a week ago. He’d told Adolin everything, how he got his brands, how he ended up on the Shattered Plains. That didn’t line up with his declaration of a condemned romance. Or maybe reality had just come crashing down. But he’d spoken so genuinely when Adolin had asked if he regretted it...Adolin couldn’t help but think he was missing something big. These thoughts alternated, flipping in Adolin’s mind until he couldn’t tell what was conscious thought and what was uneasy dreams.

He woke early, having finally dozed fitfully for a few hours, and gave up on sleep completely. He dressed in his uniform and went to wander the halls, thinking he may go to the practice grounds and spend some time moving through his kata.

On his way he bumped into an ardent carrying a stack of papers. Letters?

“Oh, Brightlord Kholin,” she said offhandedly, as though this were a perfectly normal time of day to be up and about, “you have a message from your cousin...”

Jasnah’s message simply directed him to seek out one specific scribe. He assumed it was because this particular scribe was one she paid well enough to be in her confidence. Briefly he debated whether or not to seek out the scribe immediately. It was early, yes, but many of the ardents were rising. The worst that could happen is that he wasted more of his time. Besides...there is no us, there never could have been...he really needed the distraction.

He ended up waking the poor woman. Well, such was the burden of being in Jasnah’s employ. She mumbled something about it being too early to get a response, but Adolin thought there might be a decent chance. Jasnah was notorious for her all-nighters.

And he was right. He only had to wait ten minutes before connecting with Jasnah at the other end of the spanreed. He told her how he had encountered a young man in hospital who left his pouch of spheres dun at the end of the visit and Jasnah...

She spoke of the Lost Radiants, ideals, and Stormlight. Much of it was too technical for Adolin to immediately comprehend. He mostly had a sense of going into a sort of detached shock. She told him to keep tabs on the man, that he likely wasn’t dangerous, quite the opposite. In fact if he could endear him to the Kholin house (ha, Adolin wasn’t sure if he’d accomplished that or ruined it already), it could be beneficial to them. She said her studies had revealed some glaring inaccuracies in regards to the ancient Radiants and she was keen to meet with the man upon her arrival to the Shattered Plains. Which, by the way, she had taken on a ward, a young woman from Jah Keved, and would like to discuss the possibility of arranging a causal betrothal between her and Adolin and did he have any thoughts on that? She then stopped writing, citing other obligations, before he had a chance to reply.

Adolin walked dazedly out of the room without even thanking the scribe. He was no longer tired, at least. He felt like his brain had never been so full. A few dozen feet down the corridor he stopped and sank onto the floor. Somehow, though it was shocking to hear Jasnah describe the Radiants and their reappearance in the world, it was surprisingly, not surprising. He’d felt he’d known this about Kaladin, and couldn’t be afraid of it. If people like Kaladin were chosen to be part of the Knights Radiant again, then how could they be bad?

No, it was that suggestion of a causal betrothal that made Adolin lose the use of his legs. After what he’d sworn to Kaladin? Did it matter?

There is no us, Adolin.

Maybe this was for the best. If he couldn’t be with Kaladin...he hung his head, cloying misery sticking to his chest like thick slime. Was this why Kaladin so ardently refused to speak to Dalinar? The Vorin church had spent centuries vilifying the ancient Radiants, of course he’d be wary of revealing himself. Adolin understood, sadly, but at the same time felt as though he’d failed Kaladin. He hadn’t done enough to earn Kaladin’s trust.

He sat on the ground, consumed in thought, until the sun peeking through the shutters told him it was time to put on his Plate.

*****

Kaladin sat in relative comfort picking at the curry and flatbread that had been given to him. This was the dumbest way he’d ever earned money by far. Comfy, though. Brightlord Hashal had really started clinging to him lately, going as far as to bring him along on this storming plateau run. He made reference to Kaladin as a ‘good luck charm’. Ironic, seeing as he was the one who submitted the order for Kaladin to be strung up in a highstorm in the first place. And all Kaladin had to do was sit here in a covered wagon and smile reassuringly at Hashal when he came by.

He paused with the bread halfway through his mouth, feeling a little sick at the bridgemen he knew were out there, men he loved, and wished he were out there to protect them. Then he remembered that Adolin was out there too and lost his appetite. Idiot. Petulant child. Jealous, spoiled…

“Wow,” Syl said, alighting on his knee, “That is a face.” She misted briefly and perfectly copied his glower. Kaladin turned away from her.

“Sorry I’m a bit disappointed to find out he’s just like the rest of them.”

“Who? Adolin?”

“Yes, Adolin,” Kaladin bit out.

“You don’t mean that,” she said. Memories of Adolin gleamed in his mind. How he brought new supplies each week without fail, laughed with the women, his smile as he held that little baby girl. How he actually seemed to fit in with Bridge Four. How he ran his fingers through his hair to make sure it never got too neat and how he had believed Kaladin’s claims about Amaram without question. His stupid, foolish, idiotic determination that they could be together. How easily and openly he made his feelings known. His touch...Kaladin flushed at that particular memory.

“Fine,” he admitted, “I don’t.”

“You should have told him.” Kaladin scowled.

“I was going to. Then he had to start being an idiot.”

“And that’s all his fault?”

“Yes.” Syl looked at him with a glare that was entirely too reminiscent of his mother. Kaladin bit his lip, remembering the desperation and pain on Adolin’s face as he begged Kaladin to assure him he didn’t love alone. Kaladin hadn’t. His stomach twisted and he pushed the plate of curry away entirely. “Fine. Maybe it’s only mostly his fault.” Syl put her hands on her hips. Where had she learned that?

“He just wants answers.”

“I know. But Syl, the price for being wrong again…”

“So you’ll just never trust anyone?” She looked at him with such sadness on her face that Kaladin shifted his gaze out the small window of his wagon for something to distract himself from having to answer her. Part of him feared that. If he couldn't trust Adolin of all people, someone he deeply lo—he cut that thought short. Later. When he got back he’d tell Adolin. He’d send a message to the Kholin camp if needed. He winced a little at the boldness of that but...Adolin was so storming persistant. Kaladin could repay a little of that; he could have Latha take a message. It wouldn't be the worst risk. He watched the activity outside the wagon. Horses and spearman, common footsoldiers, sounds so familiar to Kaladin.

Hold on. All of them, the entire army, were moving against the flow of battle. Panic gripped Kaladin’s chest and he opened the door on the wagon, stepping out even as it kept moving. His eyes landed on the Tower where specks of blue were gathered, fighting. Then he saw the bridge crews, laying the bridges for troops in green to pass before pulling them away.

“Oh no…”

Sadeas was abandoning Dalinar, and his soldiers, to die.

*****

Kaladin ran. Adolin was up there. He dodged through soldiers moving in the opposite direction. No one paid attention to him. He was dressed close enough to a bridgeman, and those were invisible. He had to be sure. Adolin was up there and the last thing they’d done was argue. That couldn’t be it, that couldn’t be the end. Kaladin wasn’t done with him yet.

His lungs didn’t burn and his muscles didn’t fatigue. So he ran. He saw Sadeas’s honor guard crossing...bridge ten? If Kaladin remembered right. He skidded to a stop. Sadeas, and his honor guard, were completely unharmed. This was no retreat for an injured highprince. Sadeas stopped in the middle of the bridge, his proud face turning towards the Tower.

“I told you, old friend,” Sadeas’s voice was soft but Kaladin could hear him distinctly despite the screams of the battlefield, “I said that honor of yours would get you killed someday.” He shook his head, and left.

Kaladin watched as a second Parshendi army swarmed the Kholin army, trapping them. Even if they could break through, the Kholin army had no bridges. Kaladin stared frantically around before he saw, blessedly, Rock’s enormous form a few bridges down.

He sprinted, but slowed with caution as he approached, crouching down to hide in the chaos. Matal was shouting orders at Teft.

“Bridge Four, come on!”

“We’ll follow with our own bridge, Matal,” Teft’s gruff voice replied, “We need a minute.”

“Now!” Matal yelled.

“We’ll just fall further behind-hold you up. Want to explain why you’re making the whole army wait for us?”

“And if those savages come after you?” Matal demanded. Teft just shrugged. “Suit yourself,” Matal said after a moment, and rushed across bridge six.

“Kaladin!” Moash shouted as Kaladin stood and approached, “What in damnation are you doing here?”

Kaladin stopped, staring eastward at the Tower, at the brutal treachery taking place. He hesitated, his heart twisting. He knew the answer, knew how to give them a chance, even knew these men would follow him, but...how did he ask these men to run a full chasm assault with no army to back them up?

“This thing is terrible,” Rock said beside him, “Can we not do something to help?”

“Makes me sick,” Drehy agreed. Kaladin sucked in a breath and was shocked to see a woman of translucent bright light standing on his other side.

It was Syl, horrified, her eyes wide with sorrow. He’d had no idea she could make herself so large.

“Adolin is up there,” he said softly. Along with thousands of other men, darkeyed and light. Could he hear their screams, the sound of their dying more clearly? He turned to survey the men of Bridge Four, watching with grim expressions and looking to Kaladin for guidance.

“Our Adolin?” said Skar, taking Kaladin by the arm.

“How is this thing?” Rock asked. Kaladin’s stomach churned at the pain in their eyes, their dread. To them, Adolin should be safe back in Sadeas’s warcamp. He swallowed, though his throat was completely dry.

“It’s, he’s… his name is Adolin Kholin.” Kaladin’s eyes were stuck, staring at those figures in blue. Dying. He knew his path, but...he had to give his friends the same choice. He couldn't deny them this opportunity. “We can do something, we have a bridge. But we'd have to run a full assault. And...men, you could also take the bridge, use it to cross the Shattered Plains. You could be free.” He looked around at them all. Men who, only a few months ago cared for nothing but themselves, and he saw the resolve in them.

"All right," Kaladin said, taking his position in the center front row of the bridge, "All right. Bridge up!"

Notes:

I played around with it, but ultimately felt that neither my Adolin or Kaladin POV version added anything of substance to the battle at the Tower and I was pulling too many lines from the book. We all know what happens. Nothing I added was a drastically different enough take. It's just perfect. (which, by the by, if you follow the weekly updates, Branderson mentioned recently that he wrote probably the best action scene he's ever written for Stormlight 5, which is fucking earth shattering if true.)

Anyway, aiming to have this done by Thanksgiving. I got very sick the last two days which was miserable but on the other hand I wrote a bunch, so that was a nice little boost.

Chapter 13: You Despise Me, Don't You?

Notes:

It wasn't until I was writing this fic that I realized the EXACT SAME THING happened to both Adolin and Kaladin. Like they share this one very specific thing in common.

Adolin lay, finally, in his bed, more exhausted than he’d ever been. Mentally, physically, emotionally...all of it. Had today really happened? Storms, had the last few hours really happened? He was drained, desperately wishing for sleep, but his heart still raced, adrenaline coursed through him, tingling, not letting him rest. It was past second moonset now and he just...lay there. He felt stuck. He couldn’t sleep, he couldn’t grieve, and he desperately needed both. He’d thought he’d been dead, had been prepared for it. Then, impossibly, Bridge Four, fighting through Parshendi ranks...how had Kaladin even ended up on the battlefield? All of them, they were safe now, and Adolin hadn’t had to do a single thing in the end, except agree to a plan of attack that left them laughably vulnerable. All the bridgemen were safe, every single one from Sadeas’s camp traded for his father’s Shardblade.

It was unbelievable. Despite every way Adolin tried to ruin it, Kaladin had saved him, saved them all. He couldn’t think, couldn’t feel, yet at the same time that’s all he could do, but with so much flooding him the end result was that he lay, nearly numb, his heart pounding and mind racing with everything and nothing all at once.

As such, he was glad to hear a knock at the door. Yes, good, something to focus on.

Rising and donning a thick, night-time takama he padded through his sitting room and opened the door.

Kaladin stood there, still in his bridgeman outfit. Open leather vest, trousers that were barely clinging to his hips, and flimsy sandals. His hair was a glorious mess and the end of day beard growth was starting to shadow his jaw. He stepped silently through the door before Adolin invited him in. Typical.

Kaladin’s harsh eyes, no, not harsh, not tonight. Kaladin’s immensely weary eyes looked him over.

“Kal?” Adolin asked gently, but didn’t dare reach out to him.

“Your father assigned me the rank of captain. I’m...we’re your bodyguards. You, Dalinar, the king. We’re going to eventually integrate what’s left of the king’s guard and Kholin honor guard. We’re going to train all the bridge crews.” Adolin only stared as his exhausted brain worked to understand the words.

“That’s great,” Adolin said stupidly, blearily. He was just so tired. He couldn’t feel right now, not properly. And why...why was Kaladin here? Their last encounter, the one Adolin had handled so badly…he didn’t understand and his thoughts were coming like sludge. He couldn’t figure this out right now. Kaladin folded his arms around himself. He looked every bit an overwhelmed youth and not a captain of his own platoon. Now that feeling Adolin understood perfectly.

Their last conversation hung between them and yet the grief and bloodshed of the day made it seem like it had happened long ago. Not yesterday. Not last night. Kaladin looked like he was struggling to say something. Whatever it was, Adolin just didn’t have the energy for it. It was too big. He couldn’t fight another battle today.

“Kal,” he started, but stopped as Kaladin’s arms tightened around himself. His gaze dropped to his feet and resignation settled in Adolin’s stomach. Did it really have to be tonight?

“I almost lost you today, Adolin.” Storms, were those tears in his eyes? That poked through Adolin’s fatigue.

“I thought you’d hate me,” he didn’t think the words so much as they just...spilled out. Kaladin looked to him, and yes, his eyes had turned glassy and red.

“Adolin, no, of course not, I—” Passion rose in his voice and Adolin...Adolin held up a hand to him. Hadn’t he wanted something to focus on a few minutes ago? Now he just wanted to go back to bed.

“Kal, I can’t, not tonight, I’m so…” he glanced towards his room. Kaladin followed his gaze and nodded.

“Right, I’m sorry.” Without any conscious thought, he was too exhausted, Adolin extended his hand toward Kaladin. Foolish. Here he was, once again, exposing himself to rejection. At a time when he’d be least able to cope with it. But he also knew, deeply, instinctively, that he needed Kaladin’s company tonight. He braced, prepared for the dull ache he’d feel when Kaladin said no, not tonight, we need to talk first, he needed to ensure his men had what they needed...

Kaladin took his hand. Adolin simply stood, dumb, as if his very nerves were too tired and slow to register the feeling of Kaladin’s hand in his. Like he saw it before he felt it. That warm, kind hand. External, outside of his own pain, accepting him.

Something inside Adolin broke.

He fell into Kaladin, holding to him like a tether in a storm. He would have collapsed completely if Kaladin hadn’t reacted, catching him around the middle. Tears came hot and fast and Adolin couldn’t stop them even if he’d wanted to.

“My friends, Kal, all of them, some I’ve known since childhood. Niter half-raised me when my father was away.” Kaladin didn’t hush him or tell him to calm down. He only held Adolin, giving him a moment before walking him back to bed. As Kaladin pulled the covers up over Adolin, he felt a sudden, childish fear that Kaladin was going to leave, that he’d be left alone, but Kaladin merely kicked off his sandals and lay down next to him, embracing him again.

Adolin felt a little...not comfort exactly but something near to that, to know that Kaladin knew precisely how this felt.

“How do you deal with it, this pain?” Kaladin’s arms around him tightened.

“If I ever figure it out, you’ll be the first to know.” A fresh wave of sorrow enveloped him as he thought what could have happened. Oh Almighty, Renarin.

“It could have been all of us, our entire army wiped out. Kal...my brother could have been left all alone...thank you. You were amazing, you all were. We can’t—can’t…” He failed, unable to speak anymore, he could barely draw breath for himself. Kaladin didn’t say anything more, just combed his fingers through Adolin’s hair until his sobs subsided, until, with Kaladin’s warm body solidly real against him, Adolin finally fell asleep.

*****

Adolin woke tucked around Kaladin, locks of black hair strung out over his face. It would have been a pleasant way to wake up, if not for the pounding on his room door.

Adolin’s instinct was to pull Kaladin close around the waist while Kaladin’s was to flail wildly, as he was not fully awake, reaching and searching the bed sheets for a weapon. It led to Adolin getting elbowed in the jaw.

Whoever it was knocked again.

“Son,” Dalinar called. Adolin caught Kaladin’s forearm as he twisted in bed, barely missing hitting Adolin’s ear as well, and quietly hushed Kaladin’s apology before it could leave his mouth. Adolin rose, rubbing his jaw and donning his thick takama again.

“Stay in here,” he whispered to Kaladin, “I’ll handle this.” Adolin left his bedroom, pulling the door shut extra tight, and opened the door to let his father in.

It was unfair, Adolin noted, that Dalinar looked so crisp and alert the morning after a day like yesterday. Adolin was extremely conscious of his red, puffy eyes, and he could feel the hair on one side of his head sticking straight up where his tears had dried in it. He shook a hand through it. He also felt a certain surrealness in processing what had happened. He kept seeing it over and over in his mind, even while he slept. Sadeas abandoning them. The memory of his army retreating. The realization of what was happening. His honor guard, good men, dying one by one. Then...Adolin couldn’t help the way he glanced towards his bedroom door.

Salvation.

Dalinar didn’t seem to have been struggling with any of that. Adolin supposed, when you had the amount of experience he had...Dalinar hugged him. Adolin went a little slack, unaccustomed to this kind of affection from his father. But he touched his father’s shoulders in return. After a moment Dalinar stepped back, surveying Adolin. He said nothing of the obvious indications of grief.

“I’ve promoted the bridgeman leader, Kaladin, to captain of our guard. It’s as high as I dare promote a darkeyes, though he’d be highmarshal if I thought I could get away with it, and I won’t be taking objections on the matter.” He said it with an air of defensive finality but Adolin only nodded. He knew this already.

“If he’s as forward in taking command as he was at the Tower, I’m sure he’ll do well.” Dalinar inclined his head stiffly, and shifted slightly into a more relaxed posture, as though he’d been prepared for some pushback.

“I’m...going to be courting your Aunt Navani.” Adolin narrowed his eyes, pressing his lips together, indignation and vindication stirring inside him in equal measure. For all his talk of tradition, convention, setting a standard of behavior, he was pursuing his heart. Adolin didn’t blame him but also didn’t trust himself to speak, not wanting to spark another argument over why it was okay for Dalinar to court ‘inappropriately’ but not for Adolin. So he only nodded again, accepting the information. Dalinar sucked in a breath,

“Son,” he said, looking unsure whether or not he wanted to be speaking even as he did, “that bridgeman, Kaladin, do you know him?” Looking even more uneasy Dalinar added, “Shash brands are...not common. He’s from Sadeas’s camp...” A few days ago that question would have given him a bout of nerves and anxiety. Not today. He just...didn’t care. Didn’t care who knew. Didn’t care about hiding. What was tradition and politics compared to what happened yesterday? Still, for Kaladin’s sake he was vague.

“Does it matter? We wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for him and his bridge crew.” Dalinar’s gaze left Adolin’s face. Adolin followed it...right to that bedroom door. Instead of the nervousness or panic he might have expected, Adolin merely felt a sense of solid stubbornness. Dalinar’s brow furrowed. He opened his mouth. Closed it. Ground his teeth. Squeezed his eyes shut a long moment.

That one was new.

“We...will need to speak on the matter of this causal betrothal. Soon.” Adolin was surprised this time. Dalinar already knew about that? Damnation.

No sooner had the door to his rooms closed than his bedroom door opened. Kaladin stood, looking as unsure as Adolin had ever seen him.

“He knows,” Adolin told him.

“I’d say so,” Kaladin replied cautiously.

“But it’s okay, I think. He likes you. Think he likes the way you speak to him. Never has liked all the formality of court.” Adolin could think again and though he was more than grateful to Kaladin for spending last night with him, so much was left between them. Adolin almost wished Kaladin would demand to sort it out right then. But all he said was,

“I need to get to the quartermaster, talk to my men. Storms, draw up a schedule for training all the bridge crews.” His hand rested on the door handle, hesitating. He turned to Adolin. “Betrothal?”

Adolin just gave a vague jerk of his head, too tired. Not physically...just...too tired.

What do you want me to do?

Kaladin returned to him a look that Adolin couldn’t read. Still, he lingered. A little hope flickered inside Adolin. Stupid.

“Thank you,” he said, “for last night.” Kaladin made a couple of half movements toward him only to simply stay where he was.

“You’re welcome.” He paused only a moment longer before leaving.

*****

Adolin tried to crawl back into bed. Surely no one was going to begrudge him a little extra rest today. However, without Kaladin next to him it proved a futile exercise. He had no idea what to do about the great gaping hole inside him that mourned for his friends lost yesterday, or the intensity of the fury he felt towards Sadeas. So Adolin dressed in his uniform and...went on. It soon became clear that this morning wasn’t the last of Kaladin he would see that day. They were living in the same camp now, and Adolin belatedly grasped what Kaladin had told him last night; that Bridge Four was taking over guard duty for his family.

The first thing he did was to send a message to Sebarial’s scribes, offering to pay for licensing and first month’s rent on a good house if he allowed a new business to move in. In the same stroke, he sent a similar message to Tuera in Sadeas’s camp. He briefly updated her on yesterday’s events and warned that Sadeas might turn unkindly toward them if only to gain some revenge on Kaladin. He offered a place for anyone who might want to come to the Kholin camp, but urged her to strongly consider Sebarial. His camp was the most open for business and trade and frankly, less stuffy.

Then, with a slight buzz of anxiety, he thought he couldn’t put off going to see the men of Bridge Four. They deserved that. Though…that anxiety turned into a wriggling mess of vines in his gut...he wasn’t confident about his reception. After all, he had spent weeks lying to them, darkening his eyes and pretending to work as a bouncer.

He found them still at the quartermaster’s, their joking a wonderful light in a too-empty camp. Adolin was glad that there was still something like laughter to be had, even if he didn’t have it within himself. He listened to them for a moment, finding happiness edge in alongside the pain he felt. He was relieved they were safe. They were here, in the Kholin camp. They were free. It was done. Beyond recall.

But the cost had been so, so high. He couldn’t help thinking that if Kaladin had agreed to Adolin’s plan and that had worked out, bringing them into the Kholin fold weeks ago, Adolin and his father would be dead, simply put, along with two thousand other men. Adolin shut his eyes tight. He couldn’t think about that too much. Too painful. He mentally shook himself and strode into the office, squeezing in past Skar, who recognized him.

“Adolin?” he said loudly. The room went quiet, even Kaladin paused where he’d been giving instructions to the quartermaster, scowling at Adolin. What, he needed permission to see his own guards? The silence only lasted a moment before the room exploded with whoops and cheers. Adolin found himself being pulled into the middle of the group, often in contrasting directions.

“What do you think, Sig?” Drehy called, “Does Bridge Four accept lighteyes?”

“I’d have to check the bylaws,” Sigzil smiled, “but perhaps he could submit a petition in the meantime.”

“Obvious he did it ‘cause we’re the ones having the most fun!” Lopen interjected.

“Is anyone going to question how this even happened?” Moash yelled exasperatedly, half-fitted for his uniform. “He’s been darkening his eyes, following us around for weeks, and none of you are curious why?”

Adolin grimaced, in the grips of Skar and Dunny. He...he didn’t have a response to that. Kaladin rescued him.

“Because he’s a soft-hearted idiot,” Kaladin didn't have to shout, but they all went quiet anyway. He was still dressed in the leather vest and trousers of a bridgeman. Naturally, letting his men be fitted first. “He was the Shardbearer I told you helped me a couple months back. All the medical supplies and extra food have come from him, not my salary. He offered if there was anything else he could do...anyway. I thought he only fancied himself a philanthropist at first but,” Kaladin locked eyes with him, “he really is that good.”

Silence. Deafening, crushing silence.

“Well I guess it’s all right we went and saved your life then, isn’t it?” Thank you, Lopen. The activity in the room resumed full force and Adolin had to promise to join them for stew the next night before he was able to leave. Rock clapped him on the back and Moash even gave him an amiable, if hesitant, punch to the arm as Adolin was saying he really needed to go tend to his other duties. He caught Kaladin’s eye in a meaningful glance. Later? He received a small but unmistakable nod as he backed out of the quartermaster’s office.

...right into his father, who pulled him away by the collar of his uniform, something he hadn’t done in many years. The creases in Dalinar’s face were extra pronounced.

“I didn’t expect to find you here,” Dalinar said shortly, “I was coming to check that they have what they need.”

“Uh, same.”

“They seem to like you. Did I hear something about dinner?”

“I make friends quickly?” Adolin suggested. Dalinar gave him a very weary look that told Adolin he wasn’t buying it.

“If he,” Dalinar jerked his head towards Kaladin, who was now being measured about the chest, “is the man from the hospital that you’ve grown fond of…” Adolin sucked in an apprehensive breath.

“Father…”

“...we’ll deal with it.” Adolin blinked, stunned.

“What, really?” And then he immediately regretted his words, because they basically confirmed everything. But so what? He’d already determined Dalinar knew anyway.

“Our family has had its troubles lately, and this will add to them, I won’t lie.” He turned to Adolin, taking him by the shoulders, “But I won’t make your happiness an additional casualty. We will weather it with everything else.”

“I…”

“I can fault you for many things over the last couple of months. You handled things poorly, son, and I’m realizing there’s still much I don’t know. But…” Adolin followed his father’s gaze to where Kaladin was trying on a uniform coat, “your judgment of character is not at fault. I trust him, Adolin. I can’t explain it. I’ve been at a loss for what to do these last few months, unsure what path to take. This...this I know I’ve done right.”

“He has that effect,” Adolin agreed.

“I presume you’ll be declining the causal?”

“I—” Was he? He watched Kaladin, who, by the looks of it, was suffering a particularly bad joke. Bridge Four were safe. They were free. Their greatest obstacle overcome. But what Kaladin had given him over the last week was so conflicting...Adolin couldn’t be sure of what he’d do. And, if he were honest, he felt a certain resistance within. He was done trying to convince Kaladin to be with him, trying to force a direct answer; it was too painful. If he had to force a direct answer, wasn’t that in itself the answer? No, he was absolutely, completely done.

“Son?”

Chapter 14: This Time I Know Our Side Will Win

Notes:

No holiday drama, just had zero time to edit. Visitors, amirite? In fairness, this is a big 'un.

Like how Adolin does a reverse Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers chest touch. Realized that after the fact.

Peggy: no shirt so handsome wow gotta touch

Adolin: nicely fitted shirt so handsome wow gotta touch

Adolin paced across his sitting room with a glass of auburn wine. Storm the codes tonight. His silk blouse and trousers were light and airy yet he was starting to sweat with nerves. He was sure, completely sure Kaladin would come to see him.

...but what if he didn’t? Adolin hadn’t exactly asked him to come, had only kinda exchanged glances. What if he’d mistaken Kaladin’s nod? What if he’d given up too much on this hope again? He’d told himself he wouldn’t put himself at Kaladin’s mercies anymore, not without some concession from the man himself. He didn’t like the way he’d felt during their last evening at Madam Tuera’s, the way he’d been, and didn’t want to ever be that person again.

For a moment he felt Kaladin’s arms around him as they lay together the night before. Adolin took a gulp of wine and ran a frustrated hand through his hair.

“You fool,” he muttered to himself, “you really can’t stop, can you?” When a knock finally did come at his door he practically dropped his glass on a side table and lunged for the handle.

Kaladin, no, Captain Kaladin stood in the doorway. Adolin briefly forgot, well, everything. Kaladin had gone from ruggedly handsome to strikingly so. The Kholin blue uniform looked richer than usual under his black hair. The yellow captain’s knots contrasted pleasantly with his dark, tan skin and the white uniform shirt he wore fit well in the way it emphasized his broad chest without looking too tight. He raised his hand mindlessly, his fingers keen to feel just how taut his chest pulled that shirt...

“Uh, Adolin?” Kaladin prompted, “Can I come in?” Adolin blushed a little, realizing he’d been staring.

“You look good in blue,” Adolin said thickly, stepping aside to let him in. He suddenly felt very under-dressed in his silk lounge shirt and relaxed trousers. And he just...stood. He was rarely at a loss for what to say and now he didn’t know where to begin. He didn’t want to say the wrong thing and start another argument—he couldn’t take that right now.

“Why are you here, Kal?” he said finally, trying to sound as neutral as possible. He must have failed though because Kaladin bristled, looking hurt. Storms, Adolin cursed to himself.

“I thought you invited me, but if I’m not welcome, Prince Ado—” Formality edged his words like poison and Adolin couldn’t take it.

“That’s a tone for someone who woke up in my bed this morning,” he said shortly. Then took a deep breath. This had already gotten away from him. “You know what I mean, so knock it off. Last night aside, the last time we saw each other…” Kaladin shuffled, but his discomfort manifested by standing taller, more rigidly formal. It was so very like his father that Adolin nearly laughed.

“Do you even hear yourself?” Kaladin glared at him, and despite his stance the formality had dropped from his voice and he sounded more like himself. It took Adolin a moment before...oh. They woke up together. In Adolin’s bed. Adolin’s heart started to pick up, sensing... something.

“But I was such an idiot…”

“You were! You were a jealous, petulant, spoiled brat!” Adolin winced against the onslaught but...well, it was true. And Kaladin wasn’t standing at attention anymore.

“I know," he grimaced, "I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard to talk with my father,” Adolin continued, needing to get rid of it all now that he had started, “obviously you were right, Sadeas wasn’t going to let you go easily.” Adolin hesitated, steeling his own nerves for the next part, the part he was so deeply ashamed of. “I never should have suggested that...you know. That you liked being there.”

Kaladin was silent for a long moment. Then he clicked his tongue, leaning against the sofa in Adolin’s sitting room and folded his arms across his chest.

“You shouldn’t have. But I won’t berate you any more for your anger and frustration. Just as obviously, you were right to trust your father. And…” Kaladin looked at him, holding Adolin’s eyes. He seemed...apprehensive? Adolin stepped forward, growing concerned. Kaladin stood properly, raising his hands out to his sides.

“...And you didn’t have all the information,” he finished.

Kaladin started glowing. Blue mist effervesced off him in wisps. He seemed almost to lift, even his clothes, as though gravity was not acting on him as much as the rest of them. His eyes turned slightly amber, and he radiated power.

Adolin stood, limp and stunned, before elation burst from his chest.

“I knew it!” Kaladin stopped glowing and he looked to settle more firmly on the ground.

“What?” But Adolin’s thoughts were coming too quickly to sort through and he said them aloud.

“I mean, I didn’t know, I forgot, with the Tower and our fight and this causal betrothal. But you’re one of them, aren’t you? A...a Knight Radiant?”

“I-I…I don’t know. Maybe? Or not yet?” Adolin had never seen the man so wrong-footed. Had he really seemed so powerful just moments ago? Kaladin gaped at him. “How?”

“You healed way too fast from that beating, bridgeboy,” Adolin answered, “I think you drained my entire pouch of spheres. Is that how it works? Stormlight? Something about spren? My cousin said...anyway. Does my father know?” Kaladin seemed to be struggling to recover from Adolin’s reaction.

“No, he doesn’t, I...you’re not scared? You don’t think I’m something...wrong?”

“The glowing will take some getting used to,” Adolin replied. “But that healing...what else can you—Kal?” Kaladin had started shaking. Adolin tentatively reached out to him and to his surprise Kaladin grabbed him by the forearms more firmly than was necessary. As his thoughts started to slow down, so many things clicked into place. Things that he’d only started to grasp before...before everything. “You weren’t distant,” he whispered, understanding. “You didn’t know how to tell me. It must have bothered you, keeping it from me.” Kaladin looked to him, his fingers vice-like on Adolin’s arms and Adolin knew he was right, could see it in those dark eyes.

“I was going to tell you, that night.” Kaladin’s voice was barely audible. Adolin read the words on his lips more than anything.

“I thought you were pulling away. I thought I’d been wrong and you didn’t feel the same for me...but I made it all worse. I’m sorry. Kal, I think if you’re a Radiant then you must be different from the others, or maybe we were wrong about them in the first place.”

“Are you…” Kaladin’s fingers gripped him, impossibly, tighter. He bit his lip, swallowing, and Adolin held his breath. Storms, he seemed frightened. There was more to this? “Are you going to accept the betrothal?”

Adolin stared at him blankly, floored.

“I...what?” But Kaladin didn’t repeat himself, only stood, his fingers tightening impossibly on Adolin’s forearms, seemingly frozen. Adolin thought he might soon start to lose feeling in his hands. For his part, Adolin had been expecting...not that. Something larger, more world-shattering than a causal betrothal.

“I don’t...I…” Adolin’s stomach turned over. Kaladin had told him everything, laid himself out before asking this. Taking a chance. Adolin’s blood started to thrum. “I mean, would you have me accept it?” Kaladin shook his head, nearly imperceptibly.

“No, I wouldn’t.” Kaladin held Adolin captive. Begging for his answer. Terrified of it. Bracing the storm.

Adolin could hear his blood in his ears now. His mouth had gone dry. The depth of Kaladin’s emotions, which until now he had only sensed in quiet moments, lit his face. Adolin had vastly underestimated them. He felt their intensity would consume him. He wanted to let it happen...but he had to say it.

“I swore to you, Kal,” Adolin found his voice weak in face of what was coming. “I’ll stand with you, I’ll be with you.” He nearly failed under strength of Kaladin’s hands on his arms. He wanted to leave this part out, gloss over it and deal with it another day. Yet Kaladin had been completely honest with him. “But I won’t have less than that. I won’t hide, and...and it won’t be easy.” In that moment, Adolin expected Kaladin to withdraw, to let go of him. To leave, to tell Adolin he asked too much.

He expected Kaladin to break his heart.

Kaladin let go of his arms and it half did. Adolin closed his eyes against the pain. He almost didn’t want to hear the words, the explanation.

Then Kaladin’s large, warm, calloused hands cupped his face instead.

“You really think we can have that?”

Adolin’s heart stopped. He opened his eyes.

“I think…” his heart started beating again, this time with something else altogether. Kaladin Stormblessed. Knight Radiant. “I think a new world is coming. Yes. I think we can have that.” Kaladin’s eyes went wide, his eyebrows raised. Adolin shivered as Kaladin’s thumb stroked his cheek.

“Adolin, please…please don’t accept it.” Adolin permitted himself a small smile.

“I already declined it, Kal.” Kaladin’s hands stilled on his face. His lips twitched, seemingly unsure whether or not to smile.

“Already?” Adolin nodded, breaking into a grin. Kaladin’s fingertips pressed a little into his jaw like he had half a mind to shake him. “Y-you bastard, you drew that out, didn’t you?”

“Oh, come on,” Adolin chortled, “after all the times you scared me, waiting for your answer, I think you can handle a little harmless—”

“Harmless? Harmless?” But Kaladin was smiling, albeit begrudgingly, at him, “I thought I was going to sweat right through my uniform, princeling.”

“Oh no,” Adolin mocked, “what a disast—mm!” Kaladin kissed him and Adolin was caught off-guard. He stumbled back until he smacked his bedroom door frame, carrying Kaladin with him.

Kaladin kissed him and...Adolin had never been kissed like this before. Storms, Kaladin had been holding back, restraining himself. When Adolin broke the kiss, turning his head to the side just to breathe, Kaladin didn’t, and simply pressed his lips to the line of Adolin’s jaw. Adolin held to him, arms around his strong shoulders, panting,

“Slow down, Kal.”

“No,” he growled, with one arm around Adolin’s waist and the other bracing his spine, he nearly lifted Adolin off the ground. “It’s been weeks of your stupid, open honesty, your stupid determination, your stupid persistence, of telling myself it wasn’t possible.” It was the most insulting way Adolin had ever been complimented. He held Adolin to him, close enough that Adolin could feel their heartbeats resonating together, and kissed the soft skin there, his tongue following his lips, tasting, making Adolin shiver. Kaladin paused, the hand on Adolin’s spine drawing a line over his shoulder and down his chest.

“And now it is and you’re so…” Kaladin’s fingers traced over his brow, brushing his blonde fringe aside, and down his cheek. Adolin’s breath caught, looking up at Kaladin, pinned to the wall. Was he...admiring Adolin’s looks? He blushed under Kaladin’s appreciation. All this time and the closest Kaladin had come to commenting on his looks was telling Tashe that he looked ‘primped’. From someone who’d been glowing ten minutes ago...Kaladin kissed him again, using his height to make Adolin tilt his head back and stretch along him.

Adolin drowned in it. For once to not have to resist or to take a chance, putting his heart on the line to be batted down or cautioned...to just be with Kaladin. Free. He ran his hands under that Kholin uniform coat, along the fitted buttoned shirt. Kaladin’s arm around his waist pulled him close. His cock began to fill at the contact and this time...this time he didn’t try...he didn’t feel like he should hide it. He didn’t want to hide it; he wanted Kaladin to know, wanted him to feel...Adolin slid his knee up Kaladin’s hip, looping around his thigh and...Kaladin grabbed him by the back of the leg and hiked it up his waist, pressing into him, dragging Adolin over the seam of his uniform trousers...Adolin shuddered, breaking their kiss again and dropping his hand between them to rub along his length.

Kaladin groaned into his ear. Adolin grinned, slipping his hand into blue trousers and remembering taking Kaladin in his mouth barely a week ago. He pulled his hand out, taking the tucked hem of the shirt with him and found the buttons along the waistband. Three, in total, for a crisp, flat waistline.

“Storms,” he cursed, and dropped his head to Kaladin’s chest so he could see what he was doing. Kaladin’s lips tickled the hair behind his ear. “You could help,” he pointed out but Kaladin merely shook his uniform coat off, letting it fall in a pile on the floor before his firm hand grabbed the back of Adolin’s thigh again, massaging up, his hand touching Adolin lightly between his legs.

“Kal...” Adolin gasped his name as a sigh, “that...that feels so...” he felt his chest and face flush with the intimacy of the touch, with the striking forwardness of it. He somehow had thought Kaladin would be more reserved, more testing. His fingers fumbled on the last button as Kaladin added just the right amount of pressure to his touch, his fingers gracing every sensitive part under the thin fabric. Adolin went limp against the door frame, at last pushing that final button loose. He could have melted. He didn’t have leverage to thrust or move so he just held to Kaladin. He pressed his head back against the wall. Kaladin kissed him again and Adolin opened his mouth to him, willing to take all of him.

“I want to make you feel like this, Kal,” he panted, “please…” he rolled his shoulder over the door frame, towards his bedroom. Kaladin took the suggestion, though it meant he had to stop, and Adolin pivoted, backing Kaladin into his room. Adolin pushed the uniform trousers easily from Kaladin’s hips now but where Adolin was able to step easily from his slippers and out of his lounging trousers, Kaladin’s caught on his big, thick, military boots that rose halfway up his calves. Adolin cursed again and shoved Kaladin onto his bed before bending to untie the laces.

“The next time you come here professing your undying love, change first.” Of all things, this flustered Kaladin.

“You have a much different memory of the last half hour than I do, princeling.” Adolin tugged off one boot and started on the other.

“Please,” he said, “You were so scared I was going to accept that betrothal.” Incredibly tender hands touched his face as Adolin pulled off the second boot.

“I was.” Adolin looked up at Kaladin. The expression on his face wasn’t pained, exactly, but serious. Adolin read it clearly. Don’t joke, not about this. Adolin ran a hand up along Kaladin’s cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. Kaladin closed his eyes, leaning into Adolin’s hand, and kissed him. Adolin rose onto his knees into the kiss, and started to undo Kaladin’s shirt. Finally, Kaladin helped, working from the top. Adolin stripped his own shirt off over his head before drawing back to Kaladin’s lips and placed his hand on the bare skin of his thigh. He traced his fingers up to the joint of his hips and lightly along his shaft, then climbed onto the bed as he urged Kaladin to lie back onto the pillows, where Adolin paused, sitting up and over Kaladin.

The setting sun poured liquid gold over his bed through the open storm shutters. It deftly accented Kaladin’s tan skin. Kaladin’s jet black hair flowed in waves over the pillow, starkly contrasting magnificently with the deep red color of Adolin’s bed sheets. His lips had been turned pink by their shared affection. He looked better even than Adolin had imagined him weeks ago as he found release in the shadows of a stable. He allowed himself a moment of...not nervousness, or apprehension, just of acknowledgment for what they were about to do, for what it meant to him.

“Adolin?” Kaladin asked.

“Nothing,” Adolin answered, allowing his fingers to drift along the inside of Kaladin’s thighs again, “You’re beautiful.” He lay down just aside of Kaladin and let his hand follow the joint of his hip back, nudging Kaladin’s legs apart. He touched the soft skin there, carefully, like Kaladin had done to him. The bridgeman’s face went rosy, his eyes shut, his breath coming in alternating pants and quiet, hitched moans. Heat pooled low in Adolin’s groin as he watched the effect he had on Kaladin, following those little breaths back until his fingers brushed his opening. Kaladin’s hand flew to his shoulder, grabbing him, and he stopped breathing. Adolin thought though, based on how his mouth fell open, that it was the good kind of not-breathing, and did it again.

Kaladin inhaled sharply when he did, his fingers digging into Adolin’s shoulder. Kaladin opened his eyes looking, a little unfocused, up at him.

“Adolin…”

“Want me to keep going?” he murmured, needlessly in his opinion; arousal was plain on Kaladin’s face. He near whimpered as Adolin touched him again. The sound went straight through Adolin, making his own cock pulse a little. “First drawer,” he said with a kiss, “yellow bottle.” Kaladin sat up briefly, turning to following instructions, and handed the bottle to Adolin.

“Is this…?” Kaladin cocked an inquiring eyebrow at the bottle.

“Mine, so you know it’s nice,” Adolin replied, undoing the top, “and yes, it’s for this, so you can stop analyzing likely ingredients.”

“I thought you said you never...it’s okay if you have, I just…”

“Kal,” Adolin sighed, pouring a little into his hand, “I like to relax sometimes. That’s all.” He kissed Kaladin back into the pillows and slid his now-slick fingers down and massaging him once more before pressing in with his forefinger.

Kaladin inhaled like he was steadying himself, but didn’t tell Adolin to stop. Adolin could feel him tensing around his finger, and that warmth...he tried not to think too hard how Kaladin would feel around his cock and instead to focus on the moment. He pressed in a little further and rolled, bracing himself over Kaladin. The angle was better and...and he held Kaladin’s hand with his free one.

Adolin moved, and as he started to feel those little sighs again…

“Kal?” Kaladin’s fingers curled in his hair and the hand Adolin held squeezed their entwined fingers, and Adolin slipped his middle finger in as well.

The way his chest rose up into him, sunlight catching off the muscle there...Adolin thrust his fingers a little, his hips matching helplessly, canting into nothing. He swallowed a soft whine that made Kaladin raise onto his elbows and reach for him.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, shaking his head, “not yet. You just…” Kaladin wrapped his fingers gently around Adolin’s wrist instead, stopping him and taking his hand away before finding that yellow bottle, pouring some into his own hand. Adolin quietly wiped his fingers on some duvet behind him, hoping, and he bent to lightly bite at his neck.

“You can tell me what you want, Kal,” Adolin drew his hand affectionately over Kaladin’s chest and stomach as Kaladin sat up towards him, and ran his hand down the entirety of Adolin’s length. Tears burst in his eyes out of pure sensation. He clutched Kaladin around the back, holding to him as he cried out into his shoulder.

“Kal, please…” Kaladin tilted his head up off his shoulder. The red-gold of the setting sun glanced off his eyes, those gorgeous deep-brown eyes. He laid back on the pillows, bringing Adolin with him. Adolin ran a hand through Kaladin’s shoulder-length hair as his other held himself, deliciously wet with oil, and brushed Kaladin’s opening once more.

Kaladin pressed him down with one hand, encouraging, thumbing over his cheek with the other. Adolin touched his forehead to Kaladin's as he hitched his hips forward, at last finding relief inside him.

Kaladin gasped into his mouth.

“Okay?” Adolin asked.

“Yeah, I…” Kaladin shuddered under him, “...yeah.” Adolin’s hips rolled, a little farther. He let his head drop and rest on Kaladin’s chest, kissing the dark hair there.

“Good, because you feel so...” But Adolin felt Kaladin’s chest restrict, felt his breath come more irregularly. “Kal?”

“I’m okay,” he said tightly, “keep going.” Adolin paused.

“Kal…” he started uncertainly.

“It’s just new,” Kaladin explained. Then at the expression on Adolin’s face he caressed Adolin’s neck fondly, then down his side, asking him forward. “It’s just new,” he said again, “please.” Feeling it would be exceptionally arrogant to ignore him and stop, Adolin trusted him. It wasn’t like he was shy; he wouldn’t just suffer this. Still...Adolin found that yellow bottle again and, coating his hand, wrapped it around Kaladin’s cock.

“That’s…” and Kaladin’s head fell back into the pillows once more. Adolin kissed him, seeking confidence but finding passion in Kaladin’s response, and started to move again. Though he trusted Kaladin, he was still glad when the man’s body shifted towards leisurely. He tested, and was delighted to find the changes in the way Kaladin breathed as he kissed under his ear or twisted his hand in a particular way. He set a gentle and consistent rhythm that maybe lacked urgency but was so, so good.

Even if this was all they shared tonight, Adolin didn’t care. He beamed inside to know Kaladin like this. How his flush rose in his face, how his fingers lovingly skimmed Adolin’s back, how his muscles flowed with his movements, how, when Adolin sucked at the shell of his collarbone, Kaladin exhaled a sharp moan and drew his knees up Adolin’s sides and…

“Aah…” Adolin snapped his hips twice, helplessly, as he suddenly slid deeper into Kaladin. His apology was smothered by Kaladin’s hand in his hair, pulling him forward.

“Don’t...stop…” Those words went through Adolin like a shock and he rolled his hips forward once more and felt Kaladin shiver beneath him. He moved to meet Adolin’s next thrust and Adolin...

Despite being asked not to stop, Adolin stilled. His fingers curled in Kaladin’s hair, clutching the man to him. Kaladin kept pushing up onto him over and again, his eyes fluttering closed, his mouth slack, and the way he held Adolin, like he was the only real thing in the worl.

“Oh, oh,” Adolin sank into him, repeating the motion that had made Kaladin moan, “you’re-you’re really okay.” Kaladin only hummed against his neck and fingers twined in his hair. Adolin sighed, falling into a faster pace and Kaladin matched him. He lifted Kaladin's leg around his arm, pushing it up, changing the angle in a way that made him slide impossibly deeper, that...Kaladin's breath was coming more hurriedly, more shallowly. His skin bloomed with the color of roses. Almighty, he was stunning.

“Kal, I…” he was going to say this now? Really?

“Don’t stop,” Kaladin asked again and Adolin realized his hand on Kaladin’s cock had stalled, and...and he was hard. Not hard like earlier tonight but hard like he’d been in Adolin’s mouth right before...right before Adolin had tasted him for the first time. Blackness edged his vision and he forfeited himself to their embrace. His hand twisted over Kaladin’s length but it was sloppy; he couldn’t coordinate his movements, couldn’t think, but maybe it didn’t matter because...because…

Kaladin’s hips were jerking, trembling around his cock. The blackness in his vision drew in. Adolin’s hand in Kaladin’s hair tugged a little, his fingers fisting the curls he held...

“You’re going to make me come like that,” he whispered against the corner of Kaladin’s lips. “Together,” he breathed, “with me.”

But at his words Kaladin’s head tilted back into the pillow, his eyes closing, brows arching, and his lips parted, breath faltering silently. He clung to Adolin as he tensed around him. Adolin’s hand on Kaladin grew wet, slipping through his spend, working him through and tried not to fail at that as Kaladin thrust up onto him one last time, bringing him blissfully over the edge as well.

*****

Adolin didn’t know how long he lay, encompassed in Kaladin, before the bridgeman tipped him kindly to the side, his warm spend running as much down Adolin’s stomach as it did his own.

But Kaladin didn’t move away, didn’t disentangle their bodies. He brushed Adolin’s hair back from his face. Adolin turned into the touch.

“That was…”

“New?” Adolin finished, grinning, kissing Kaladin’s chin, then his lower lip. Kaladin beamed at him, his eyes crinkling as he snuggled into the blankets, closer to Adolin. Storms, he looked young. Not his usual look of ten years Adolin’s senior with the weight of everything on his soul.

Adolin kissed him thoroughly.

“Pass me a shirt,” he said with a squeeze to Kaladin’s waist.

Kaladin reached down and tossed a shirt to Adolin. Adolin took it, aghast.

“I think not, Captain, this is mine!” Kaladin looked at him with incredulity and a hint of amusement.

“So when you said ‘pass me a shirt’ you meant my shirt?” Adolin waved the silk shirt at him.

“Do you have any idea what it takes to clean this? You look good in it, but there are literally a thousand of those uniform shirts. And those get washed in bulk.”

“Maybe don’t throw it on the floor, then,” Kaladin grumbled, but as he threw his own shirt at Adolin’s face there were hints of a grin. Adolin caught the shirt and started to wipe Kaladin clean. He leaned up, kissing Kaladin’s nearly raw lips.

“I had better and more important things to do.”

“Glad to know I’m more important than a fancy shirt,” Kaladin snorted.

“You,” Adolin said, tugging Kaladin down the bed and wiping his himself before tossing the shirt aside, “are worth at least two fancy shirts.” Kaladin chuckled, a more free expression than he’d ever shown. And Adolin got to see it. The thought warmed him and he curled into Kaladin, bringing a leg across him and coiling it around and under his thigh. He tucked into his neck at the same time, kissing Kaladin under the ear.

“Almighty, Adolin, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Mm,” Adolin crooned into his neck, “no, I’ve taken care of that.” He picked his head up, leaning over Kaladin. “Oh! I haven’t told you, I sent a message to Tuera and invited her to set up in Sebarial’s camp. He barely has an army, more interested in trade...”

*****

It was sort of early, Adolin could tell, when he woke. Not ‘lumber yard’ early but also ‘before normal people’ early. He moved to roll out of bed, to... but fingers trailed up and down his arm.

“Of course you’re already awake,” he groaned, and pushed up against the headboard.

“Adolin.” Adolin sucked in a breath. Right. They were free. They were together. They could go about their day and Kaladin...Kaladin could come back. He needed to savor that. He kissed Kaladin’s temple, running his hands into his hair.

“I,” Adolin declared, “have something for you. In ten to fifteen minutes.” He kicked his feet out of bed and rose, tucking the blankets back around Kaladin, pointing a finger sternly at him. “Do not go anywhere.”

But first…

Adolin went to his dresser, pulled his hair back with a wrap and washed his face before proceeding with his series of lotions.

“You do this...once a month?” Kaladin asked hesitantly.

“Every day,” Adolin answered, turning to him while applying his eye cream. Kaladin gaped, actually gaped at him. “What?” But he smirked. Kaladin probably thought this completely unnecessary. “D’you…?” he proffered the jar of cream.

“No,” Kaladin stated firmly. Adolin turned back. Maybe it was unnecessary. But he liked it. And, especially now, he liked the routine. He liked that this was something normal. He finished and, taking the wrap off his head, organized his hair over a cylindrical brush.

Kaladin pushed his fingers into his hair. Adolin outright grinned at him in the mirror.

“No backing out.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Adolin beamed at Kaladin’s flat sarcasm. He strode back to the bed and kissed Kaladin into the headboard. He tasted something like metal as he ran his tongue over Kaladin’s lips. He opened the bedside drawer and pressed a small jar into Kaladin’s hand.

“For…” he mimicked rubbing his fingers over his lips and tucked the blankets firmly around Kaladin before standing. “Don’t move,” he ordered.

Adolin busied himself in the kitchenette and tried not to think about how he shouldn’t feel so happy, not in the wake of Sadeas’s betrayal. He took his tray and looked toward his room. Kaladin. Kaladin was in his room. He’d just...they’d just...how could he not be absolutely fulfilled?

Kaladin, naturally, didn’t follow instruction. He helped himself to Adolin’s takama and stepped out into the sitting room. Adolin rolled his eyes.

“Would you at least sit down?” Kaladin flopped his arms in a gesture that said fine.

After a couple minutes, Adolin set a tray down on the small side table next to the couch.

“I said I wanted to make tea for you.” Kaladin stared at the tray a long moment, only breaking his gaze when Adolin pushed a small cup of tea into his hand. Adolin took his own and sat down next to Kaladin, draping his leg lazily over the other man’s lap.

He sipped his tea and leaned his head over the back of the sofa. This...this was worth everything.

“You’re hopeless,” Kaladin said, but drank his tea as well.

“I had to do something nice for you. I dirtied your shirt. Plus, you’re the one going around sore today.”

“I don’t exactly resent the reminder of what we did. Besides, as soon as I use any Stormlight...” Adolin didn’t respond, but smiled as he lifted his mug to his lips. He took Kaladin’s hand. There was no more power imbalance, not between them. Adolin was no longer paying for the privilege of Kaladin’s company; he was giving it willingly. He wanted to be together, he—

A knock came at the door. Suddenly apprehensive, he set down his tea. He pointedly didn’t look at Kaladin. He’d said he wasn’t going to hide, and he wasn’t, but also didn’t want to look to Kaladin for permission. He didn’t need it; they’d agreed.

Adolin answered the door. He let the messenger woman in and she read him the reply letter from Tuera, stating she agreed a move would be for the best, accepted Adolin’s terms.

“...and…” the messenger woman hesitated.

“Go on,” Adolin assured her, “read it as is.”

“...and I expect a team of wagons and chulls here by noon to move us. You storming well owe me.”

“And I do,” Adolin chuckled. He stamped a sheet of paper twice. Once with the amount to transfer and once for his seal. “You’ll take this to the treasurer and have it sent with those wagons. While you’re here I need to dictate a reply letter to Tuera and one to Sebarial…”

When he finished half an hour later he turned and sighed a little with relief that Kaladin was still lounging on the sofa, pouring more tea from the carafe.

“Worried I’d scamper?” he asked.

“Sorry,” Adolin admitted. Kaladin stood as he approached and kissed him. As the kiss ended Kaladin’s fingers lined his chin and tilted it up.

“I never cared about your society’s asinine rules. I only ever cared that my friends were safe. They are. This, navigating your world, is the easy part. Trust me.” Adolin had guessed at this, but it was still nice to hear it out loud, and he wrapped his arms around Kaladin’s waist.

“They...the court...like their games. It might not be so easy.”

Kaladin...Kaladin only shrugged.

“Games only work when everyone plays.”

“That’s…” The words settled in him. He’d always been thinking of how to best play inside the rules, how to make everyone accept them, but...why did he have to? The answer was simple: he didn’t. So what if he lost his friends? He’d made better ones in Tashe, Nriln, Rock and all the rest. “...that’s genius, Kal,” he found himself saying.

“You don’t care about losing your friends?” Kaladin asked, genuinely taken aback.

“My friends can eat shells,” Adolin replied, “yours are better.” Kaladin started to laugh, a wonderful, glorious sound. “What?” Adolin smiled, squeezing his sides.

“Some of my friends do eat shells,” Kaladin answered between breaths. Adolin laughed too, the kind that made him cry without really knowing what was so funny.

“Come on,” Adolin chortled, standing. “Where do you have to be first?”

“Guarding you in a meeting with your father, Elhokhar, Navani—”

“King Elhokhar, Dowager Queen Navani...Kal. You’re a Captain, but you’re only a Captain. Be as informal with my father as your station permits. Less, even. He likes that. Aunt Navani, too, maybe. But Elhokhar…” Kaladin rolled his head in a way that indicated he disagreed, but knew Adolin was right, and would do his best. Adolin suddenly was worried if his best was good enough.

“After that,” Kaladin continued, “I’m guarding you in a meeting with all the highprinces.”

“Sounds like we’re spending the day together,” Adolin smiled, stretching. “Come with me this evening to see everyone settled in Sebarial’s camp?” Kaladin’s face pulled tight.

“I don’t know that I’ll have time...I have to get my men working in alongside the King’s Guard and what’s left of the Colbalt Guard. Not to mention outfitting all the bridge crews, training them, and my own guard duty.” Adolin sensed the overwhelmed young man again appearing in Kaladin’s disposition. He swooped in with a quick kiss.

“Leave it to me. I’ll make sure they’re taken care of.” Kaladin nodded, easing a little at his touch.

“Adolin,” Kaladin spoke to him but his eyes darted around the room, “there’s one more big thing. Tonight I need to introduce you to Syl.” Adolin stopped.

“Syl…” he repeated the name, “this is who you talk to, the person I can’t see?” Kaladin inclined his head.

“She’s my...she’s a spren. Honorspren,” he corrected himself quickly, glaring, and Adolin thought he must have been reprimanded. “It’s our bond, or the bond between spren and human that make Radiants.” Adolin tried to follow Kaladin’s eyes as he worked to integrate this information.

“Tell her I look forward to meeting her…” He was hit, surprisingly and slightly uncomfortably, with the vague impression of a giggle. Ah. “She can hear me, can’t she?” Kaladin seemed somewhat distressed.

“She...she knows you pretty well, actually.” Oookay. That was going to take a little...getting used to. Adolin shook that feeling off for now. He held his hand out to Kaladin.

“We’d better get dressed. Meetings. Training. Duty. Wait…” Adolin belatedly remembered the status of some of Kaladin’s former clientele. “How awkward is this meeting with the highprinces going to be?”

Kaladin looked to him with a slightly mischievous glint to his eye.

“Exceptionally storming awkward.” Adolin matched his expression. Well, this certainly wasn’t going to be boring, and would probably be fun.

Notes:

*Narrator Voice* It was not fun.

Well, probably some fun for a little bit. Lots of spit takes.

So, not going into Words of Radiance, but I imagine it would be extra painful for everyone involved. Like, they'd probably "break up" around the time that Syl is "dead".

I'm sure they have FANTASTIC make-up sex though.

Chapter 15: Well There Are Certain Bodyguards, Elhokar, That I Wouldn't Advise You To Try To Execute

Notes:

"Well, this certainly wasn’t going to be boring, and would probably be fun."

*Narrator voice*: It was not fun.

Hello...this is the beginning of some vaguely unconnected chapters in the WOR era. Except that this and the next 3-ish chapters are in sequence. Keeping the Explicit rating 😉

We begin with DRAMA.

Thanks!

And I'm sticking with the Casablanca chapter titles. I just think they're neat.

This starts right after THE duel.

It took forever to get him out of the locked and dead Plate but once he was free, Adolin ran. He bullied his way towards Elhokar’s private meeting chamber with the single-minded focus only exhaustion and desperation could bring. One thought, one pursuit consumed him: get to Kaladin.

Voices called after him, yelled at him.

“Brightlord!”

“Prince Adolin!”

He barely heard them. They didn’t matter. All that mattered was Kaladin. When hands grabbed at him he shook them off, then pushed them away, and when his fingers touched the door handle to the chamber and a guard knocked him back, Adolin tossed him to the ground before throwing open the door.

Elhokar stood, haughty, petulant, and glaring at Dalinar. Dalinar had a hand on Kaladin’s chair and had taken a somewhat protective stance, and Kaladin…

Kaladin was in chains. Manacles at the ankles and wrists and more binding him to the chair. Rage, not white hot but dark and visceral seethed inside him. Adolin thought, by the startled and scared expression on Elhokar’s face, that the growl of anger and pain he heard had been made by him.

“What’s going on here?” An entire sea of angerspren bubbled and writhed at his feet as he strode into the room, wanting to get between Kaladin and everyone else.

“We were just having a nice little chat about my upcoming execution,” Kaladin muttered, his severe eyes glaring up through his long hair, matted and tangled with dried sweat and sun from the duel.

“Execution?” Adolin went to step towards Kaladin, but the guards at the door had recovered and came rushing into the room to restrain him.

“Captain,” Dalinar warned in a ‘you’re not making this any better’ way.

“Father, he just saved my life! Again. And he’s saved yours, and yours, Elhokar!”

“A point I was just making, son.”

“You have no place here, cousin,” Elhokar reprimanded.

“Then let the Almighty condemn me to Damnation!” Adolin rammed his elbow back into the guard holding his right arm then twisted out of the grip of the one on his left and finally made it to Kaladin.

Kaladin’s shoulder was warm and real under his hand and he held it tight.

“At least his execution would solve one problem,” Elhokar sniffed. “It would force you to give up this farce of a courtship. Give up your…”

The rage inside Adolin calmed. It didn’t diminish or go away, it just went quiet. Controlled. Dangerous.

“My what, Elhokar?” Adolin met his cousin’s pale green eyes, daring him to finish, to say aloud what he whispered with others. Adolin met Elhokar’s eyes and in that moment hated him. For his insecurity, his classism, his fear of the mere suggestion of weakness.

“...companion,” Elhokar said thickly, uncertainty and even fear etched in the corners of his eyes. Perhaps he sensed the silent fury in Adolin and how close he was to action. They stared at each other a long moment. Elhokar turned away first.

“Prison.”

“How long?” Dalinar asked.

“Until I say he’s done!” Elhokar swept to the side. Adolin stopped him with a hand to his chest.

“How long?” Adolin insisted.

“I’m not fond of repeating myself, cousin.” The king, and he was king, no matter how much Adolin despised it right now, stalked to the exit. He paused there, looking to Dalinar in challenge.

“Very well,” Dalinar agreed. Adolin’s heart sank, and though his fear was starting to subside now that the threat of execution was lifted, anger still boiled low in his stomach.

“This isn’t over,” Adolin snarled, squeezed Kaladin’s shoulder, and marched out of the room after Elhokar.

He saw Elhokar’s crown glinting in sphere light partway down the hall. He ran and grabbed Elhokar’s arm. To the king’s credit, he snapped into a perfect attack stance. Adolin didn’t flinch.

“He’s right about Amaram,” he said.

“It wasn’t his place! How many times do I have to say it?” Elhokar snapped. “It seems like half my court is falling for this bridgeman, he commands their respect more than their king does. Even when he ruins everything.”

“He didn’t ruin it, Elhokar. You could have ignored it. You could have—”

“Let this trespass of decorum, of discipline go?”

“Yes!” Adolin argued. “You’re king, you could have done anything other than overreact. You could have responded to my boon alone.” Elhokar’s lip curled in preparing his response. He stepped into Adolin’s space and some angerspren of his own burst around his feet.

“So the failure of our plan is my fault, then? It’s no wonder that man feels so entitled, given he’s charmed the most eligible bachelor in Alethkar.”

“Do you really think me so fickle?” Bad question, proven by the way Elhokar raised his eyebrows. “Okay, fine. But not this time. I’ve sworn oaths, Elhokar, and him to me.”

“I don’t want to know that, Adolin! That’s even worse! Do you have any inkling how much harm you’ve done to our family with this affair? How much you’ve undermined the throne? How vulnerable you’ve made us to attacks from the other highprinces? Setting aside for a second that he’s darkeyed, he’s a storming branded slave, Adolin. And you’re trying to, what? Legitimize him? When he takes your affection as permission to act above his station.”

“That’s not my influence,” Adolin said. “He’s just...like that. And you didn’t care about his shash brand when he was saving you from the storming Assassin in White.”

“It’s his job,” Elhokar hissed. “Different, you might say, from integrating into the royal line.”

“Father says we’ll weather this with time. They made a fuss when Sebarial started bringing Palona everywhere but—” Heat of the argument grew in Elhokar’s face.

“You are not Sebarial! Sebarial is not third in line for the throne! And the Blackthorn isn’t right about everything and he is not king. Leave me, cousin, and be grateful I have so far decided not to execute your concubine.”

Adolin nearly hit him. If it weren’t for the fact that his muscles were aching from the duel, he didn’t think he’d have noticed the immediate reaction to start pulling his fist back. Instead he brushed off the motion as spinning around to stride back to the chamber that held Kaladin. His station meant that Elhokar’s guards had to permit him to speak his mind to the king, but if Adolin started throwing punches they would attack him.

Fuming, Adolin re-entered the chamber where another argument had evidently been taking place. Dalinar had his hands on Kaladin’s shoulders, was red-faced and just as angry as Adolin was, albeit for different reasons.

“You’ll go to prison, and you’ll go happily. That’s an order. Do you listen to orders anymore?”

“I…” Kaladin stammered, looking as close to intimidated as Adolin had ever seen him.

“Of course you’ll go,” Adolin said, kneeling next to Kaladin’s chair. The bridgeman’s eyes turned sharply on him. Adolin gave him a slight, reassuring smile. “And I’m going with you.” Kaladin’s eyes softened a little as they looked at each other, and that alone was worth at least three days in prison.

It was a testament to the last few weeks and to Kaladin's actions this day that Dalinar didn’t object. He did, however, shift his weight from foot to foot as though wrestling with the decision not to. He liked Kaladin, connected with him in a way soldiers did but Adolin’s relationship with him made him...uncomfortable. Even if he had technically accepted it.

Adolin thought he saw his father pinch the bridge of his nose as he left. He took Kaladin’s hand now that they were alone and rubbed his fingers to keep warmth in them. The cuffs, which Adolin could do nothing about, would be cutting off circulation by now.

“Adolin…” Kaladin whispered. Glancing at the door to make sure it was closed, Adolin kissed him. A long, chaste kiss of comfort and promise.

“I swore an oath to walk this path with you. But in the spirit of total honesty, I think I made things worse just now.” Kaladin nodded, and accepted this from him. Adolin stayed silent. He knew his company was a balm, but he also knew that nothing he said was going to crack the darkness Kaladin felt right now.

When guards came to take them down they were gentle, almost reverent in the way they took Kaladin from the chair, though they didn’t remove the chains on his wrists and ankles. When they refused Adolin’s order to do so, likely on higher orders from the king, Adolin demanded they restrain him in the same way. Confused and frightened, they did comply with this.

But when they got to the prison block they pulled Kaladin down a dark set of stairs deeper into the complex and when Adolin turned to follow they held him back.

“Hey, hey!” Panic seized him at the realization they were going to be separated. “Kal!” He tried to lunge out of their grip and go after Kaladin, which he might have managed if he hadn’t insisted they restrain him as well.

Adolin couldn’t even tell if Kaladin had looked back at him; he had already descended so far into the blackness that Adolin was only able to vaguely make out three figures passing under a globe of spheres.

“It’s all right, Brightlord,” said one of his guards, bending to undo the chains on Adolin’s ankles. “You’re free to go.”

Adolin stiffened. His anger, only barely receded just beneath the surface, boiled up again. Did they...did they think this was an act? This was what, a show, a pretense of nobility? That he’d betray Kaladin like that? What did he have to do to be taken storming seriously?

He wouldn’t be able to get through the door to the stairs on his own but...he eyed an open cell at the end of this block.

Adolin ran to it on newly freed feet and shut himself inside, then started to summon his Blade. There was a clamor as a couple men tried to pull the door open but they fell on their backsides when Adolin’s Shardblade manifested in his hand. There was a brief moment where their faces were made up of sheer terror at the sight of the weapon. Adolin merely stuck it into the stone floor at an angle between the gate and the slatted metal walls, sealing himself inside.

He sat hard on the bench against the back wall and glared at the team of guards that came crowding around his cell.

Notes:

Adolin, doing his best Ariel impression: Daddy, I love him!

Chapter 16: Go Ahead and Shoot, You'll Be Doing Me A Favor

Notes:

Happy Wednesday!

The darkness lied to Kaladin.

It told him the men of Bridge Four yearned to be free and whispered behind his back how they were only doing guard duty to make Kaladin happy, but were secretly glad he was gone. The darkness sang that Tashe was relieved the man with the shash glyph was no longer around to endanger her daughter and that Adolin...well, Adolin had never really cared for him in the first place, was only continuing the relationship to save Kaladin’s feelings. Why else would Adolin bind himself to a man who never had the time, who was so exhausted he could only sleep in his limited down-time? A man who rarely had the energy to truly share their bed.

That lie pierced his stomach like a knife and, like sepsis from a gut wound, it infected him. These untruths should have seemed ridiculous. They didn’t.

Kaladin curled up on his bench, plagued with incessant questions. Had Adolin actually stayed in prison, too? Or was he off visiting winehouses with Shallan? She was prettier, brighter, and more fun than Kaladin was. Adolin deserved someone like that, someone who wasn’t so...affected...by the world. Yet Adolin had picked him, when given the choice. Idiot. Kaladin should forgive his oaths and let him go. A couple shamespren floated down on him as he imagined Adolin’s hurt reaction to these thoughts and resolved to never tell him.

Kaladin should get up and do some squats, some pushups. He didn’t want to. He wanted to lie here and rot. He was like that whitespine in a cage, wilted. He was starting to not care about the date...he’d done that before, too. It was a slave’s way of thinking. Where was Syl? Why couldn’t he see her?

Boots scraped the stone outside his cell. A guard coming to check on him. Kaladin ignored that. The guard cleared his throat. Kaladin ignored that, too.

“Will you not rise for your king, bridgeman? Or are you above the throne as well as society?” A familiar, pretentious, slightly nasally voice addressed him.

It wasn’t a guard.

Kaladin rolled off his bench in surprise, catching himself on all fours before scrambling to his cell door.

It was true, it was surreal, but true. Elhokar had come to see him. Kaladin forced a bow, which was really just a nod of his head and slump of his shoulders. Then he stood straight and clasped his hands behind his back.

“Will you not salute your king?” Kaladin lifted a hand to his breast. Elhokar shook his head.

“I guess you are just like that, as he says,” Elhokar sighed. “My cousin…” he said slowly, “...has refused his meals the last two days and still won’t let anyone take him from his cell.” Kaladin twitched as his heart jumped to his throat and his stomach sank at the same time. Adolin was still here, with him.

Adolin was starving himself.

“So you do care,” Elhokar eyed his jerking motion. Kaladin’s stance broke and he grabbed the bars of his cage.

“Of course I care! Storming man. How does that help anything? How long have we been in here?” Elhokar looked him up and down.

“Eleven days.” Eleven? Kaladin ran his hands into his hair. Over two weeks? That...that wasn’t long. Not long enough for him to be falling this far into his melancholy.

“I don’t suppose you’re here to let me out,” Kaladin growled softly. There was a moment where Elhokar looked him over, his lips pursed.

“My cousin,” he started again, “says he’s sworn oaths to you.”

“And?”

“Do you know he’s sought an ardent? Well, ardents, at this point. To make everything official?”

“No,” Kaladin answered truthfully. Elhokar smacked his palm to his forehead. So natural a reaction that Kaladin nearly felt for him.

“Well they’ve turned him down, thank Honor. Tell me, did all of you have a meeting one day on how to make my life storming difficult? Jasnah was always, well, Jasnah, but between the things my uncle claims, pursuing a relationship with my mother, and now Adolin has decided to toss aside a millenia’s worth of religion just because he believes you actually…” Kaladin folded his arms.

Elhokar stared.

“You reciprocate.”

Kaladin shifted uncomfortably.

“You reciprocate,” Elhokar repeated it, astonished. And he was. It was no act; he hadn’t thought Kaladin’s relationship with Adolin was genuine, he’d made light, made jokes of it with others... Kaladin frowned.

“Have you ever tried telling that man what to storming do?” Kaladin asked. He remembered himself being completely incapable of getting Adolin to stop following him out to the lumbar yard, despite repeated, explicit orders not to. Kaladin found he was glad that Adolin was just as frustrating for everyone else in his life.

“Do you have any idea,” Elhokar’s fingers went to his temples, “how much of a problem this is? How much of a problem you all are?”

As Elhokar looked at him, Kaladin fell into a solid, rigid stance.

“Storms,” Elhokar said. “You two deserve each other.” Then, as if realizing what he’d just said, stepped back from the cage. “I should leave the storming both of you in here.”

“Then why even talk to me?” Kaladin asked. Belatedly he added, “Your Majesty.”

“Because nearly half my court is hounding me for your release. My uncle, I understand. But Roion and Vamah? And Sebarial says his best whorehouse is threatening to strike if you aren’t free within the week. Even Elit petitioned on your behalf and you just humiliated him in front of the entire warcamp…” Storms. And people said Kaladin was oblivious…

But Elhokar’s comment about his friends at Madame Tuera’s and Adolin offered the truth, the beautiful, light, bursting truth that Kaladin needed to hear. The things the darkness sweetly hummed were lies.

He stood a little taller.

“I’m not sure,” Kaladin said. “My squad chef makes a really good stew. It’s open to everyone. Maybe it’s gained a following.” Tashe had once tried to teach him how to lead a conversation. How to let his hair fall just so, give the right glance at the right time, and how to make his stance suggestive but not overt...he sensed now would be a good moment to have that skill. Tashe would have had herself free days ago. Kaladin had never been good at it. Acting, pretending. For all that Tashe insisted the ability was a weapon, a tool, hardly any different than a spear, it felt too much like lying to Kaladin.

So he only watched, waiting for Elhokar to catch up.

“Are you saying…” Elhokar trailed off again. Yes, Elhokar, Kaladin thought, they came to me. I know them. Your noble highprinces aren’t so noble…

And their king was no different. Elhokar saw before him a whore and a slave and of all the brands Kaladin now bore, that one might be the worst of it. It didn’t matter that Kaladin had never actually lain with any of his clients, just like it didn’t matter that Kaladin had saved Elhokar’s life and it didn’t matter that Elhokar had lauded him as a bodyguard.

It was Kaladin’s turn to examine Elhokar and what he saw was so familiar. How many men and women had entered his room at Madame Tuera’s unsure of what they wanted, unsure of themselves, but certain that Kaladin had the answers.

Well Kaladin knew the highprinces and he knew this man. A murderer. An absolute child who was playing dress-up in his father’s crown and killing people to do it. This conversation just proved it. He was more worried about what the highprinces thought than what was actually happening. Kaladin stood there, hating him. For sending Roshone to Kaladin's family, for what he did to Moash's grandparents.

“Very well,” Elhokar said finally with the air of composing himself, though Kaladin didn’t know what that meant. Either way, he backed away from the bars himself and again assumed a formal but relaxed posture. It seemed to him that he’d just made certain he’d be here for another two weeks. Elhokar turned to go but…

“Your Majesty,” Kaladin said, “Tell Adolin to eat something. Tell him it’s surgeon’s orders.” Elhokar cocked his head at that, not understanding. ‘Course not. Why would Kaladin know anything…the king left.

The next time Kaladin heard boots outside his door it was a jailer coming to let him out.

“King signed a pardon just now. Didn’t strip you of your rank or anything. Guess you must’ve said something to him, huh?” Kaladin blinked. What? He wracked his brain for whatever he could have possibly said to change Elhokar’s mind and came up with absolutely nothing.

Still, the darkness inside him scattered in the face of freedom. Light, air...

But he approached the door cautiously, as though expecting it to shut on him again.

“You’re a distrustful one, aren’t you?” The jailer said. A lighteyes of low rank. “Guess that makes you a good bodyguard.” He gestured for Kaladin to exit.

Kaladin stalled, half-waiting for the door to slam, yanking the promise of sky and wind away from him again.

Finally, the guard sighed. “Right, then.” He walked out the doorway into the hall beyond. Kaladin followed, reversing every thought he’d had over the last...storms, it had only been two weeks.

A short time back in a cage.

He was free now. He could return to his life as a bodyguard, could return to Adolin, Bridge Four, and the women at Madame Tuera’s. But…

No one will ever, ever, do this to me again.

He would die first.

They passed a window and Kaladin stopped to breathe the open air. The wind stirred his hair and he he felt the two weeks of growth on his chin. He’d have to let Rock shave that.

“Here,” the jailer said. “He’s free. Can we be done with this farce, Your Highness?” Oh, right. Adolin.

Kaladin turned to look down the hall where the guard had gone. Adolin, wearing a simple, tight uniform, stepped out. He also had two weeks of growth on his face, though his beard was blond, speckled black. It looked good. Kaladin wasn’t sure if he’d let Rock shave him…

“Surprised I stayed?” he asked.

“No,” Kaladin said. And he wasn’t, despite what the darkness had whispered to him. Adolin turned to the jailer.

“Were my orders followed?”

“They wait in the room just beyond, Brightlord,” the jailer said, sounding nervous. Adolin nodded and jogged down the hall towards Kaladin, beaming. Kaladin’s heart spun, but whose wouldn’t at that sight?

“Hunger strike?” Kaladin asked.

“Fasting is a Vorin virtue or something. Probably.” Adolin shrugged, still grinning. “Besides, I’ll have you know I had to use cold water for my baths while I was in there.” Kaladin raised an eyebrow at him.

“You refused food but not baths?” He sniffed the air around Adolin. “Or cologne?”

“Well, there was no need to be barbaric.”

“Just spoiled and dramatic?”

“Refined and...let’s say stylish?” Kaladin smiled and clasped his hand as they walked. He rubbed the knuckle of Adolin’s thumb.

Adolin looked elated.

The guards behind them looked away.

Kaladin didn’t let go.

Chapter 17: Everything Is In Order

Notes:

I felt badly about dropping Nriln off at about chapter 7 in the main story, so. I wrote her in here. In my defense, there ARE some pretty dirty jokes in Stormlight. I'm fairly certain Shallan makes a joke about her brother's dick and/or sex life at some point.

Also I had fun.

The room exploded when they walked in. Adolin smiled at their reception, letting go of Kaladin's hand to allow him to be buffeted and greeted by his men. Kaladin's melancholy truly faded now as he clasped hands with the men and was slapped jovially on the back. Even Renarin had come to greet them in his Bridge Four uniform. But there was more.

"Over here, Kal," Adolin ushered him away from Rock's teasing about their beards and out into the yard.

"Tashe!" Kaladin jogged to her. "Saan, you're getting pretty far along--woah there, Dem." He coughed, the wind knocked out of him as a young boy pummeled into him, throwing his arms around Kaladin's waist. Dem was followed by two more. "Hano, Nesha, hold on, hold on..." Kaladin knelt to hug the little girls and prevent them from climbing up his arms.

"Ho, Kal!" Nriln hailed him with a large spatula. She had set up an enormous iron pan, set low over a wide fire. Tallew, various vegetables and shelled cremlings simmered in a shallow broth. Adolin paused his conversation with Latha to help Kaladin extricate himself from the children. He spared a grin at the way Lopen was sidling up to Tashe.

"What is it, Nriln?" Kaladin asked.

"Finally stole enough spices from under Javash's nose to make a proper Thaylen brithl--what are you looking at, big guy?" She shot at Rock, who had made a scornful noise and was standing between Nriln and his pot of stew as if to protect it from whatever she was doing.

"Observing airsick-lowlander ways. Will bring word back to Peaks of what not to do."

"Ah, yes. 'Put everything in pot, don't let anyone touch'," Nriln said, and her mock Horneater accent sounded odd over her Thaylen one. She pushed Rock out of the way. "Move. This actually takes some technique." Adolin didn't think he'd ever seen Rock taken aback before.

"Technique? Horneater technique is passed down over many gener--"

"If I wanted to hear a man brag about how his technique is better than everyone else's, I'dve stayed at the brothel today. Here, Kal, taste." Nriln handed Kaladin a spoonful of the dish. Kaladin's face lit up.

"Storms, Nriln. Rock you really ought to..." But Rock was already pressing a bowl of stew on Kaladin. Notably silent. Well, Adolin could definitely sympathize with not wanting to give Nriln any room for insinuations.

After a few more minutes guarding his stew, Rock sat Kaladin down for a shave. Adolin leaned against a fence post, enjoying a bowl of brithl and taking pride in what was shaping up to be an excellent party. Rock was being forced to multitask-shaving Kaladin's face in between spoonfuls of brithl that were being force-fed to him by Nriln. Evidently he'd found it to his liking and the pair were now deep in conversation, slowly drawing other bridgemen in with sporadic outbursts of laughter. Adolin hoped he didn't have to worry too much for Kaladin's face.

Fortunately Rock shaved jawlines as competently as he made stew and Kaladin survived unharmed. Adolin was re-filling his own bowl with Nriln's dish-it was very different and very good-when he saw his father approach the edge of the yard. He placed his bowl on the table and excused himself, though he wasn't sure if anyone noticed over the nearly raucous laughter.

"Father," Adolin greeted.

"I see everyone's in high spirits."

"Elhokar finally made the right decision." Dalinar frowned.

"Yes, and in light of that there is a matter to discuss. A little extra discretion would be wise at this juncture. In order to avoid any more incidents. You know your cousin's temper and his judgment of your...pursuits." Adolin found Kaladin in the crowd. Clean-shaven and over by Tashe again, giving Adodani a check-up by the looks of it. Adolin smiled fondly. He couldn't stop working for a single party...

"That is precisely what I mean," Dalinar said in a hushed tone. Adolin turned to his father.

"That? I looked at him! I can't go around just not looking at people." Dalinar rubbed his temple in a long-suffering way.

"You don't look at others like that. Though," Dalinar tilted his head in accession, "on that front I am pleased, son. You've shown real commitment." Adolin probably shouldn't have felt the amount of warmth and pride he did at that compliment.

"So, just...more Alethi?"

"More Alethi," Dalinar nodded, looking slightly relieved that this talk had gone so well. For his part, Adolin felt elated. The party, Kaladin's pardon, their freedom. And only a mild reminder to be more formal. It was all going so well again.

A voice rose over the crowd.

"You bridgemen," Nriln's voice. Adolin's heart sank.

"Oh, no..."

" 'Kaladin trained us in the chasms', 'Kaladin gave me my life back', blah blah. But have you ever walked in on him and Prince Blondie there..." she gestured towards Adolin and Adolin started fighting his way back through the crowd to stop whatever was coming next. He deliberately did not look at his father. "...making goo-goo eyes at each other's spears, and not the kind you stab people with. Well," she corrected, seeming to enjoy the variety of reactions this invoked from the bridgemen, ranging from outraged to stunned to amused, "...I guess not that kind of stabbing, either." Sigzil coughed into his drink, splashing it over his front. Drehy's mouth dropped to something in between horror and laughter. Adolin muscled his way over to her, his face burning. He wasn't sure what he was going to do. Drowning her in Rock's stew seemed like a decent option.

Kaladin got there first, wearing an expression that would have sent a normal man running. Lamentably, Nriln was neither.

"Oh, you can't scare me, Glare-lord Scowl-blessed. You should've heard them going on and on and on about you. I was half-convinced they'd swear up and down you pissed wine and shat spheres. Needed a little dose of storming reality, didn't they?"

"Nriln!" Adolin hissed, "You promised...Thaylen cinnamon, remember?" Nriln curled one of her long eyebrows about her finger.

"I promised you a month. Month's long over, brightness." There was a collective inhale at Nriln's familiarity and anticipation of Adolin's reaction.

"What do you want, Nriln?"

"To go on the expedition into the Shattered Plains during the weeping," she said quickly, as though she'd been waiting for the chance. Adolin stared. That...was not what he'd been expecting.

"Wha--why?"

"Storming reeks of opportunity. And you need cooks. Big guy here is going." She lightly slapped Rock's sternum, the highest part she could easily reach. Adolin remembered she'd been raised by Thaylen sailors. She'd probably come to the Shattered Plains looking for new trade ventures and started working at Madame Tuera's to pay the bills.

"Done," he said. "But this buys me four whole months."

"Sure. Unless these guys start making a Herald out of that one again." She jabbed her thumb at Kaladin, whose bowl was being refilled with stew by Rock as he eyed Adolin's exchange with Nriln.

"Can you keep me out of it?"

"Depends." Her dark green eyes slid over to Kaladin again. "Can you keep out of--" Kaladin nearly dropped his bowl.

"I changed my mind," Adolin interrupted before she could finish that sentence, his face still feeling hot. "I don't think Tuera can afford to be short-staffed."

"Four months. No problem." Nriln smirked with satifaction. She'd keep her end of the bargain. Adolin breathed relief through his nose and went to find his bowl of brithl from earlier. It was truly fantastic. He'd thought some of the tallew had been burned at first but it was actually a savory and crunchy addition to the dish. He finished it and ladled out a bit of Rock's stew next so as to not be rude.

"Don't worry," he said in a low voice to Kaladin minutes later. "I'll make sure to remind her she's part of an army for the expedition, not a brothel or sailing ship. Technically it's a field recruitment, even if it's only as a cook. She'll have to be briefed on basic military protocol and rank."

"If that fails, I can always Lash her storming mouth shut," Kaladin whispered back. Adolin started to laugh but,

"Oh storms," he cursed, nudging Kaladin. "She got Lopen's attention." He pointed out where Lopen had been distracted from flirting with the women and was making his way over. Kaladin stopped, stared. He set his bowl on a nearby table.

"Let's go."

Notes:

Dalinar: I'm glad your hoe days are over, son.

Also pretty sure he thinks something like this, too, in canon.

Chapter 18: Play It Again

Notes:

For anyone following, I think we all knew my prediction of this segment being 4 chapters was a load of horse-shit.

I'd say this chapter is spicy but it ain't. It's real, real sweet. Please see your dentist after reading this chapter.

They escaped into winding corridors of the main Kholin house. Partway down the corridor to Adolin's room, he took Kaladin's hand again, despite having just promising his father he'd be more reserved. But they were alone, the corridor deserted. He was with his bodyguard, after all.

"What do you think they're saying?" Adolin laughed.

"Nothing good." Kaladin similarly smiled, and Adolin spotted Syl streaking as a ribbon of blue light down the hallway. Adolin stopped by the door to his room.

"I do have one more surprise." Kaladin sighed through his nose.

"My whole life is surprises. I hate surprises." Adolin pecked a quick kiss to his lips.

"I only offer good surprises, thank you," and threw open the door to his room to reveal a tub sitting in the middle of it.

"A bath?"

"The girls insisted. Flowers, too, just the way you like." Kaladin rolled his eyes sardonically, but started to strip his dirty, at-least-two-week-old uniform.

"It'll be freezing."

"It'll be perfect," Adolin countered. Then at the dubious look on Kaladin's face added, "You never spend more than an hour at a function unless you're on duty. It was pretty easy to time." Kaladin sank into a perfectly warm bath. Adolin set about brewing tea.

"All this..." Kaladin dunked his head underwater and came up completely unaware of the spectacle he was making, "...because I ruined your plan to duel Sadeas?"

"Bah," Adolin filled the kettle with water and set it on the heating fabrial...thing Navani had concocted. "You didn't ruin it. Elhokar did. He could've ignored you and only addressed my boon and he knows it. Anyway," Adolin leaned against the counter as he waited for the water to heat and tried not to look overly much as Kaladin washed himself. "You saved my life. Again."

"I'm courting you. And guarding you. It's kinda my duty."

"Then we don't pay you enough." He shared a smirk with Kaladin and the bridgeman dove under the water again. The kettle started to whistle. "Besides," he continued, "dueling is formalized in a way you just don’t get. A few weeks isn’t enough time to teach you everything, and it’s not like you were supposed to be the one dueling.” Adolin set the tea leaves and mugs. “I didn’t think, didn't think about anything. I storming agreed to a full disadvantaged duel, it was my fault really, I...Kal?” Adolin paused in making the tea and glanced up. Kaladin had gotten out, wrapped a cursory towel around his waist, but his wet, wavy black hair framed his face, his stance was alert, and he was looking at Adolin like...like…

Adolin shivered.

Kaladin was on him before he drew his next breath, pushing him back against the counter and oh...the demands on their time had been so incessant, how long had it been since they’d shared more than a reassuring hand on the shoulder or a quick kiss for strength? He was about to remark on the similarity to the time when he'd first found Kaladin bathing in his room, except Kaladin slid his fingers into his beard.

"Sorry," he said, "I thought...well, I should shave."

"Don't." It was a command, not a request, and one that made his heart jump, so...

Adolin leaned up, sighing and then groaning into the kiss as Kaladin’s hips rested against flush against his. He slid his hands over Kaladin’s bath-warm body. For the first time in weeks he didn’t try to control his reaction to Kaladin’s touch and felt slightly dazed to feel Kaladin’s arousal in return...Adolin embraced him, wanting more, enjoying the way he had to tilt his chin up to deepen their kiss...Kaladin paused but didn’t step away. Instead, he caressed Adolin’s face with his hands. His rough, calloused, wonderful hands.

“You’re a good man, Adolin.” The storm was alight behind Kaladin’s eyes and Adolin shivered harder. He felt captivated by those eyes, and didn’t know what to say even if he could speak. Then it didn’t matter anyway because Kaladin was pressing into him again, pulling him close by the lapels on his uniform coat.

The towel dropped in a crescent around their feet. Adolin let his fingers sink into Kaladin's damp skin, let his hips cant, let his cock shift over Kaladin's as the man kissed him up onto the counter, hoisting him by the back of his thighs. Adolin curled his legs around him in return, his hands in Kaladin's hair now, pulling him close by the roots and Kaladin was fast unbuckling his belt, palming him then touching him deep...

"Oh, Kaladin," Adolin turned out of the kiss, pressing his cheek to Kaladin's just to moan his name in his ear.

"I'm sorry we haven't had...I mean, I've been so--" Adolin kissed him to cut off his apology, using his tongue in a way to be sure Kaladin couldn't use his.

"We haven't had time together in weeks and you want to spend it talking?" That startled a giggle out of Kaladin-one of those things he occasionally did that made him look like the youth he was.

"No, I don't," he said, running a hand up Adolin's back and leaning in again.

"Careful, Kal," Adolin teased, "you almost look happy." Kaladin rocked his forehead against his, a gesture that would have been completely sweet but for the brands there that made Adolin's heart ache.

"Don't tell anyone, I have a reputation as an ornery and scary bodyguard to uphold."

"Could be convinced...for one more smile." Kaladin gave it freely. In turn, Adolin parted his lips to receive the next bout of Kaladin's affections.

Adolin relished it. The feel of Kaladin’s lips on his, his long, wet hair between Adolin’s fingers, the smell of him. Dust and sweat, weapon oil and the stump tree wood of a spear shaft. Even now, freshly cleaned, Kaladin smelled of these things. The hand in his hair rubbed his scalp and neck in a way that made Adolin melt. The hand that moved between his legs made him...

"Kal, let's..." his hips thrust weakly up, trying to get more, trying to push himself off the counter, eyeing the door to his bedroom.

Kaladin halted, tilted his head up by the nape of his neck and met his eyes. The sunlight was coming in at an angle that lit his eyes in rich golden hues. Even though Adolin knew how blue they could get with Stormlight, this was his favorite. He ran his fingers over Kaladin's cheek.

"I love your eyes, Kal, I love--" Kaladin's hand on him moved again. Back. More. And the intent in his gaze...

Oh.

Before, Adolin's uniform was merely an annoyance, but suddenly it was hot. Too hot. Stifling. His heart and stomach were flipping in tandem. He was trying to shove off his uniform, willing it to just disappear, all while trying to grab at Kaladin's shoulders to make him do it now.

It ended up an uncoordinated mess of lips and hands and fabric in which Adolin managed a,

"Yeah, yes," with his next exhale. Only then did Kaladin help. He had to take his hands from inside Adolin's trousers to do it, which was a shame, but he hauled Adolin off the counter. It was a haze where Adolin was backed into his room-his shoulder smacking the doorframe painfully-while he helped Kaladin unbutton his shirt, he raked his fingers over Kaladin's back, he twisted his hand over Kaladin's cock in the way Adolin knew he liked...he was helping Kaladin unbutton his shirt again. He felt like he could only breathe properly when Kaladin's bare chest rested on his, having somehow crashed onto the bed, holding Kaladin's hips hard between his knees.

Kaladin brushed his cheek to Adolin's once more, placing open-mouthed kisses over his jaw, and reached for the little yellow bottle on the side table that was no longer hidden in a drawer.

Adolin, acting on instinct, caught his hand and took his forefinger into his mouth. Kaladin made a sound deep in his chest, Adolin’s favorite kind.

The kind he’d earned.

So he sucked in the middle finger, too.

Kaladin bucked against his hip joint, his breath becoming flighty and Adolin gave as good as he got, sliding his leaking cock up along Kaladin's stomach and drawing his tongue between the two fingers in his mouth and that made Kaladin groan, long and low and wanting. Adolin gave those fingers one last drag of his tongue.

They didn't immediately drop from his mouth. Kaladin's cheek was half-pressed to his, lips half-pressed to his, seemingly just as dazed as Adolin had been moments ago. He slipped his fingers from Adolin's mouth, trailing spit over his stomach, and...

Adolin didn't even have to remind himself to relax as Kaladin pressed a thick, battle-worn finger into him. He dug his heels into the bed and pulled himself onto it.

Kaladin made another sound and slipped the second finger in, too, bending them just so... Adolin shouted to the ceiling, his back arching but Kaladin's strong hand was firmly rubbing his thigh, his hip, his sides. Adolin's pleasure echoed over the stone walls of his room until Kaladin withdrew and was over him, truly over him, his hair in dark waves around them.

Gorgeous.

Adolin's voice suddenly disappeared as oil dripped obscenely between his legs. His heart drummed out an emotion with each frantic beat. Nerves. Anticipation. Yearning. All of it seemed to spin together into a single thought. He picked his head up off the pillow, stroked a hand down Kaladin's spine, resting it low on his back.

"I missed you," he said. Kaladin's hand stopped its work massaging Adolin's thigh. He brought Adolin's to his lips at the same time Adolin pressed him down. Air left his lips in short gasps to watch Kaladin slide steadily into him to hear and feel the following hum high in Kaladin's throat. Adolin took his hand, entwining their fingers. Kaladin latched onto him like he was a tether. Adolin kept the pressure on his back, his entire arm was bracing over Kaladin, guiding his speed. If any of his thoughts made it out of his mouth he wasn't aware of it as he entered a world that was just the two of them.

Adolin forgot the strained days between them leading up to the duel, the days he had dwelled on not infrequently in his cell. He forgot how dour, how reticent Kaladin had been with him. Kaladin moved in him with long, decisive strokes, and he let his pleasure be known softly but freely as sighs in their kiss, or playful bites to Adolin's neck. This was his Kal.

His Kal who was...was throwing Adolin's leg over his shoulder. He sucked in a breath at the change in position and returned the smile Kaladin gave him. His hand on Kaladin's back renewed his encouragement, pressing him forward. Adolin's eyes drifted closed in pleasure as his cock slipped between the wet and warmth of their bodies. It was going to be enough, the shifting of Kaladin on top of him, the consummation of him inside...Adolin gave their interlaced hands an extra squeeze.

"Kal..."

Those long strokes became faster, Kaladin kissed him again with an arm around his back and thumbed the pulse point on his wrist...Adolin's hips stuttered up against Kaladin's, coming hot between them but Kaladin...Kaladin's voice sounded absolutely wrecked as his fingernails dug into Adolin's skin, scraping his back, the curve of his glutes...Adolin just held him. Loving the pain that came with Kaladin's emotion, loving the feeling of his spend inside, loving him.

*****

Adolin didn't know how long they lay there with Kaladin inside him. He knew at some point they turned to just...touch each other. He knew when Kaladin wiped him clean, though it was mostly too late and evidence of their lovemaking had dried on his stomach, his thighs, and pretty much everywhere else. Adolin loved that, too.

"What was that for?" he asked finally as he spiraled one of Kaladin's curls around his finger. Kaladin laid his head down on the pillow, dropping his cheek into Adolin's open palm.

"For being the only storming thing I know I'm doing right."

"You did." Kaladin blinked slowly, sleepily.

"Huh?"

"Do me right," Adolin smiled. It took a moment. Then,

"Oh, storms. Adolin, that was bad." Adolin kissed him again, even though he knew perfectly well their lips were too raw. "You're spending too much time with Shallan." Adolin rested his head on the pillow, over Kaladin's arm.

"I think you'd like her if you gave her a chance." Kaladin made a dubious noise.

"I already have my hands full of rich, spoiled lighteyes at the moment." He brought his top arm over Adolin as well. "Specifically, this moment." Adolin groaned.

"And you're judging my puns?"

"Gonna jail me for it?"

"Maybe. Something like, 'by order of Brightlord Adolin Kholin, you are not to leave this bed until further notice'. How's that for spoiled?"

"Pretty good. But you missed the part with serving you decadent curries and wine." Adolin brushed his nose against Kaladin's.

"Not the kind of service I'll be requiring." He initiated yet another kiss, sore lips and all. "I did miss you," he said, tucking Kaladin's black hair behind his ears as they lay on Adolin's rich, crimson sheets. Kaladin closed his eyes to the touch. Adolin ran his first and midfinger over the brands on his forehead. Kaladin allowed this from him, and him alone. "We'll find a way for you to duel him. Properly. Beyond reproval. So long as I don't kill him first." Something tightened in the corner of Kaladin's mouth, then released. Kaladin cuddled into him, seeming unusually small for his general countenance, reputation, and objective height.

"You're...you're a good man, Adolin Kholin." Adolin pressed his body against him, dragged full, thick silk bedding over them. Salas was rising, casting them in light violet. Adolin thought, warm, with Kaladin in his arms, that it might be a good idea to go to sleep early this night.

Notes:

What a happy ending! So glad Words of Radiance ends there. Right?

...right?

Chapter 19: Where Were You Last Night? That Was So Long Ago, I Don't Remember

Notes:

Remember back in Chapter 11 when I said I'd workshopped the argument so many times to make it work? That's kinda like when people complain about the terrible two's but they haven't met a threenager yet.

Also I feel like every AO3 writer has their "break" and I just got off mine.

Anyway, several Events and a software recovery program later, here we go.

MAXIMUM EFFORT!

Adolin woke from a deep and necessary sleep. He wasn’t sure what time it was, but didn't think it could be late. The morning dew-smell hadn’t quite vanished from the air. He saw Syl, who had made herself visible to him, impishly investigating a cremling on the windowsill. She's a cousin of windspren, he thought with a vague smile, and spren are spren, and buried his nose back into Kaladin's positively exquisite black hair. Lush and thick and so soft. He carefully adjusted his arm under Kaladin—

“—no,” he demanded as Kaladin tried to sit up. “Go back to sleep.”

“It’s late.”

“It’s really not.”

“It really is.”

“Just because you’re a maniac who rises with first light,” Adolin grumbled teasingly, “doesn't mean that waking half an hour after the sun is late. They can spare us another hour. We just got out of prison, after all.”

“I just got out of prison,” Kaladin muttered. “You chose to go.” His tone was too serious for Adolin's lighthearted counter. Syl spun out the window as a flutter of leaves with a giggle after...something. They both looked after her. Kaladin’s brow furrowed in concern. Adolin fell silent, recognizing this turn of Kaladin's where he seemed to retreat into a shell. So Adolin said nothing, only rubbed his side and kissed his neck.

Kaladin sat up, away from him, and walked to Adolin’s armoire where he kept a couple uniforms. Adolin rolled onto his back and covered his eyes with a forearm. This one was bad, he could already tell. He shifted upright, trying not to feel too disappointed. He wanted to admire what an absolute mess his bed was. But Kaladin might as well have been enveloped in a lightning cloud. Adolin had seen this in men. Good men, but men who had seen too much war. It wasn't Kaladin's fault he got like this.

“I’ll have breakfast brought,” he mumbled, running a hand through his hair. Kaladin, sharply dressed now in Kholin blue, turned to him. His hard expression withered.

“Adolin...” He crossed the room and knelt at Adolin’s knees, placing a hand on his cheek. Adolin leaned into the touch, feeling less on edge. “I know Teft and Moash kept everything running while I was...but I was still gone. With the expedition out onto the Shattered Plains tomorrow...” Adolin nodded, kissing him lightly to let him know he understood.

“Oh! Did I tell you Dem’s coming?” Kaladin stood, pulling Adolin to his feet as well.

“Dem? Latha's boy? He’s young, isn't he?”

“He's eight,” Adolin shrugged. “Old enough to carry water. There’ll be other boys about his age, officer’s sons.” Kaladin frowned. Adolin resisted the urge, barely, to roll his eyes. “I’m not enlisting him, Kal. Storms, I already had to swear up and down to Latha that this is a mission of scholarship and that I’ll be watching out for him personally. Besides, he wants to go.” Kaladin tilted his head in assent, looking mollified. He then stared past Adolin, out the window.

“Where does she go when she’s not with you?” Adolin asked, draping a takama over his shoulders.

“Hm?”

“Syl.” Kaladin’s brows raised slightly.

“You could see her?”

“Sure. She doesn't usually hide from me anymore, right?” Kaladin stared out the window again.

“I don’t know where she went,” he said quietly. “I don’t think we’re exactly on speaking terms right now.” Adolin felt the hurt in his voice nearly as keenly as if it were his own. He reached out to touch Kaladin’s arm.

“Does she still want you to tell my father about your surgebinding?” Kaladin turned away from him again.

“You storming well know the answer to that,” he growled softly.

“I do. But that doesn’t mean I understand, Kal. You’re exactly what he’s seeking. He’s trying to refound the Knights Radiant—”

“By placing Amaram at their head!” Kaladin snapped. “Amaram! Even after I told him what the bastard had done. Then he turns around and tells me that what happened to me didn’t happen.” Adolin winced. The brands on Kaladin’s forehead seemed angrier and bolder than usual.

“I know. I...he has good reason to trust his sources. Amaram must have bribed or threatened enough people.” Adolin stepped toward Kaladin, exhaling slowly. “Look, it’s only Amaram because my father needs to start somewhere and the eel's reputation is spotless. But if you showed him a true Knight Radiant, particularly one with an honorspren, he’d have to accept that you were telling the truth about Amaram.” At Kaladin’s stony expression he added, “...he doesn't believe me, either.”

“Because you’re trusting my word. And as everyone knows,” Kaladin scoffed, “I’ve seduced any sense out of you.”

“That’s not what he thinks,” Adolin replied firmly. “Maybe he doesn’t get it, maybe he’s even uncomfortable with it, but he accepts it and he’s made no secret of his support.” Kaladin’s jaw twitched, angry, but there was nothing he could say to that. It was true and he knew it. Adolin sighed. Here they were, right back to the argument they’d been having in the weeks before the duel. Before even that. The argument they’d been having the entire time. A little mutual self-sacrifice had merely covered it up for a time. Adolin was a fool to think it hadn’t been there, waiting.

“Why are we here again, Kal? I’m trying to help and I don’t have all the information. Again. You’re deliberately keeping something from me. Again.” Kaladin’s stance was unyielding. Silent. Adolin stood, trying to ignore the twinge of soreness in his most intimate areas and to not think about how the man responsible for it was looking at him. He tied the takama firmly around his waist. “Has my father not treated you and your men fairly, and with respect?”

“He has.”

“Does he not have your trust, your allegiance?”

“He...does.” Kaladin answered. To an extent, Adolin read in his tone. Frustration engulfed him.

“Is this all because we’re lighteyes? My father traded his Shardblade for you, for all the bridgemen. He freed you just like I said and you still don't trust him?” The corners of Kaladin's mouth worked.

“It’s not that simple, Adolin, it...” But Kaladin trailed off, doubt overcoming his features. Then, his heart beating faster than it should Adolin asked,

“And me? What about my—” That broke the bridgeman's stance and Kaladin stepped forward, looking to be in as much pain as Adolin had ever seen him. He took Adolin’s hands, both of them, and clutched them to his chest. He kissed Adolin with such sincerity as to leave no confusion that,

“You have my trust, Adolin. All of it.” For a moment they held each other and Adolin calmed. It would be okay, they'd figure this out. Adolin nuzzled his neck, breathing him in.

“I swore to walk this path with you.”

“You didn’t mean this.”

“Maybe it’s not exactly what I had in mind,” Adolin admitted, smiling, thinking of his concerns over navigating court and protecting Kaladin from rumors. “But I’m not backing out, and not just because I’ve sworn oaths.” Storms, a few sweet words and he was ready to forget the whole morning.

Kaladin said nothing. Not with words. But Adolin’s skin prickled where Kaladin’s hand caressed his neck and he savored the weight of Kaladin's head on his. Yet the air was heavy. Forgetting wasn’t possible this time.

“Stop pushing your friends away, Kal. And don't try to tell me you're not. Even Teft says you've been distant.” Kaladin’s eyes closed tightly. Adolin could tell the comment about Teft bothered him.

“Dalinar is a good man. But is he king?”

Adolin saw where the question was aimed and dodged it like a strike in the dueling ring. He swooped out of Kaladin's grasp and walked into his sitting room. Kaladin followed.

“He wouldn’t permit it.”

“He wouldn’t permit Elhokar to lock me up?” Adolin winced, but Kaladin continued, “To shut me away from the sky, the winds, and keep Stormlight from me? Dalinar Kholin would openly challenge the throne to prevent the king locking up a branded darkeyes? A slave?” Adolin took the point that Dalinar had allowed Elhokar to do exactly that. But that was different, a matter of a superior officer disciplining a soldier under his command.

“You can’t possibly believe that. You’re Radiant, Kal—”

“And those are well regarded,” Kaladin spoke over him with dripping sarcasm. “Your father is in direct opposition to the Vorin church. What if Elhokar grabs the opportunity—”

“Forget Elhokar, I’m saying my father would never permit a surgebinder, a Windrunner to be imprisoned—”

“—take the opportunity to distance himself from his family and the whore who’s managed to influence it?” Adolin balked at the coarseness of those words.

“Don’t call yourself...you’re not—”

“Not what? Which of those things haven’t I been?” Adolin gaped, speechless. He felt this wasn’t fair, though he didn’t quite know why.

“Storms! No wonder Syl doesn’t want to talk to you!” Kaladin flinched, actually flinched. Adolin didn’t care. “You’re making the same excuses over and over. We’ve argued back around in the same circle so many times it should be a blessed ketek. And you still don’t really believe anything you’ve said.”

“You really think Elhokar wouldn’t put me away aga—”

“That’s an excuse!” Adolin accused. “You don’t think my father would actually allow it! What about me? I’m a prince, in case you forgot. I do wield some power.” Their voices had risen, talking over each other. The servants would probably be gossiping about it by midday. Adolin sighed and sagged into the sitting room sofa. Kaladin faced him.

“Your father is a good man, Adolin. He listens. But his trust in Amaram’s reputation has blinded him—”

“He’s flailing, Kal. If you would only tell him that what he’s looking for is right under his nose, that he’s closer than he thought...” Storms, this conversation was like trying to get out of a chasm by circling the same plateau.

“You lighteyes,” Kaladin spat, “so many stories about your righteousness that you just assume you'll do the right thing.”

“This isn’t about lighteyes and darkeyes—”

“Easy for you to say, brightlord—”

“Don’t call me that!” It exploded out of him and he hadn’t meant it to, but storms. “I’ve told you so many times, Kal. I don’t want that here. Not here. Not between us.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his body was practically vibrating, before looking at Kaladin. The surprise on his face actually made a nice change from the sullen temper. He knelt at Adolin's side.

“You’re right,” he said quietly. "Not here." Kaladin touched his shoulder and Adolin accepted him gratefully, even daring to place a hand in his hair.

“Tell me,” he said from the cushions, “if Amaram weren’t involved, would you even be making this argument or would you have told my father a month ago?” Kaladin’s face grew dark again and Adolin thought he knew the answer. He’d been far more amenable to the idea, storms, Adolin thought he’d been about to do it before Amaram showed up. “Syl’s right about how you change around him. Don’t let him do that, Kal. Don’t let him make you into something you’re not.”

Kaladin was silent a long minute, considering Adolin, his jaw working furiously. Adolin slumped over on the sofa under his gaze, laying his head on the arm.

“Elhokar...” Kaladin started. Adolin shut his eyes with a groan. They were back on storming Elhokar. Another distraction, another loop around the plateau.

“More excuses that I don’t want to hear, Kal. I’ve told you everything. I’ve been plain. But you...I thought we were past this...but you’re keeping me in the dark again.”

Kaladin went quiet. His hand dropped from Adolin’s and he stared at a place on the ground.

“Does a surgeon ask before treating an infection, or does he simply treat it?” Adolin barely heard him. He was more tired than when he’d woken half an hour ago. A brown exhaustionspren puffed by his ear as he buried his face farther into the fabric so his voice was muffled as he asked,

“What in damnation does that mean?” The air in the room shifted. Adolin raised his head. Kaladin’s demeanor and expression had hardened.

“Do you think Elhokar is a good king, Adolin?” Adolin’s spine stiffened, his hairs on end, suddenly awake as though facing an imminent threat.

“I…” but no more sound came out. He rolled off the sofa onto all fours and climbed to his feet.

He’d...well, he’d never thought about it. He didn’t know. He’d honestly never paid attention. He’d been too busy trying to prove himself as a soldier, win a Blade. When Gavilar died, he hadn’t been happy, but he’d barely been eighteen and eager to test himself achieving vengeance on the Shattered Plains. Seemed naive now. He did know Dalinar spent effort in managing Elhokar. His whims. His suspicions. Adolin also knew of the jokes about how easily Elhokar’s opinion and writs could be swayed.

Then Adolin remembered the moment when he’d hated, truly hated Elhokar.

In the end, however, there was only one answer.

“I think I love my cousin, Kal.” Kaladin nodded slowly, as if this were the only answer he could expect. Wait… “Kal? What do you think?”

Kaladin stood tall in his uniform, his dark hair free about his shoulders, arms crossed.

“I respect and protect the throne, Adolin, regardless of my personal feelings.” Adolin breathed out, more relieved than he should have been and glad he hadn’t needed to be more specific.

“Look,” he said, trying again, “I know Elhokar isn’t the most...confident...leader. But that’s exactly why he’ll never turn on my father. Elhokar relies on him more than anyone, he’ll do whatever my father wants. Besides, if Syl thinks you should...”

“Syl doesn’t understand.”

“I think she understands perfectly.” Adolin might have knocked the wind out of him for the way he stilled, the way his hands clenched. Adolin was sorry for that. Whatever battle he was fighting was clearly agonizing for him, and the situation with Syl only made it more bitter. But he seemed more thoughtful now than he had in the past. Maybe, finally...Adolin took one of those clenched fists and held it until it opened, until it wound around his own, until Kaladin's dark brown eyes look on him. “Kal, months ago you let me help you up from the mud. Let me help now.”

“I wanted to spit on you instead.” Adolin kissed the callouses on Kaladin’s palm.

“You didn’t. Don’t start now. I can’t walk this path with you if you keep throwing storming boulders in my way.” Kaladin kissed him then, long and deep, as though...oh no... Adolin felt the skin of his brows scrunch where their foreheads touched and a weight dropped in his stomach and he knew he had to anchor Kaladin to him lest something terrible happen. But eventually Kaladin pulled away.

“This isn’t your burden.” His fingers trailed from Adolin’s like dripping water. “I release you from your oaths.”

Adolin felt like someone had hit him with a Shardblade in the bare chest, though part of him had known this was coming since their lips met. His legs started working when Kaladin was halfway to the door. If the bridgeman thought he could just say that and leave...

Adolin caught him by the arm.

“I didn’t ask for that.”

“I know.”

“I don't want that.”

“I-I know.” Kaladin’s voice was getting thick. He tried to extricate his arm from Adolin’s grasp. Adolin didn't let him, following him like a man along a safety rope.

“Why are you so determined to push everyone away? Everyones who cares—Kal, look at me, talk to me!” Kaladin wrenched his arm up and out of Adolin’s grip.

“And last night?” Adolin shouted at his back, unwilling to let Kaladin simply walk away. “You said this was the only thing you were doing right.” Kaladin stopped. If they could just slow down for a minute...

“Don’t...” His voice sounded wet now. Adolin reached for his shoulder. Storms, he was shaking. Then again, “I-I release you from your oaths.”

“You can't,” Adolin said bluntly. “I made them. I make them still. Only the Almighty can release me.”

“Honor is dead.”

“Not in you.” But Kaladin stepped away, dragging himself once more out of Adolin's. “Not in you, Kal.” And so what if that sounded desperate? He was desperate. Adolin's chest might well have caved in as Kaladin’s hand touched the door. “And last night?”

At last, Kaladin raised his head and met his gaze. Adolin saw his anguish, his hurt, and felt it so acutely he nearly forgot his own misery, approaching Kaladin again, not to stop him from leaving this time but to comfort him. The corners of his mouth were pulled in agony, his lips red and plump where he'd bitten them, his lashes wet with tears that hadn't fallen. Yet his voice was clear when he answered this time.

“It was a dream, Adolin.” The air rent apart with damning finality and Adolin felt something torn from his very being before it was quiet. Over. Kaladin was gone.

The door latching was the end note of a song that reverberated through Adolin long after it had been struck.

Notes:

Trying to finish up this mini-storyline while I fill in some plot on the 100k of smut I've written in a different document 🙃

Chapter 20: I Remember Every Detail. I Wore Plate, You Wore Blue

Notes:

Someone had specifically asked for Adolin's reaction to Kaladin "dying".

Well, welcome to that reaction.

A day later Adolin glared Kaladin, grateful his helm obscured his gaze. He refused to believe this was said and done. Adolin was vacillating between wanting to punch some sense into the man and, well...wanting to punch some sense into the man.

It had taken about twenty minutes for Adolin to rally and realize Kaladin had dumped him as though he was headed straight off to the battlefield when in reality he was headed off to guard Navani. At a meeting where Adolin was also in attendance. Storming moron.

Adolin thought it had been exceptionally generous of him to only glare at Kaladin instead of opening his mouth. About halfway through that meeting he’d decided to set shock and heartache aside in favor of a much less painful emotion. Uh, was there a word for being angry at someone else’s stupidity? Whatever. That emotion. Anyway, Kaladin couldn’t avoid him forever, even though so far he’d done an impressive job of it. He wouldn’t meet Adolin’s eye, looking everywhere else. He talked around Adolin, artfully arranging it so that he never needed to address Adolin directly, often using Dalinar as an oblivious pawn.

The former and currently willing bridgemen were setting a bridge over the next chasm. Adolin waited. Dropped the reins. Folded his arms, an impressive gesture in Shardplate, and squinted over at where Kaladin...where Kaladin had come to stop as well. Adolin squinted. No, not stopped. Not without reason, anyway. He had paused, staring at something in his hand. Staring too long while people passed around him. Then his head made the customary twitch it did when he was listening to Syl.

Adolin saw his shoulders relax, saw him straighten, and somehow he knew the Light hadn’t come easily. There was too much relief in his posture. And then Kal shouted something at the sky. Adolin didn’t hear that, but oddly he did hear Syl’s voice,

“That’s what they all were, silly.” Was that because she wanted him to hear? For him to help? Or was she losing her grasp same as Kaladin? Well, if it was the former, he was trying, storm it. If it was the latter...the thought was like an icy fist deep in his gut.

When Adolin shook himself from his thoughts, Kaladin was talking to Dalinar. Another irritating thing was that Dalinar seemed pleased by the distance between them. He likely thought this was Adolin being more Alethi, like he’d promised. Adolin hadn’t had a chance to tell him even if he’d been able to figure out how. Oaths were a touchy subject with his father, even if Adolin hadn’t broken them. What if his opinion of Kaladin soured? Storms, he’d been so happy that Kaladin had been so intertwined with his family, but now it was just a great storming mess.

Adolin sighed. No, he shouldn’t tell his father. It wasn’t like Kaladin had broken any oaths. Not forever, anyway. All this wasn’t about him, not really. It wasn’t like Kaladin didn’t want to be together. Something big was going on. Kaladin had probably broken up with him to protect him or some nonsense. Adolin smirked to himself inside his helm. And in that case, the bridgeboy could probably use a reminder that he wouldn’t go away so easily.

“Don’t these bridges just annoy you Kal?” Adolin asked as loudly as he dared. “I mean, why walk when you could just—”

“Storm off,” Kaladin muttered.

“What were you talking about with my father?”

“Renarin.” Adolin sat up.

“Oh.”

“He’s fitting in well.”

“Uh, good.”

“And the assassin still trying to kill us.”

“I assume you’re on that.” Kaladin scowled at him.

“Check on your bride, why don’t you?”

“Aren’t I?” Kaladin’s scowl darkened. Adolin sighed and rolled his eyes, though his faceplate was still down and Kaladin could see none of it.

“I had a frustrating conversation with my father about that, actually,” Adolin said, speaking normally now. “The assassin. How he’s been seen out here at night. Like, full-on flying.” Kaladin’s lip twitched but he didn’t say anything. They both knew perfectly well that it had been him practicing.

“Good thing we have, what, three hundred archers with us?” Adolin nodded. That was a decent point, though from what he knew about Stormlight the most the archers could probably do is slow the assassin down a little.

“I’ll talk to them, get them ready for the possibility. It’ll probably come down to us again though and I—what?” Kaladin had stopped.

“You are not engaging him again.” Adolin raised his faceplate, chuckling.

“That’s exactly what my father said.”

“You’re heir to the throne!”

“Only kind of.”

“You’re definitely heir to the Kholin house.” It was Adolin’s turn to stare, surprised as he was by this argument from Kaladin.

“I’m a Shardbearer and he’s my father. Tell me honestly you’d do any different. Besides,” Adolin dropped his voice again, “what if...” Kaladin’s hand shifted over his pouch of spheres. Adolin dismounted, feeling a little sick to have his concerns basically confirmed. Kaladin was having trouble. “Syl’s not doing well, is she, Kal?”

“We’re working it out.” Adolin thought this was the first lie Kaladin had ever told him. Maybe because he hoped so much it was true. Adolin shifted toward him. He didn’t know what to say but also didn’t want to leave Kaladin alone like this. So they stood in silence for a few minutes watching the army pass. Adolin couldn’t help the way his eyes followed Shallan’s carriage as it trundled by. She was reclined, drawing, and that red hair was striking...

“You could, you know,” Kaladin whispered, despite his earlier remark. “She’d be good for you.”

“You know what I want!” he hissed back, suddenly angry. It had been one day. One. Singular.

“I do.” He looked at Adolin and...it was like seeing the pain he felt inside manifesting in Kaladin’s features as though part of them.

It broke Adolin’s heart. Again.

“Kal,” he said so quietly no one else could hear, “we can still fix this, whatever ‘this’ is. It’s not too late, please...” Kaladin pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head.

“The day my problems are fixed is the day I go skipping out over the Plains.”

“I’d pay to see that.” He almost nudged Kaladin playfully before remembering he was wearing Plate.

“Me skipping?”

“You happy, Kal, that’s all I—” There was a high-pitched squeal and a lock of red hair was blown into Adolin’s face as Shallan whipped past, spinning to grab his hand. Adolin startled. That was highly un-Alethi, particularly as they weren’t even betrothed any longer, but Adolin wasn’t exactly disappointed that the weight of his conversation with Kaladin had been lifted. He knelt to look at where Shallan was eagerly pointing, as he could see but couldn’t feel her pulling his arm in Plate.

“Bug?” Kaladin guessed.

“No,” Shallan gestured with her pencil, “Moss!”

“Obviously, Kal,” Adolin said. “Moss.”

“Would you slay it for me?” Shallan looked at him with wide eyes. Wide, blue, innocent eyes. He exchanged a glance with Kaladin and gave him a helpless grin. Kaladin frowned. Storms, the grumpfather, Thunderlord of the Grouchlands, Nriln had a point with her name-calling. Who could be that surly in the face of such exuberance? No, Kaladin was amused. Deep down. Well. Deep, deep down.

“What about it?” he asked Shallan, genuinely curious.

“It grows different here...strange, y’know? What could cause that?”

“Alcohol,” Adolin said. Shallan glanced at him. He shrugged. “Makes me do crazy things.” He looked to Kaladin, who shook his head. “That was funny,” he said.

“Stick to dueling, princeling.” Uh, ouch.

“Hush, boys,” Shallan said, crouched in concentration. “This looks almost like the same pattern as a flowering rockbud, the kind common here on the Plains...” She started sketching. Kaladin stared back out at the army, seemingly avoiding Adolin’s eye after his quip.

“I guess out here, it’s so barren that there’s not much to get excited about other than moss.”

“Go polish your bridge or something,” Shallan told him without looking up from her sketch. “Don’t take your boredom out on us.” Adolin stifled a laugh which, unfortunately, Kaladin saw. Shallan prodded at a bug crawling across the moss. “Anyway, you’re wrong. There’s a lot out here to get excited about, if you know where to look.” Kaladin snorted, and it seemed genuine.

“There’s a chasmfiend out here, brightness. If you know where to look.” Shallan looked up at him.

“Do you think it might attack us?”

“You sound entirely too hopeful saying that, Shallan,” Adolin marveled.

“Not unless you want to climb down into the chasms, brightness,” Kaladin scoffed, but Shallan’s gaze turned longingly to the chasms. Adolin couldn’t help but grin. He remembered the stunt she’d pulled, staying out on the balcony to face the oncoming highstorm...no, she was no coward.

“Well if you’re too scared, bridgeboy...” Adolin did laugh this time. He had to cover his mouth to keep it short and shot an apologetic glance at Kaladin.

“Adolin, the moss, dear. As yet, it’s un-slayed.” Oh, right. Adolin summoned his Blade, ten heartbeats, and did as she asked. She turned the stone over and started sketching the underside. Adolin dismissed his Blade, turning to hopefully share another bemused glance with Kaladin, but his expression was as equally stony as Shallan’s sample. He mounted Sureblood and lowered his face plate. It was probably best to get going...

*****

Adolin intended to go check on the progress of the bridges, but the farther away he got the darker his thoughts became again. It was like Shallan had been a pure gem of Stormlight in a black hallway and now that she was gone he was groping along the wall again. His conversation with Kaladin sure hadn’t made him feel any better.

Then he spotted Syl dodging in and out of a pile of stones chasing little cremlings.

“Are you working it out with him, Syl?” he asked her. Syl was poked her head into crevices in the rock pile where vines were crawling through. She peered up at him without a hint of recognition and her face misted to copy his features, albeit distorted, before giggling and zipping up into the air.

He couldn’t even muster the hope that it had been her idea of a joke. Adolin followed her streak of light, dread filling his throat. No, she wasn’t all right. Why would she be? Kaladin wasn’t all right.

Kal...

Seeing Syl basically extinguished any remaining relief Shallan had given him. Adolin let Sureblood amble to a halt. While the point of that conversation had been to remind Kaladin that Adolin wasn’t going anywhere, it had had the opposite effect. Adolin was more hopeless than ever. The immense pain he felt from yesterday’s fight was suddenly closer, nearly suffocating, and Adolin found himself much less able to push it aside. He closed his eyes inside his helm and took a few deep breaths, trying to take in enough air to fully expand his lungs. For about the hundredth time today he was immensely grateful for his Shardplate and the privacy it afforded him. He hated how these spells came and went. He could function fine for hours and then suddenly the next second it was as though Kaladin had just shut the door.

“Got dumped, huh?” The comment came from a short Thaylen woman somewhere by his shin. It made him nearly fall sideways.

“Nriln! How’d you...?” he trailed off, frowning.

“The look on your face, brightlord.” Adolin raised his faceplate and glowered at her. She rolled her eyes. “The bridgemen are complaining about Captain Stormface being more terse and ill-tempered than usual. You’re keeping distance. I can put two and two together, even if all of storming Bridge Four,” she vaguely gestured their salute, “can’t. Figures. Was bound to happen eventually.” This was another blow and Adolin opened his mouth to tell Nriln to go bother someone else but Nriln, as usual, was faster. “Oh, not you, brightlord. I like Kal. Things were fine at Madame’s before he arrived, but, well he has a way of making you hope, doesn’t he?”

“...yeah...” Adolin swallowed, looking over at Kaladin. He was easy to spot even though he was wearing the same uniform as everyone else in an army of blue. He was like that. Just stood out, even if he didn’t mean to.

“Yeah...” Nriln agreed, following his gaze. “Has a way of cheering everyone up.” She then turned her dark tan eyes on Adolin. “Everyone except himself.” This was a different kind of blow, the kind that struck Adolin with its truth. “What I’m saying, brightlord, is that Kal is great and you couldn’t do better aside from the fact that he’s a storming idiot.” Adolin blinked. Nriln tugged and teased and made dirty jokes, but she never downright insulted anyone. “He’s also smart,” she added. “And if he’s smart then he’ll come crawling back to you, brightlord. Just give it a little time.” Adolin stopped and stared at her. Stunned.

“I kinda assumed everyone would be on his side.” Nriln shrugged.

“When it’s your turn to be wrong, I will be.”

“He’s wrong?”

“Dead wrong. Sure of it.”

“Why’re you telling me this, Nriln?” Nriln patted his greave, the highest part that she could comfortably reach while walking next to a Rhyshadium.

“I like you, brightlord. You’re good at taking a joke. And you’re good for him.” She jabbed her chin in Kaladin’s direction. Then her face fell, as sad as Adolin had ever seen her, “He needs a little sense every now and then to keep him sane. You do that. Even if he doesn’t come round,” she spun to face him, hands, one gloved and one not, held before her, and amended quickly, “which he totally will...you’re a good friend.” Adolin nearly forgot to smile at her, shocked as he was to learn Nriln considered him a friend. And to know that someone on the outside could kind of see what was going on...that was reassuring. It meant he wasn’t totally crazy. That made him feel better.

“Nriln,” he said, “call me Adolin.” She beamed.

“Sure thing bri—Adolin. Oh! By the way...” She placed her hand conspiratorially to the side of her mouth and said with a significant glance, “I think Dem’s having a little trouble fitting in...” Adolin looked where she indicated and saw Dem standing, eyes and shoulders slumped, just on the edges of a group of boys. Ah. He nudged Sureblood into a trot.

Now this was something he could fix.

“Hey, Dem!” Adolin called, removing his helm completely as he dismounted.

“Adolin!” Dem only barely stopped himself from hugging Adolin.

“It’s brightlord, Dem,” another boy, lighteyed, laughed loudly. “Dun Dem!” But Adolin put a hand on Dem’s shoulder.

“Hang on, Dem and I go way back, don’t we, Dem? I was just thinking it’s been too long since we sparred together. Here!” He slapped his helm on Dem’s head and the other boys came swarming around. There was a group gasp as the helm shrank to fit Dem. The next second a small explosion occurred as six or seven boys began clamoring for a turn.

“You heard about my duel, right?” Adolin laughed. “Think you’re better than four Shardbearers?” Then he was handing off a gauntlet to another boy. He had Dem pass the helm to the boy who’d made fun of him but who was now racing Dem between rock outcroppings. The group began chasing each other around their watering buckets. They didn’t care about eye color, they knew they should but they didn’t care. Not really. Not yet.

And hopefully Adolin had put a quick stop to ‘Dun Dem’, oof—Kaladin was running. Adolin saw him out of the corner of his eye.

“The carpenter, Adolin!” Kaladin screamed it across the plateau, “Stop that man!” Adolin snatched his helm back and ran. He didn’t know who Kaladin was talking about but his father was in the middle of the bridge, turning towards something. A sound? Adolin didn’t care, there were lots of sounds and his father was in the middle of the bridge over a chasm. He all out sprinted with the full strength and endurance of Plate onto the bridge, grabbing his father by the arm as he passed and lifting him almost like a child to safety on the other side.

The bridge gave an almighty crack and plummeted into the chasm.

*****

It wasn’t until Adolin had seen his father to safety and checked that Dem was unharmed-he could leap this particular chasm without difficulty in Plate-that he heard. The news that Kaladin had been on the bridge, had fallen into the chasm, was delivered to him in unconcerned tones by Skar and Drehy. Lightheartedly, even. Like this was just the type of stunt their captain would pull.

Adolin's very blood froze. His very blood rushed. His heart pounded. His heart stopped. The world stopped. Nothing stopped. Skar clapped him on the shoulder. He shared a knowing smile with Drehy. But they didn’t know. Adolin had seen Kaladin try and fail to suck in Stormlight not half an hour before the bridge was sabotaged. And if he couldn’t use Stormlight, he couldn’t heal, and if he couldn’t heal, if he couldn’t heal...couldn’t...

A guttural, animalistic bellow started to build in his ears. His stomach hollowed, twisting and gnarling around the empty space inside where everything good had once been. Skar and Drehy whipped around, looking for danger, maybe the source of inhuman sound filling the tent before realizing it was Adolin making it. His Plate made a horrible crunch as he hit the floor.

Chapter 21: You Might As Well Question Why We Breathe

Notes:

Ow.

Hours later Adolin lay curled, just as crumpled as his uniform, against Renarin on the sofa in Navani’s sitting room. He listened to the calculated denial that came from Sadeas. It ended in an almost mocking express of regret for the casualties, all while assuming no responsibility for this ‘unfortunate accident’. Then he listened to reports, to names of the dead. Another pang hit when the name ‘Shallan Davar’ was read. Navani was overly distressed at Shallan’s place among the casualties. Adolin thought he understood. The young woman had been her last connection to Jasnah. Even through his own...blankness, apathy, Adolin saw his aunt’s guilt over how she had treated Shallan with such coldness. He grieved for her as well, the young woman he'd befriended, cared for, yes. All that. But his grief for Kaladin...

Grief. Was it grief? He hadn’t wept yet. Shouldn’t he? Wasn’t that grief? Crying, sobbing, weeping uncontrollably? He felt nothing. Numb. Crushing emptiness. Did that mean he didn’t care? Did that mean he was fine? He didn’t feel fine. He didn’t feel at all. That couldn’t be normal. He must be as broken as the storming bridge.

At long last, Dalinar gave the list of names to his scribes so they could send letters of notification to the families. As the last of his scribes left to her work, Dalinar sank down into a simple, wooden chair across from the plush sofa where Adolin existed and Renarin sat. Elbow on his knee and fingers at his temple, Dalinar sighed.

“I think,” he said slowly, “we could all do with some rest. Get him up, Renarin.” Renarin twitched under him but Adolin made no effort to move. He didn’t want to move. He didn’t want to do anything but lie here with the one person he’d told, the one person who might...

“Brother...” The door to the sitting room opened. Dalinar stood. Navani’s skirts swished as she moved about. Adolin did nothing. Stared without seeing. Until he snapped upright.

Meridas Amaram had a distinct voice.

“...convey my sincere condolences and offer any assistance you might need in an investigation,” Amaram was saying, “as an expression of goodwill and unity.” Dalinar spared a glance for Adolin’s sudden movement but did not address him.

“Your offer is generous, Meridas. We are still assessing the damage and gathering reports.”

“I understand that the young captain was among the fallen. I wish you to know that I bore him no grudge for his accusations. I’m sure he was simply confused. Elhokar acted rashly there. I would send personal regrets for his death to his family, for honor and to quell any rumors of hostility. His name was Kaladin, I belie—”

“You believe?” Adolin growled, on his feet and halfway across the room without remembering how he got there. Anger. Good. Finally something. “He won you that storming Blade. And you made him a slave for it. Keep his name out of your filthy mouth,” His father flung an arm across his chest.

“Adolin,” Dalinar warned.

“I saw your face in that arena, Amaram, when he challenged you. You were scared. Terrified. Was it because of the truth he represents?” Something spasmed in Amaram’s face.

“Adolin!” Adolin stepped out from behind his father’s guard.

“You stole from him, branded him, killed his friends, sold him to slavery, and you bear no grudge? You bear no shame! Kaladin was-is-more honorable than you could ever hope to be! You—”

“I did not come here to be slandered,” Amaram interrupted in an elevated but even tone. “I can see that my presence is causing distress at a...” he eyed Adolin up and down, “...delicate time. Dalinar, we will speak again.” Dalinar nodded curtly and Amaram turned to exit, his cloak rippling as he did.

His cloak. Dark blue, the glyph pair Knight Radiant emblazoned in white upon the back. Righteous anger burned in Adolin at the injustice.

Thief.

Imposter.

Murderer.

Ten heartbeats. In ten heartbeats he could give some measure of justice for Kaladin’s suffering as he passed into the Tranquiline Halls. Adolin reached for his Blade.

One.

Dalinar had relaxed, wasn’t looking at him.

Two.

He strode towards Amaram who had his back to him, exiting.

Three.

“Adolin, no!” Renarin this time.

Four.

Dalinar alerted but was paces behind him.

Five.

Amaram spun, panicked, hand outstretched to summon his own Blade.

Six.

He’d be too late, Adolin had a head start.

Seven.

Navani’s fingers brushed his elbow.

He met his aunt’s eyes and saw there that there was more to this. More that he didn’t know. His rage flared hot and white. Kal wouldn’t tell him what was going on, his own family would only give him bits and pieces. The outrage of it all peaked in his throat before dropping to a simmer and his will vanished with it. He let his Blade dissipate back to mist before it had fully manifested.

Trust. Trust that they had a plan. You didn't gamble your entire army on a single assault. You didn’t tell one person all your secrets. Kaladin was gone. If he couldn’t trust his family, what was left? He let Navani take his hand and he grasped hers in turn. Amaram dismissed his Blade as it formed, just as he had.

Amaram held up a hand as Dalinar approached. Unnerved but quickly collecting himself he said,

“No...no...no harm done, after all.” His sharp tan eyes fell on Adolin. “I’m sorry about your...friend.” Adolin stared back at him. That word...that one word burned through him as surely as a Shardblade and the nothingness that had been enveloping him began to turn to smoke, streaming out of the wound.

“He wasn’t my friend,” Adolin said, the tiny refute sounding childish to his ears. He had never felt so small, and Amaram had never seemed as tall as he did then, standing before him, cocking a fine, dubious brow.

The nothingness was gone.

Oh. Oh, Almighty.

Everything, everything he hadn’t been feeling for hours bled from him. Half a dozen types of spren blossomed around him. Passionspren, angerspren, agonyspren, and others. It happened in seconds that he was in the tumult of a highstorm, being torn and whipped every which way.

“You bastard! He wasn’t my friend, he wasn’t my friend!” He made to go after Amaram again, ripping his arm away from Navani, but Dalinar had a hold on him now.

Amaram left, a ruthless smirk hiding in the shadows on his square jaw.

Adolin wanted to fight...someone, something. Wanted to run. He wanted to run until his body gave up, until his legs didn’t work and his heart burst. He was suffocating in the room that was suddenly too small, and turning, looking for the way out. There was none. This room was going to crush him, it—

Navani saved him again, this time with a full embrace, his only shelter from the angry winds. The air was thick, he couldn’t take it in properly, his lungs weren’t working. His body jerked, shook, convulsed, and he found himself on the floor for the second time that day. Anguishspren were rare and yet here were dozens, gnawing at him.

“He wasn’t my friend.” They had to understand. He needed them, someone, storming anyone, to understand. “He wasn’t my friend, he wasn’t my friend, mashala, he wasn’t...” Navani’s arms tightened around him with unyielding strength.

“I know, child. I know. He was everything.” Adolin stuttered out a full, sorrowful moan and he held her as he might once have held to his mother.

“Yes.” Finally. Finally. His aunt rocked with him as dry sobs wracked him, as, at last, the tears came.

Chapter 22: We Read Five Times That You Were Killed, In Five Different Places

Notes:

I tried really really hard to keep my promise in the comments and post yesterday, but I sat down to do it and immediately fell asleep. Like a dang cartoon.

Adolin half-remembered thinking that any minute someone would come get him and urge him on to his duties. Yet midday came and went and no one had. He did notice that Navani flitted in and out, bringing tea or curry. Something told him that she remained close by. She brought different things as the day wore on. It didn’t matter. It all tasted like dust in his mouth and he couldn’t swallow any of it. No one else disturbed him.

Maybe he should have been angry that they were letting him rest, that Navani was all but coddling him. Maybe he should have been embarrassed at how long he’d held to her, weeping. How it had taken the three of them to settle him in his room. He wasn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to care about any of it. Kal, everything, as Navani had put it, was gone. He remembered that word and just as he did each time, got up and started pacing.

It was in one of these bouts that he thought he might as well have a change of scenery, but in the halls he met people. People who greeted him downright jovially, even joked that he was making a show with his haphazard appearance. Which, yeah, he hadn’t exactly put an outfit together today. So he went back to his room where Navani had arranged a fresh selection of snacks.

Later in the day, towards evening, he found himself staring out the window at the approaching highstorm. He waited almost too long to batten the windows, as if he’d see Kal riding the winds if he could just hold out a second longer...once the windows were secured he collapsed back on his bed afterwards feeling that the single act had sapped all of his energy.

He didn’t know if sleep came to him during the highstorm or not. Once it was over he suddenly couldn’t stand being in his room a second longer and since it was night he was unlikely to run into anyone. So he left without any real destination in mind.

His feet brought him out onto the Plains. Of course they had. The last place he’d seen Kal. Teft was on watch at the moment. Another small ache plucked at Adolin's heart for the vigil. Naturally Bridge Four was on lookout for him. They probably had it on shifts. It dimly occurred to Adolin that he might ought to turn back, looking how he did. He knew his face was puffy, his eyes red and lined, and his clothing wasn’t properly assembled, askew in places. He’d drawn not a few uneasy glances on his way out here already. Yes, Bridge Four liked him, accepted him as, well, maybe not their own but something akin to it. But he sensed his relationship with Kaladin bothered some of them. Then again, perhaps it was simply his own dishevelment. Alethi were supposed to be more proper in the face of such adversity. No reason now, to get so emotional just because the one person you love more than anything died.

Well. He dropped onto the stone outcropping next to Teft, who didn't seem at all surprised to see him. He’d always been storming bad at being Alethi, anyway.

“Wondered when you'd...oh, lad...” He nearly broke down again to hear how fully Teft had seen him. Fortunately he had no tears left. Teft jostled his shoulder. “Come on now, you’re in on the little secret. You know Kal’s not—”

“I don’t know that,” he said and didn’t expect how rough his voice sounded. Teft waved him off.

“Kid probably just used up all the Stormlight he had on him. Soon as he finds some more, he’ll be back.”

“He was having trouble, Teft,” Adolin said it plainly. He probably shouldn’t be telling Teft this, shouldn’t be putting the worry on the older man, but he was in no space to filter his thoughts. “With the bond. The last time I saw Syl she was more like a simple windspren than anything. She didn’t recognize me. He said they weren’t on speaking terms. I saw him try and draw in Stormlight the day he...he...” Adolin’s voice constricted to near nothing. He could feel Teft’s horrified expression beside him and stared resolutely out over the Plains to avoid seeing it. He drew in a deep breath. “...the Light, it was like it was stuck.”

Long moments passed in near silence. Only the wind over the Plains or calls between the guards on night duty behind them.

“Can’t lie,” Teft finally grunted, “wish you hadn’t told me that, lad. Still, it’s Kal. He’ll find a way. Kid’s got a life now. Something to live for.” Teft eyed Adolin. Clapped him on the shoulder. “He’ll be back.” Adolin bit his lip against the violent trembling of his body as pain bled freshly from his heart. He even drew some sinewy painspren. Teft startled, looking to see where Adolin could possibly have been hurt.

“Even...even if he does return...” Storms, it was like trying to draw air into scarred lungs. He hadn’t told anyone this, hadn’t said it aloud, even in his conversation with Nriln. “...even if he does, he released me from my oaths, Teft. He released me and I don’t know why, he wouldn’t tell me. Just that we were a dream...couldn’t be real...” Teft looked exceptionally thankful when Adolin lost the ability to speak again. The older bridgeman shuffled awkwardly beside him. Opening his mouth, closing it, raising his hand, lowering it.

“Did they not cover heartbreak in army training, grandpa?” A clear, feminine voice asked. Teft didn’t even try to hide his relief.

“Storms, no.”

“Tashe!” Adolin gasped. Tashe smiled at them, as immaculate and beautiful as ever. She gracefully sat down on the stone on Adolin's other side. He saw Teft pointedly avert his eyes as she pressed a fussing bundle into Adolin’s arms with merely a delicate, almost sheer glove on her safehand. Adolin, however, took Adodani and lightly tickled her cheek by way of greeting.

“What’re you doing here?” he asked. She shrugged.

“It’s my night off and little miss there is refusing to sleep or be set down on anything that’s not a person. And I thought, what if tonight is the night our dear Kal makes an appropriately dramatic return? Good thing, too, as it seems you were in dire need of baby therapy.” Adolin gazed down at the little one in his arms, her sweet, dark violet eyes drifting closed. It was a little easier to breathe.

“Looks like she’s going to sleep now.”

“Mmm,” Tashe stretched her arms up. “I see you’re already falling for her cunning ruse.” She nudged Adolin’s shoulder with her own. “So Kal’s gone and done something stupid, has he?”

“No!” Adolin said defensively. “It’s not that, it’s...something’s going on and he won’t tell me what. He won’t say a single storming word. Never mind that I’m the son of a highprince. Never mind that I might be able to help.”

They sat in silence for minutes. Until Adolin started shaking from the center of his chest out. Uncontrollably. Adodani slept through it.

“Ah, gem,” Tashe sighed and brought Adolin's head to her shoulder. “He was never going to be an easy one to love.”

“It is easy,” Adolin insisted. Because it was. Kaladin's strength, kindness, determination, skill...he was incredible. And it was easy to love him.

Then.

Inside, bitterness flowed for the times Kaladin was recalcitrant. The times he was suspicious, stubbornly silent, guarded, even with him. Especially then. The way his mood could change, go dark in a matter of minutes. The way everything always seemed to happen to him. And...well. He’d had nothing to do but think the last two days. To relive every moment, every word he’d ever exchanged with Kaladin.

He’d always...he hadn’t really known he’d done this, not until he’d lain awake at all hours, unable to sleep...he’d always thought of it as his Kal and the other, the one that took over, but that was wrong. They were both his Kal. To love one was to love both and that was...

“...hard,” he whispered. “It’s storming hard.” It shouldn’t be hard, should it? Love should be easy. Smiles and comfort and, and...Tashe laid a hand on his back, rubbing a small circle.

“It’s both.” Then, as if she knew what he’d been thinking she said, “It being hard sometimes doesn’t mean it’s wrong, gem.” The agonizing, gaping wound in Adolin's heart eased in one way and throbbed anew in another. Sitting out here with Teft, on vigil for Kaladin’s return, had nearly made him forget...

“Doesn’t matter anyway,” Adolin muttered. “He’s not here. He went and got himself killed. He’ll never be here again.”

“The bridgemen consider that a matter of some dispute,” Tashe said gently.

Adolin’s eyes wandered over the Plains for a time. Once or twice he almost convinced himself he saw a glowing figure shoot up from the chasms. He wanted to share Bridge Four’s faith so badly.

“Tashe?” Adolin said, because he hadn’t said it yet, because it was bothering him, because talking was helping.

“Mmm?” Tashe still rubbed that circle on his back. That was helping, too.

“He called me ‘brightlord’.”

“He didn’t!” she gasped.

“He did!”

“I take it you set him stra—” They both jumped when Teft cleared his throat and looked to him.

“Well you are...” Tashe’s hand went to her mouth in shock and Adolin could see that Teft was unsure whether or not he was being played with.

“If Adolin calls you a friend you must never address him as ‘brightlord’, didn’t you know?” Teft narrowed his eyes, wary of speech. Tashe flashed him a grin to let him know she was teasing and he relaxed somewhat. “Kaladin doing it is just an outright insult.”

“Kal can make anything an outright insult.”

“Yes...” Tashe sighed. “We still haven’t been able to fill his position at the house, you know. They just keep asking for Kal. It’s really quite—”

“I s’pose I can see where that would get complicated,” Teft interrupted, nodding to Adolin. “With you.” Adolin nearly laughed that Teft would rather discuss his relationship problems than Kaladin’s former employment. What an odd sensation. The urge to laugh.

“Well, the world was always going to complicate things for you, no need to do it yourselves,” Tashe said. “What do you think, grandpa?”

“Think? I think you two are a storming menace.”

“Come on, Teft,” Adolin prodded. “I know half of Bridge Four only hold their tongues because they love Kal.”

“Sig’s just mad you two haven’t filled out the paperwork,” Teft grunted.

“It’s not Sigzil.”

“Can you blame them? Kid, you’re second dahn. You turn heads wherever you go. And now you do it side by side with a branded darkeyed man with a shash glyph. Our Kal. Who’s been through more than most. Doesn’t need any more attention.”

“Kal doesn’t need my help drawing attention to himself.”

“Well that’s the other half of it,” Teft grumbled. “Guess if you’re both going to draw attention you may as well do it in the most upsetting storming way possible.”

“Thanks, Teft,” Adolin said, taking the acceptance for what it was, even if it was given in Teft-speak.

“On the subject of drawing attention above your station,” Tashe said to Teft, “you do realize you just called a prince of the second dahn ‘kid’, right?”

“I—well look at him!” Then, unsure, as if he thought he might have gone too far, Teft cleared his throat. “But of course, brightlord...” Adolin gave him a wry look, his head still on Tashe’s shoulder. “No?” Teft asked.

“No,” Adolin answered. That was almost the strangest part of all of this. A few months ago he would have considered the title natural, a simple sign of respect he was due. Now he was fixing to do away with it altogether. Storms, here he was, lighteyed, high dahn, sitting next to a darkeyed bridgeman and a whore, holding an infant who wasn’t even related to him. It was this that felt like the most natural thing in the world, it felt...

The wind hit Adolin's face and he sucked it in. It felt like freedom. Had he ever been able to be more himself? Outside of the dueling ring or with Renarin? Adolin thought he understood a little more how the wind made Kaladin feel.

“You know what the worst thing is?” he asked the pair of them, remembering his quick excursion outside his room earlier. “Everyone’s acting like I should be over it already. Like it’s just another courtship that ended, like he was just...well. You know what they say about us.”

“Of course,” Tashe remarked blithely. “But you don’t have to convince me your courtship was genuine. For example, you haven't glanced at my chest once.” For the first time since Kaladin fell into the chasms, Adolin’s lip tugged up. It felt weird, like he shouldn't be doing it. It also felt wonderful.

“I’m sorry. I’ll try to be more considerate in the future.”

“See that you are.” Out of the corner of his eye, Adolin saw Teft turn his head. Slowly. Disconcerted. “Don't worry, grandpa,” Tashe added, “you've been very considerate.” Teft’s head snapped forward and he gazed fixedly out to the horizon.

“You’re blushing,” Adolin commented.

“There’s a child present,” Teft gruffed.

“A sleeping two-month old,” Adolin countered.

“You're joking.”

“I...” Adolin inhaled sharply. Teft was right. He was joking. Adolin chuckled. Then laughed. And laughed. It didn’t make sense. He laughed because it didn’t make sense. And because there was light, even on the other side of this. So he laughed.

“You’re going to feel like an idiot when he comes out of those chasms,” Teft grunted. Adolin stopped laughing.

“ ‘When’ ?” Teft gave him another tired look that rivaled his father’s. Storms, rivaled Jasnah’s.

“You don’t really think he’s gone, do you?”

“Teft, there was a highstorm. Even if he somehow survived the fall, the flooding...he’d have drowned, I...” The wind blew the clouds away and the three of them were bathed in Nomon’s blue light. The light under which he’d first seen Kaladin handle the spear.

He could handle this, too. If anyone could.

“Does it make me a fool if I say no?”

“Only if he doesn't return,” Tashe said, rubbing his ear between her forefinger and thumb now.

They sat in silence again, Adolin’s mind more at ease than it had been in two days. Longer, and Adodani woke. Tashe fed her. Teft averted his eyes. Adolin teased him in the same way Kaladin had ridiculed him that first time. Adolin took Adodani back after. He remembered feeling calm, almost content...

And then Teft was shaking him awake with a hand on his chest, with Sigzil looking contrite at his side. Tashe was gone.

“I told him that he should maybe let you sleep, brightlord,” Sigzil apologized.

“Don’t call me that,” Adolin said automatically. And, feeling like he’d had the best sleep of his life, here, on an outcropping of the Shattered Plains, spread his arms and asked, “How do I look?”

“Great!” Sigzil said.

“Terrible,” Teft corrected. Adolin shook his hand through his hair and several small pebbles fell from it. The skin around his eyes still felt tight and puffy.

“I believe Teft.” He sat up, looked on the Shattered Plains. He smiled. He didn’t feel good, but. Better. Like the time spent with Teft and Tashe had chipped some crem off his soul. Like he could believe that Kaladin was out there.

Chapter 23: As You Can See, It Was True Every Single Time

Notes:

This chapter is dedicated to all the folks who keep commenting and lighting a fire under my butt! Thank you all so much!

Adolin felt better on his walk back through the warcamp. Not good. Grief still infused him, waiting in his muscles to tear him apart. So maybe ‘better’ wasn’t the word. Calmer. More focused. The incapacitating desire to do nothing was gone, and he was hungry again. Starving, actually. He bypassed the servants all together and went straight to the galley. Nriln silently dished out a bowl of curry for him and pulled his flatbread fresh off the griddle. Adolin noticed her eyes and nose were red, too, and a lump returned to his throat. He was able to offer a small smile, Teft and Tashe had given him that strength, and he took a seat at the staff table a little ways from the stove.

Nriln didn’t glance his way again, but the company was nice. Though, when he finished and washed his bowl she said,

“See you for lunch, Adolin. After you train.” It wasn’t a question. Adolin nodded.

“See you then.”

Adolin had already been thinking about going back to Zahel, but his promise to Nriln sealed it. He entered the armory and had just raised his foot to slide into a Plated boot when he spotted Skar jogging down the long hallway, his face shining. Adolin’s stomach rose, then fell, then rose again.

“No!” he exclaimed, and ran to meet Skar halfway. “No, there’s no way, there’s no way…” But Skar was already nodding exuberantly. Adolin clasped him by the shoulders briefly, only long enough to see the truth in his eyes, and then continued running down the hallway.

“Med tent three, brightlord!” Skar called after him. Adolin made a mental note to talk to Skar about that brightlord thing before bursting out the door where he was able to break into a full-out sprint.

Admittedly, the run would have been easier if he’d changed into Plate first, but at least he’d changed out of the dusty clothes he’d been wearing the night before and into a clean uniform. And, storms, it felt good to push his muscles like this. The burning in his legs and in his lungs felt good. Like joy exploding through his nerves. Alive. Truly alive for the first time since that bridge collapsed.

*****

“You know how everyone kept saying there was a chasmfiend prowling about in the nearby chasms?” Kaladin was saying as Adolin skidded to a halt just inside the tent entrance.

“Yes…” Dalinar said. His father was observing Kaladin with a certain amount of awe and incredulity that Adolin had rarely seen and this expression only magnified when Kaladin withdrew a massive, green gemheart from the tattered remains of his coat.

“Yeah,” Kaladin said, tossing it to the ground before Dalinar. Dalinar’s eyes followed it, staring as the gemheart tapped his boot. “We took care of that for you, sir.” A few gloryspren popped around Kaladin. While Adolin very much wanted to hear that story, his awe was reserved for the sight of Kaladin alive.

“Oh, don’t be so melodramatic, bridgeman.” A spike of shock and then relief went through Adolin to see Shallan seated and being tended to a few beds away from Kaladin. “Brightlord Dalinar, we found the beast already dead and rotting in the chasm. We survived the highstorm by climbing up its back to a crack in the side of the plateau, where we waited out the rains. We could only get the gemheart out because the thing was half rotted already.”

Kaladin looked to her and frowned. Adolin got the sense that Shallan’s version omitted several details and inserted some blatant lies to get that look from Kaladin.

“Yes,” he said. “That’s what hap—” His gaze landed on Adolin, fast approaching. But it wasn’t Kaladin’s glare or his father’s warning glance that stayed him; it was the bandaging around Kaladin’s leg that Adolin saw as he drew near.

“Again, bridgeboy?” he asked. Though admittedly he’d seen Kaladin in much worse condition. Only a few weeks ago, in fact. Storms, that hospital in Sadeas’s camp seemed long gone. Kaladin merely gave him a small shrug. At least he looked a little sorry.

So Adolin saved his hug for Shallan who, despite her ragged clothing, seemed in much better condition than Kaladin.

“Don’t ever do that again,” he told her, and found that he meant it. She returned his embrace carefully, like she wasn’t sure this should be happening at all. He wanted to say something else but at that moment Navani entered and he was ushered away from Shallan.

So Adolin turned to Kaladin, not daring to look at his father, and discreetly touched his hand. Dalinar pointedly cleared his throat and went to engage Amaram, who had arrived with Navani and who was watching the pair of them with scrutiny.

“You scared me,” he said in a low voice. It was an understatement and they both knew it. Kaladin’s mouth worked as though he didn’t trust himself to speak, and he didn’t. So Adolin went on, “Talk to me, Kal.” Kaladin pressed his lips to a line and gave a nearly imperceptible shake of his head. Adolin let out a breath. What had he really expected? “Let me know if you need anything, Kal.”

As he made to pull away, Kaladin squeezed his fingers just so. Adolin was almost stupid enough to look down and draw attention to the motion. So he looked into Kaladin’s deep, brown eyes.

“I’m sorry.” Adolin knew he meant the argument, for causing Adolin to worry, and for his silence. For a split second, he again sensed the sorrow in Kaladin that was tearing him apart. Adolin ran his forefinger lightly along Kaladin’s, accepting his apology but as there was nothing left to do here, Adolin went to go fulfill another promise.

*****

He was absolutely unbeatable on the practice grounds. It was starting to sink in. Kaladin was alive. Alive. None of his other problems seemed to compare. Even Zahel had no meaningful critique to give him.

He did go back to see Nriln for lunch. Her eyes were even redder than this morning, but the brilliant grin on her face told Adolin they were tears of joy.

“You’re not such a hardass after all, are you?” he whispered. “Cheering me up, now this?” Her grin didn’t falter but she did punch Adolin’s arm. It actually smarted.

“We’ll see who’s crying after lunch,” she retorted, wiping her eyes. “I got my hands on some Makabaki peppers.”

They weren’t too bad. No, it was his uniform and the heat of the day making him sweat as he sat across from Nriln.

“…wanna talk about it?” Nriln asked, staring at a chip on her side of the table. Adolin set down his spoon. Storms, she’d really been making an effort recently.

“Nothing new,” Adolin said. He sat back. To relax and enjoy the company. Definitely not to give his mouth a break. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“About what?” But Nriln’s eyes shifted back to her bowl and concentrated a little too hard there.

“First the pep talk on the plains, now this.” Nriln gave a lopsided shrug.

“I miss my crew.” This didn’t make sense, but Adolin waited. Nriln took another bite. Swallowed before continuing, “Bridge Four is like them.”

“But?” Nriln twisted a forefinger through one of her long eyebrows, an almost shy action that Adolin had never seen before.

“On the ship, we joked with each other. If someone was down, we’d prank them, but it’s not like that with them. Or, it’s not just like that.” Ah. It started to click for Adolin.

“You know,” he said, “when my father assigned me to a spearman’s platoon for two months, I showed up on my first day with my boots shined and my buttons polished.”

“To show them you were a good soldier,” Nriln agreed.

“I was ridiculed,” Adolin said. “Mercilessly. It wasn’t until I let my boots get a little scuffed, did a little crem chipping, and stayed for the dirty stories that they stopped.” Nriln’s brows furrowed.

“But you’re the son of a highprince, they never should have let you hear—”

“I did anyway. I could tell, even without that. It’s hard, to be part of the group but not really part of it, you know? For me, it took learning to be a little crass. For you, a little more genuine, maybe.” Nriln cocked her head, considering.

“The next time someone says you’re stupid, I might have to punch them.” She took another bite and so did Adolin. “Anyway,” she started. “Has he come crawling back looking for that good deep—”

“Actually, the last time it was the other way around,” Adolin interrupted and considered the off-the-cuff remark a tribute to their conversation.

“Makes sense. Going to prison for the man has to get you something.” Adolin had thankfully not taken his next bite before he snorted a laugh.

“See?” he said. “You can do both.” But he pushed his spoon around his plate. “He won’t even talk to me.”

“Moron.” They each dissolved into silence from there, but it wasn’t uncomfortable and when Adolin made to wash his plate of the unlawfully spicy peppers, Nriln bat him down.

“Just go,” she said.

With a pat on the back, Adolin did.

*****

Consumed as he was with thoughts of Kaladin’s refusal, and that he was on medical leave and how it would be unlikely that they would meet again before Adolin left for the expedition, it was a surprise when he returned to his room to find Kaladin rifling through their, his, bedroom. The bridgeman closed the door of the armoire and jumped a little to find Adolin in the doorway.

“Hey, Kal.”

“Just...all my uniforms are here. I don’t want to talk,” he reiterated. Adolin walked into the room, hand outstretched. He meant to take Kaladin’s uniforms from him, but Kaladin tried to side-step him, an awkward move with a crutch that nearly caused him to stumble. Adolin moved to catch him but Kaladin steadied so he retreated. A truly excruciating look crossed Kaladin’s face that made Adolin’s own chest hurt.

“That bad, huh?” Kaladin nodded curtly, his lips drawn to a line as the pain passed through him. “It’s over, then?” Stormlight. Syl.

Adolin hadn’t meant to say it so bluntly.

He took the uniforms off Kaladin’s arm and set them aside as another tremor of a different kind of pain went through him. Adolin placed a hand gingerly on his waist to steady him as Kaladin’s crutch wobbled dangerously.

Kaladin crashed into him. The point of his crutch dug painfully into Adolin’s chest as Kaladin held to him and pressed his head into Adolin’s shoulder.

“Kal…”

“I don’t know what to do,” Kaladin rasped, gripping to Adolin’s lapels. “I’m being torn in two different directions and I don’t know which is right. Which one even matters. Either way, I…” In a rush Adolin quieted him with a hand to his hair. He breathed in. Weapon’s oil and spear wood and knobweed…part of him hadn’t quite believed that Kaladin was alive until this moment. He rested his cheek in Kaladin’s hair.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” he said. “But I do know you’re the right person to be in it.”

Kaladin gave a shuddering sigh against him. Adolin nudged his head up with his own. Breathed in that scent. Kal. And then Kaladin was looking into his eyes...Adolin kissed him carefully…Kaladin took his head back.

“Adolin, we’re not...”

“I know.”

“Nothing has changed.” Adolin touched his side, the uninjured one.

“You’re alive. Everything has changed.”

“You’re still released from your oaths, Adolin.”

“You still can’t do that. And there’s nothing that can release me from the promises I made, or how I feel about you.”

“Adolin...” Adolin smiled to hear the exasperation in Kaladin’s voice and risked a little more pressure with his next kiss.

“Five minutes,” he asked. The resolve in those deep brown eyes wavered and when Adolin met his lips again Kaladin kissed him back. He let out a breath through his nose when Adolin slid his hands up his back and touched Adolin’s face.

For five minutes everything was right on Roshar. Maybe longer. Kaladin wrapped his fingers around Adolin’s neck and Adolin held him close by the small of his back a—Kaladin’s crutch went clattering to the floor.

“No, hang on, I’ll get it,” Adolin said quickly. Kaladin held his shoulder for support as he bent to pick up the crutch.

“Thanks,” Kaladin muttered, shoving it back under his arm.

“You’re actually mad at yourself for doing that, aren’t you?” Adolin smiled. He was finding that the pain of Kaladin ending their relationship paled in comparison to the absolute agony he’d felt when he’d thought Kaladin dead. And clearly Kaladin’s feelings hadn’t changed. Adolin didn’t think they had, but still, it was a plateau’s leap better than ‘what if’. This was a problem he could tackle. This, he could live with.

“You’re a storming menace.”

“Not the first time someone from Bridge Four has called me that recently. If it helps, tell yourself it was a completely selfless act. I mean, I thought you were dead, bridgeboy. I almost killed Amaram for it. Giving me something to remember just before I ride out is really the least you could do.” Adolin eyed the uniforms, the crutch... “You have salve, right? All the medicine you need? Something for the pain?”

“Yeah. Everything and more.” Kaladin set about gathering his uniforms back into his arms. Adolin thought he caught him looking a little wistfully at the large, plush bed.

“You could convalesce here, if you want. It’d be more comfortable than the barracks and I’ll be gone on the mission out to the center of the Plains, so I won’t even be around to challenge your willpower. You’d have it for the whole Weeping.” Kaladin turned as sharply as he could.

“No thanks, princeling.” Then he grimaced again, but this one didn’t seem to be from physical pain. “It’s a kind offer, Adolin. Especially considering...” He rolled his lips under his teeth. Storms, Adolin thought. He really is angry he let himself slip up. That he had slipped up made Adolin feel downright giddy. Ridiculous. Kaladin was right; nothing had changed. Their courtship was dissolved, Adolin was still leaving in a few days and Kaladin still wouldn’t confide in him. What reason had he to feel hopeful?

Simply, Adolin was also right. Everything had changed. Kaladin was alive. He was alive and his feelings hadn’t wavered, despite whatever was going on. As for Adolin, short of Kaladin’s death or outright dismissal-this didn’t count-he was committed. With a slight pang Adolin watched his love limp across the sitting room. There was nothing to be done about it though. If Kaladin was determined to be stubborn and return to the barracks, Adolin wasn’t going to dissuade him.

“Can I at least have a few meals sent to you while I’m away?”

“Why?” Kaladin sounded exasperated more than anything. Adolin shrugged, if only because he knew it would annoy Kaladin.

“I’m in love with you, Almighty forbid I want you to eat.” Adolin expected Kaladin to tense at the declaration but he nearly spasmed, the hand not holding the crutch going to his chest as though he’d had a sudden ache. Adolin did reach out now, brushing Kaladin’s hair off his neck and steadying his shoulder. Sweat had begun beading at his temples and he was breathing far too fast. Thinking it best to not say anything more, Adolin merely gripped his shoulder until the panic subsided.

Kaladin bit his lip. His hair fell a little lower. He shuffled towards the door, his crutch clacking on the stone.

“Adolin?”

“Hm?”

“You almost killed Amaram?” Adolin grinned at him.

“Was that chasmfiend really dead when you found it?” Adolin thought he got as close to a look of amusement as Kaladin was capable of at the moment. Kaladin’s hand touched the door handle. The similarity to the last time he left struck Adolin a little, but Nriln was right. He needed time. Adolin sat on the arm of the sofa and crossed his legs.

“Kal,” he added. “You could have had a courier bring those uniforms back to the barracks.”

“...shut up.”

Notes:

That's right, y'all. The humiliation kink tag just refers to all of Kaladin's clientele.

I think it's nice that Adolin learned something today.