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There were a lot of things Kaladin had considered Adolin over the last year—storming idiot came to mind—but fragile had never been one. He seemed as resilient as shardplate, taking each set back and hard hit with the same unending sunshine smile and stubborn will. It was infuriating in one sense, but they needed that. He needed that, having very little optimism of his own.
But like shardplate Adolin could break. And like shardplate he did not have his own stormlight to heal the worst of his wounds. The storming bastard would often hide it until everyone else was taken care of and smile that little guilty smile when caught. Sometimes Kaladin wished Adolin was more of a lighteyed bastard than he was because it would be easier.
He sighed as he squeezed the bloody water out of the cloth and resumed cleaning the wound on Adolin’s shoulder. The most severe cuts were already stitched and cleaned, others bandaged. There were no signs of rot spren though pain spren were wriggling everywhere. Kaladin could feel his anger bubbling under the surface. There wouldn’t be another highstorm for two days; no easy fix for these wounds.
“Why do you have to do this?” he asked the prince on the bed. He dropped the cloth in the bucket and leaned back, frowning down at Adolin’s sleeping form.
“That’s the pot calling the kettle black,” Syl murmured from his shoulder. Kaladin turned to look at her with a frown.
“In what way?”
Syl kicked her legs back and forth, her heels bouncing off his skin lightly. “You would do the same if you didn’t have stormlight. You’d hide it so others could be healed. Shouldn’t such traits in others be seen as admirable?”
Kaladin opened his mouth to respond and then closed it firmly, turning his attention back to Adolin. Renarin had helped him bandage Adolin’s abdomen before he sent the younger brother away. Renarin’s hands had steadied over the last year as he practiced his healing arts but working on his older brother had been too much for him. To see someone you loved in such a state… Adolin’s shoulders were mottled blue and purple and Kaladin didn’t want to think about the worst of the gashes on Adolin’s thigh.
Why do you have to be fragile? He wondered quietly, reaching over to brush blonde-black hair away from a superficial cut on Adolin’s brow. He’d always been fond of the colours together, all the way back to when he was a child and Laral was still his friend. He brushed the hair again. Why do you have to make me worry about you, Princeling?
Adolin stirred a little with a softly exhaled groan. Pulling away Kaladin sat up straight in his chair and reached down into the bucket, feigning another task.
“Why’d you stop?”
Adolin’s voice was cracked and dry and when Kaladin turned to look back on him his smile was half a grin and half a grimace. Kaladin frowned at him and stood, moving to the other side of the room to pour some water. Hearing a groan of pain he turned around to see Adolin attempting to push himself up.
Storming idiot.
“Lay back down before you open yourself back up and bleed all over my handy work,” Kaladin snapped, stomping back over with the glass and gently pushing the brightlord back down into the mattress, placing a pillow beneath his shoulders so he was upright enough to drink a little of the water. Adolin chuckled and then immediately hissed.
“Ow,” he said succinctly, cracking another smile at his unamused nurse. Kaladin huffed in annoyance and brought the cup to Adolin’s lips, helping him drink.
“What you did was beyond stupid.”
“I thought it went rather well, tactically,” Adolin said, his voice a little less hoarse with water softening it. He took another sip.
“That’s not what I’m talking about.”
Adolin tilted his head towards Kaladin, a sceptical but amused expression gracing it. “Oh, like you wouldn’t have done the same.”
“It’s not the same when I do it.”
“So you glow, big deal,” Adolin said, lifting his hand and waving it as though he were dismissing Kaladin’s words.
Kaladin half smiled, just a little, and quickly turned it back into the perpetual frown. “Last I heard it was a big deal.”
“Yeah well, you know,” Adolin said, trailing off. He looked up at the ceiling and sank a little into the bedding. “Every life is important, right? There were people who needed that healing more than I did.”
“We could have spread it out evenly.”
“What good does that do? I’d rather take the chasmfiend’s share of the pain.”
“With you out of commission we’re down the most effective shardbearer in Urithiru,” Kaladin pointed out, a subtle growl beneath his words. Adolin didn’t turn to look at him but some dark emotion seemed to pass over Adolin’s eyes for a brief moment. Kaladin was certain that had he not been looking he would not have seen it.
“I have other ways of being useful, Kaladin,” Adolin said.
“I… that’s not what I meant, Ado—”
Adolin grinned at him, all traces of whatever darkness or seriousness gone. “I have it on good authority I make excellent company.”
“I barely tolerate you,” Kaladin deadpanned.
Adolin feigned hurt, or perhaps he didn’t given the state of his body. “You wound me.”
“Someone has to,” Kaladin said and then paused, backtracking a little. “Metaphorically.”
Adolin smiled and shook his head a little before closing his eyes and settling down again. “Could you pet my hair again?”
Kaladin blinked. “What?”
“My mother used to do that for me when I was sick, to get me to sleep,” Adolin murmured. “It was… nice, you know?”
Kaladin grunted and scooted the chair forward more. “Fine, but only because you’re an invalid and I’m taking pity on you.”
“Excellent, emotional manipulation succeeds,” Adolin laughed, and then winced again.
“Stop hurting yourself, princeling,” Kaladin sighed, moving his hand into Adolin’s hair and carding his fingers through it. It was soft, too short to get well and truly tangled the way his own might. It was interesting to watch, the black shift into blond with merely a shift of strands.
“How much does it hurt?”
“Hm?” Adolin queried with a hum.
“Don’t lie, either,” Kaladin added.
“A lot,” Adolin sighed, shifting very slightly. “But with you here it’s not so bad.”
“Pain spren say otherwise.”
“The mind is a powerful thing, or so I’ve been told,” Adolin countered. “Just take the compliment. I like having you here.”
Kaladin grunted but didn’t cease caressing Adolin’s hair. He seemed less likely to move around and hurt himself when distracted. He continued for sometime, watching Adolin’s face slowly relax and his breaths even out into slumber.
“You care about him,” Syl said, breaking the lengthy silence as she whirled in a brilliant ribbon of light around the crown of Kaladin’s head, settling on top of it and hanging over his forehead to look into his eyes. “That’s why you’re so mad at him.”
“Of course I care about him,” Kaladin bit back. It seemed easy to admit now, sliding off his tongue like water. The truth of it settled like a stone in his stomach. “Of course I care…”
Syl leaned forward and kissed his forehead. “I know.”