Work Text:
There was little of Elhokar in his son. The boy’s face was round and pale with fear, his violet eyes fronded with long lashes. The heir to Alethkar looked hardly regal, trembling in his threadbare clothing with scrapped knees, but that was to be expected. Weeks on the run, his mother lost to Odium and his father killed in front of his eyes, gone from playing with toy soldiers to hiding with real ones.
The boy looked so small amidst the wilderness. He wouldn’t meet Kaladin’s eyes, but he kept staring at his uniform.
“Hello,” said Kaladin.
The last time, too, the boy had been scared. Elhokar had done the talking, coaxed the little prince into his father’s arms. Now Gavinor held out a tiny hand to touch the arm of Kaladin’s coat, Kholin blue.
“My name is Kaladin,” he said. “I...” Knew your father. Tolerated him. Failed him time and time again until the one that killed him. Promised him I would take care of you.
Kaladin remembered: For the living.
“I am here to take you somewhere safe,” he said. “Would you like to fly?”
The Prince, it turned out, did not. He did not seem to dislike it either, remaining silent and almost unnaturally still in a display of what looked little like royal composure and more like shock. At night, by the campfire, Skar and Drehy had spoken of their escape in hushed whispers, a tale of blood and madness and fear. They’d told the boy, over and over and over, stay quiet. They’d made it into a game. Didn’t Prince Gav want to see a city up high in the mountains, higher than even the storms? Didn’t he want to meet the rest of his family again, his grandmother Navani? His uncle the Blackthorn? The boy hadn’t known who that was. He’d stayed quiet.
The morning after that first campfire, Gavinor had gathered enough courage to look at Kaladin in the face. “We going to the city in the mountains now?”
“Would you like that?”
“I don’t know,” said Gavinor. And then. “I miss Arwia.”
A nanny, Skar explained, or some sort of governess. Perhaps even a pet; they couldn’t know for sure. The King and Queen had left the heir to be raised by a host of servants as befitted high-ranking lighteyes, especially Alethi royalty. They’d provided the child with the best of the best and gone on with their lives, the Queen to rule and the King to war, even though it was said that Elhokar had delighted in spending all of his time with the boy whenever he visited his capital, which he’d done three times since his birth. The prince’s companions would have been his caretakers, who’d either fled the Palace or been swept into insanity with the rest of the Queen’s household.
That child, Syl told Kaladin in no uncertain terms, needed some warmth.
“What about your soldier?” Kaladin asked then. Gavinor clutched the stuffed toy protectively to his chest. It was ragged and filthy, one arm dangling half-ripped off.
“What’s his name?”
Gavinor bit his lip, staring up at Kaladin from under dark lashes. “Elonon.”
“When we get to the city,” said Kaladin. “We can get him a new uniform. And a wash. And some new clothes for you.”
“Arwia used to pick out my clothes. I lost them.” It was clear the young prince didn’t think much of his new clothes, if the way he turned up his nose was any indication. Kaladin smiled.
“These are cold,” said Gavinor. “And I miss my bedroom.”
“It’s going to be cold when we fly,” said Kaladin. “But it’ll be warm in the city. We’ll get you a new bed, and new clothes, and…” What else did children need at that age? His mother would know. He’d be going back to Hearthstone as soon as he could leave the boy safely in Urithiru, to fetch his family and hope Laral would have the good sense to listen and have the people go to the Plans. It would be Kaladin and his parents, Hesina carrying his little brother, and perhaps he could Lash some of their belongings, too. Trinkets and mementoes, and old childhood toys.
That was when he remembered that, of course, Gavinor was a prince. He would have his own toys made, a new governess and minders, as much luxury as it could be found on the cusp of a Desolation. All Kaladin had to do was to escort him to Urithiru, safe, and then the boy would become somebody else’s concern.
Whose concern, he didn’t know. The thought nagged at him as the winds blew all around them, making Gavinor tense in his hold, little fists closed tightly. They flew east, to Narak, alternating height to ride the currents in the air. It was at the same time calmer and more difficult than travelling above an Highstorm — the winds weren’t as strong, but shifting so many people up and down in the air was a gruelling job.
When they finally landed by the Oathgate, sweat was running through Kaladin’s face, his left eye twitching with tension. One of Shallan’s squires, the man she’d brought along in place of Gaz, let himself fall to the ground and sprawled down where he lay.
Carefully, slowly, he put Gravinor down on the stone plateau.
“Can you stand?” he asked. The boy gave a solemn little nod. He’d stuffed his toy soldier inside his shirt so that it wouldn’t fall down, and he took it out now, so carefully. Kaladin saw Syl perched over the boy’s shoulder, watching intently.
“Are all human children so…”
She trailed off, coming to rest on his shoulder.
“So?”
“So frail.”
He looked down at the boy again and held out a hand.
“Come on,” said Kaladin. “We’re almost to the city.”
He looked behind his shoulder and caught an amused look from Drehy. The bridgemen had teased him at first, with Skar saying they should have expected Kaladin would take to the young Prince the way he took to everybody he met, and asking whether he meant to recruit Gavinor into Bridge Four. Kaladin had just shrugged. To Syl now he nodded.
“Children are frail,” he said, thinking of Tien. “They need somebody to look after them.”
But who? He couldn’t imagine Dalinar would have the time; the Blackthorn hadn’t even known Elhokar’s son was still alive when he’d sent Kaladin after his men. His work was more than enough to keep busy Navani as well. Brightness Jasnah, maybe — but she hadn’t struck Kaladin as particularly parental, the handful of times they’d spoken.
Teft was manning the platform. Kaladin nodded at him, saw his face turn enthusiastic at the sight of Skar and Drehy, alive.
“We’re going to the city, Teft.” He could feel himself smiling. No, more than that. He was grinning. “You know how much Dru’s missed Drehy here.”
When he summoned the Slyblade, Gavinor gasped. It was a small, subdued gasp, like everything else about him, but it still made Kaladin look down at the boy with worry. Idiot, he told himself. Surely the last time the boy had seen a Blade would’ve been during the battle, he should have known better — but Gavinor’s eyes were sparkling, animated for the first time with something that was not fear.
“You have a Shardblade.” He sounded absolutely delighted, much like Kaladin himself would have, at his age.
“I do.” He twisted it, until the world shifted around them.
“It’s not just a Blade,” said Kaladin. “It changes. See?”
Syl became a shorter sword, resembling the one he’d used with the Wall Guard, and then a long lance. “Her name is Sylphrena.”
“My father had a Shardblade,” said Gavinor, and Kaladin felt his heart sink in his chest — but he said it matter of fact, his voice even, like it was just something about his father that he wanted to share. Kaladin nodded.
“He did,” he said. And then. “Would you like those new clothes now?”
“Can I hold it?” Gavinor said, and it took Kaladin a moment to realize he meant the Slyblade. He dismissed it, then picked up the boy again in his arms. He was getting heavier, but there was a lot of walking ahead, among the corridors of Urithiru.
“Maybe some other time.”
He made his way to the Kholin section of the city, past the military barracks and his own quarters to the more quiet area where scribers and nobles resided. He walked swiftly, the crowds parting for him like the other soldiers had done once in Amaram’s army. Back then he’d felt awkward, out of place, but now he didn’t mind so much. He knew he belonged.
He ignored the look he was receiving, the shouts and the calls sent his direction, scouts stopping him to make reports and Radiant hopefuls gathering the courage to approach him. The boy was pressed against his chest, twisting his head to look around the cavernous corridor, eyes wide.
He stopped the first person he recognized, a plump young attendant he’d once seen carrying Navani’s notes. When he asked, he was told that Dalinar had gone to Thaylen City, and Navani with him. Brightlord Adolin, the attendant said, could be found in his quarters, if Kaladin wanted to relay a message. He hesitated, weighing — Adolin would be glad to know Elhokar’s son had survived, and Shallan would be annoyed at being interrupted, so shortly after the wedding. These both sounded like excellent reasons for barging to his door but, Kaladin figured, Adolin deserved some rest.
“The Queen is in her quarters, if you’d like.”
“The Queen?” asked Kaladin. Queen Fen?
“Jasnah Kholin, uh, Brightlord,” the attendant said. “I mean, Queen Jasnah. She’s Queen now.”
Is she. He was all too aware of the weight of the boy in his arms, the heir of a dead king, but he understood. Gavinor was a child, not a king. But Jasnah… she was hard as rock, that one, and pragmatic to a fault. And definitely wouldn’t have much time for her little nephew, not now.
“Can you relay a message to her?” Kaladin asked. “I’ve met with my men who escaped from Kholinar, and I need to talk to her. It’s urgent.”
“Also,” said Kaladin. “Could I have some new quarters readied. Mine are — occupied. And… clothes, for a young boy.” He’d never had to requisition anything that wasn’t military equipment or new uniforms. He had no idea where to start.
“And a bath.” That made him feel decadent, like some pampered lighteye, but he couldn’t exactly bring a three-year-old princeling to wash with soldiers, could he? The attendant was smiling now, but at least it looked benevolent.
“Of course,” she said, smoothly. “I’ll send a messenger for the Queen and I’ll sort out the rest, alright?”
Kaladin nodded, and all his exhaustion and gratitude must have shown plain on his face because the woman seemed to decide he was much less intimidating now than he had been just a moment ago. She looked at Gavinor in his arms and the boy stared back at her, studying her with the inquisitive look Kaladin had grown to know well. He steadied himself. He could feel it; she was dying to ask.
“Is he—”
“I’m looking after him,” Kaladin said, firmly. He wasn’t about to tell the world Gavinor had been found before his own family heard of it, but the last thing he needed were rumours about himself. Especially rumours that would upset a newly orphaned boy.
“For now,” he added. Until someone who cared more came along, and if that never happened… well. He would manage.
He surreptitiously sucked in some more Stormlight. The boy was heavy.
Later, he pried the stuffed soldier away from Gavinor’s tired fingers, gently.
“It’ll still be here later,” he said, and he didn’t just mean the toy. He wondered if the boy understood that.
Later, Jasnah Kholin sent for him. He readied himself, retrieving his shirt from the back of the chair where he’d put it to dry, after Gavinor’s bath. He buttoned it back on, and his coat.
He felt, then, small fingers tugging at his sleeve. Kholin blue.
“Captain,” said the boy. “Will you stay with me?”
Quietly, slowly, Kaladin nodded.