Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

As Adolin, Shallan and Sigzil arrived at the plateaus to leave to Shadesmar, Kaladin couldn't help but feel like he was abandoning responsibility. For a long time his duty was to guard the Kholinar family and to lead Sigzil, so letting them go to a dangerous place where no stormlight in all the cognitive world could reach them made Kaladin deeply uncomfortable. Besides, they were to negotiate with the Honourspren and he was bonded to their princess! Nobody was in more right than himself to join them.

Although he knew this train of thought was irrational, he couldn't help but feel it whilst watching Adolin hoisting seemingly all the envoy’s packs onto his back. One of those packs would contain his shardplate and another full of charged broams, just in case of emergencies (though Kaladin couldn't understand what shardplate, neatly stacked within a locked pack, would do in an emergency).

The late noon sun peeked behind one of the mountains. Kaladin stood with his arms crossed, dressed in a simple loose white shirt, brown trousers and woollen coat. He’d taken to wearing his hair tied back, his branded forehead covered in one of his mother’s plainer kerchiefs. Patients would give him strange looks back in the surgery room as they saw the slave brands. What to think if your surgeon is not only an ex-slave, but a dangerous one at that, and was in charge of the scalpel in your skin.

It was odd watching the six of the envoy count provisions and making last-minute checks in the centre plateau. It was odd standing next to Dalinar on the stationary side of the war, seeing the martial missions off. It was odd not wearing a blue uniform. Ardents circled around him, as if sensing the static energy threatening to jump from Kaladin if they got too close. Although Kaladin was still, he was dreadfully tense as if poised to rip off the kerchief and fly to his new rooms to pack as if Dalinar would suddenly change his mind, turn around and claim that Kaladin must join the envoy for the sake of humanity's survival regardless of battle fatigue.

Finally Sigzil approached, being pursued by anticipationspren but looking excited at the same time. “Seeing me goodbye, Sir?” he said in that steady way of his.

“I'm not your leader anymore, Sigzil. No need to call me ‘Sir’,” Kaladin replied, voice coming out quieter than expected. The reprimand had no effort behind it though. Kaladin just felt uncomfortable with goodbyes, considering how many he'd done during his lifetime without the proper ‘goodbye I'll miss you’ stage. Seeing one of Bridge Four flying away like this felt similarly to Rock's goodbye, only with less closure and more anxiety for Sigzil’s well-being in the unmapped landscape of Shadesmar.

Sigzil stepped close and held out a hand for a shake, which Kaladin returned hesitantly.

“We’ll be back in no time Sir, and the Windrunner numbers will multiply like cremlings,” Sigzil replied lightly, obviously sensing Kaladins mood.

“Don't exaggerate Sigzil. It doesn't suit you.”

“Yes Sir.”

Kaladin rolled his eyes slightly, mainly looking down at his feet.

“Remember to take Oroden outside twice a day, and feed him thrice.”

Kaladin grunted. Maybe he wasn't the only one uncomfortable with goodbyes. Typical Sigzil, returning to routines and procedures when in doubt.

“Oroden’s nearly two. He's a toddler, not an axehound.”

“Who’s an axehound?” Shallan ambled up with her lone satchel, leaving Adolin to wrestle with too many and too-large packs. He seemed to be begging one for its straps not to snap, although it was a futile attempt in Kaladin’s opinion. Eventually Adolin gave in, grumbling as he abandoned the packs.

“Not Oroden apparently,” Sigzil said.

“Who’s Oroden?” Adolin asked, walking over with a scowl.

“Kaladin’s baby brother of course,” Sigzil replied matter-of-factly. “Everyone knows Oroden”.

“That’s only because my mother brought him to watch the windrunner drills, and he said you were all angels.” Since then Kaladin had been in Oroden’s shadow amongst the windrunners as they prefered to coo over the little boy, rather than do push-ups at Kaladin's command before his role in the army "evolved".

“I didn’t know you had a brother,” Adolin raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“You were busy infiltrating Ialai’s organisation whilst I was relocating Hearthstone,” and locking myself in my rooms to avoid you. “It's no surprise you haven't met my family. After all, why would you?”

“Because I need to prove to myself that you have human parents, and not stone ones, Bridgeboy,” Adolin teased, a little too quickly.

“Oh, I don't know,” Shallan said, “it fits quite well - the overprotective, intimidating demeanour and all. It's like you've practised being a big brother all your life.” Kaladin shifted and looked at the ground again.

A loud yelp came from behind the group - an ardent had tried to shift one of Adolin’s packs he had abandoned in the way of traffic, and the strap had finally failed, dropping onto their foot.

“What do you have in there, Princeling?” Kaladin stressed.

“We’re meeting Honourspren - royals of all spren - and you think I wouldn’t come prepared?” Adolin replied, grabbing Kaladin’s and Sigzil’s arms. “Quick, out of sight before father puts two and two together and comes for me. The Ten Rings sound good to you?” he said in an excuse to a last visit in his favourite winehouse.

“Adolin, no. You’re to leave this evening-”

“Please. I saw the edgedancer take all our food - I think Syl helped her by the way - and it will take hours to rearrange the provisions. Besides,” his eyes flicked Kaladin up and down. “I haven't seen you since your role in the army ‘evolved’. I need to be updated now that I've found out you had a baby.”

“I didn’t… nevermind,” Kaladin growled, giving in. His misery told him to avoid anything social, but he knew from experience that Adolin’s persistence meant he could allow himself - to quote the man - ‘at least be miserable around friends’. It was only because they would be leaving for an unforeseeable amount of time did Kaladin allow himself to be led across the stone field before Urithiru and into the usual winehouse.

Syl naturally flitted away to her usual inspection of people's faces and gestures. Shallan immediately ordered the strongest ale, not even settling into the usual booth. Sigzil, curious, took out a pen and pad of paper and challenged Shallan, Radiant and Veil to an experiment to see how alcohol varied between the three women. Shallan giggled and then Veil appeared, vigorously agreeing to the challenge. Whilst Sigzil avidly watched Shallan/Radiant/Veil down the stuff, Adolin groaned from across the booth. “I forget she needs no limit for alcohol. She can just burn it away, no strings attached. The usual orange for you?” Kaladin nodded and Adolin ordered an orange and a yellow for himself. He couldn't risk a hangover because of the coming mission. “I can’t get used to you not being dressed in blue. I can't imagine your complexion in anything other than blue and brown.”

“When I was a slave, one of my masters had me wear a pink uniform,” Kaladin mused, then caught Adolin’s eye and pressed his red face into his drink that had just arrived. He’d hardly talked about those months as a slave to anyone - even Moash, Teft and Rock. but Adolin had that effect on people; making them relaxed and speak with unguarded mouths.

“Jasnah’s planning to free all of Alethkars’s slaves,” Adolin replied, changing the topic as he sensed Kaladin’s sudden discomfort.

“That’s… nice.” he said, pushing down the unwanted feelings connected to his memories as a slave. Violation, humiliation, dread… silence followed and Kaladin glanced to Shalla- no, Veil, as she took stormlight from the winehouse’s lanterns to evaporate a jug of horneater mud beer from her system. The room dimmed considerably.

“So, a baby brother. Now you know how I feel with Renarin.” Adolin offered another change of topic and a smile.

“I suppose,” Kaladin grunted.

“Come one, Kaladin. Allow yourself this one thing. You can’t push everyone away. Especially a little brother. He needs you as much as you need him. Trust me, I know.” Adolin held his eyes and Kaladin felt oddly ashamed, even though Adolin was mistaken about Kaladin’s behaviour towards the topic. Sort of. He wasn't trying to push Oroden away, but he was brutally reminded of his once-brother who never made it into the conversation, killed and forgotten to time. The brother he had fatally failed. Putting Tien next to Oroden was a painful reminder of what was, what could have been, and what could become.

Adolin sighed, relaxing slightly, but still held his gaze. “I apologise, Bridgeboy. I didn't mean to criticise you. That was insensitive of me.” A pause. Kaladin stared at the bottom of his cup. Veil had passed out and cheering from Sigzil stopped as he poked her with his pencil.

“No. You're right.” Kaladin said quietly after a long silence. “I should be there for him. All of me.” All that's left of me. Another pause. Adolin glanced at Kaladin's hands fidgeting with his cup. “But I don't know if I can…'' Keleks breath, they're going to have to name this booth 'Stormface’s vulnerable safe place’.

“Let's see him then.”

“What?”

“You’re saying you don’t know if you can be there for Oroden, so I think we should go up to your rooms and - well - be there for him.”

Kaladin scratched his kerchief. “I'm not sure that’s going to do much, Princeling.”

“Well, if it's not going to do much, then there’s no harm in doing it anyway.”

“That's… one way of putting it.”

“Then it’s settled. It's not like there's much to do here anyway,” Adolin gestured to Syl, who was staring in fascination at Sigzil’s notes and Shallan’s snores.

Chapter Text

Adolin and Kaladin walked out of the winehouse into a crowd of hungry couples and thirsty pub-goers, leaving behind an ecstatic Sigzil and a determined Veil who didn't have her sights on anything much for the rest of the night but drink. Even the sight of Shallan's husband didn’t evoke Shallan into being. She must be anxious about entering Shadesmar, but Kaladin couldn't think why. Of all of them, she was the most capable in that place, being able to soulcast the glass spheres.

Kaladin could have flown them both up to the balcony but he was using enough stormlight to simply function, and other radiants needed the stormlight which could only come through the Oathgates after a highstorm - a demand that increased day by day. So instead they walked to the lift, accompanied by couples and friends talking low to one another, scribes engrossed with their sketchpads, and ardents pondering on what glyphward to burn before the night. The light was dim but warm. Only the sound of soft whispers and scratching pencils echoed eerily up the lift shaft. Bellies were full of dinners and drinks. Although people had places to be, none were rushing and bustling.

They soon reached the sixth floor where the halls were darker and quieter, with only sparsely-placed fire lanterns to light the twisting hallway. Occasionally a Hearthstone farmer would approach from a fork in the hallway, heading to the common living area or kitchens. Kaladin would follow, but he branched off at a more residential looking hallway. Someone had left their shoes outside the doorway. Not a smart decision, Adolin thought. In times of desperation - such as the arrival of the Everstorm - simple necessities suddenly became extremely valuable.

Kaladin reached the end of the hallway and opened the door. Warm red light pooled from the fabrial hearth in the kitchen. A woman stood before it. She turned from the boiling pan of cloths she had set upon it.

“Mother, Adolin Kholin. Adolin Kholin, Hessina,” Kaladin said by way of introduction, shrugging off his coat.

“Highprince! Hello, I wasn't expecting- ” She looked back and forth between the two men, “this. Weren't you going to go to Shadesmar? Kaladin mentioned it.”

“I apologise for my unexpected arrival. There was a delay, so instead I thought I'd meet the family of a man who has done so much for my own family.” Kaladin scowled at him as he took their coats and hung them beside the door, as if to say you're embarrassing me. “I'll be heading off tomorrow.”

“Of course. Good luck, Brightlord. We wish you and your wife well.” She turned to Kaladin. “Kaladin, I'll be going forty-three doors down after these cloths are done. Trim is having a complicated pregnancy and, well, it's too early to arrive and she's very distressed, as you can imagine.”

“Can I help?” Kaladin asked.

“No, then there'd be too many in the room. Besides, I'm more suited for this area than you. By the way, Oroden is at Laral's apartment. He tried stepping off the chair, like you off the balcony, but thankfully the fall was short and he’s tough. You need to be more careful about what you do in front of him. Children don’t do what you tell them, they imitate,” she scolded. She took the pan off the heat and sieved the cloths.

Adolin watched Kaladin and his mother. They looked very similar - same poise, same hair, same pretty mouth. Side by side, with Kaladins scowl at a minimum, the contrast made him look like the age he was: barely twenty-one and still a young son. The brands aged him terribly, and that made Adolin feel pity for the man, though he didn't dare show it. Whatever was stolen from him, at whatever age, it’s still sad to see someone's child be hurt so much whilst the parent would have wished them to be safe and happy.

Hessina left, and Kaladin turned towards him. He gestured with his head, "come on,” and strode onwards through another room, picking up some pretty little wooden cremling toys to bring to Oroden down the hall - expensive, now that the only woodlands near the shattered planes was deminishing by the minute.

“Kaladin, there’s one more over there,” Adolin plucked an intricately carved - albeit wonky - wooden horse from the bookshelf.

Kaladin turned, eyebrow arched. But the moment he saw the horse, his expression turned sour and he abruptly snatched the horse away.

“This one- it's not a toy. We don't need it.” And he plonked it back on the shelf.

“Kaladin, I'm sorry. What is it? I've upset you.” Adolin glanced between the little horse and Kaladin's odd expression. “I can tell it means a lot to you.”

No reply.

“Kaladin. Please.” Adolin took him by the arm. Kaladin glared back with such a great intensity Adolin had to rethink his words. “I'm trying to help you. So far I've been gentle, but this time I need you to cooperate with me. I'm going to go for... only Stormfather knows how long, and I need to end us on a note where I can be sure you'll be alright whilst I'm away. It hurts me, Kaladin, because I know you can get through this but you're holding yourself back. I'll be stuck in Shadesmar with Shallan, and she's dreading the journey, and you know the state she's already in.” He paused for a breath. “Like I said. If you let me help you, I can help her too.”

“What in Roshar made you think I could get through this,” Kaladin spat. “You have no idea what I've been through. Don't pretend you do. If you’re so confident I can get through it, then Shallan can do it herself." He shook Adolin off - not gently. "You can help her yourself.”

Storms. I pushed him too far, too fast. Now I've gone backwards. He felt helpless against the impending tide that was Kaladin’s and Shallan’s darkness. It wasn't fair. In all of Roshar, those two were the ones that deserved happiness, and they were suffering from within themselves. This wasn't any fused Adolin could combat. It was a formless, ineffable, intangible thing he couldn't shield them from. He was meant to be one of the most powerful people in Alethkar, and he couldn't do anything.

Even if he could, it was too late. Kaladin was out of the door.

"I'm worried about him," a little voice chirped at Adolin's shoulder. He jumped at the sudden appearance of Syl. Her dress looked heavier than usual, drooping around her ankles. "He's been like this for weeks. I don't know what to do." She stared at him reproachfully, as if he had the answers to all of the questions Syl had about humans.

"I'm running out of ideas, Syl," Adolin replied. "I'm running out of time."

He couldn't help but feel that a point in time was coming, where Kaladin will lose himself if he doesn't get better soon.

He bet Kaladin thought this too.

Chapter Text

"Syl, there you are," Kaladin observed, walking along the hallway. He had stood flustered and confused in front of the door he'd stormed out of, leaving his guest inside: basically locking himself out of his own home.

After a colourful string of curses, he headed towards the other end of the hallway to Laral’s rooms. After all, he still had pockets full of wooden cremlings.

Syl spun around his head, seemingly distressed, and didn't reply. Very unlike Syl. What's she got on her mind? Kaladin wondered, although he knew the answer.

When they reached the correct door, Kaladin hesitated. Dare he come to Oroden in this state? Agitated, short of temper and restless? Oroden would need putting to bed, not getting wound up again before bedtime, and the whirlwind of energy Kaladin was giving off right now was a lot of things - but peacefulness wasn't one of them.

He gently opened the door and left the toys on a low shelf that Oroden was certain to find, and quietly retreated with no one from the other room noticing.

Kaladin cursed himself again. If he hadn't got so triggered by Adolins words, he would be cradling his brother by now! (Or so he told himself). Stupid, worried, loyal, patient Princeling.

Syl whimpered. "Are you not going to stay inside? Or are we going back to Adolin again? I- I think that's a good idea! Let's go get him!" she zipped off before he could say anything. Storms. He hadn’t thought ahead about what to do with himself after visiting Oroden, but being alone sounded like the most appealing option.

Kaladin stopped and slumped against the wall. If I melt into the walls right here, Adolin will be called back to the envoy before he can find me, he thought pathetically.

He could hear pained cries nearby. Perhaps forty-three doors down from his own.

He didn't know how long he'd been sitting there until Adolin quietly, steadily stepped towards him and sat down too.

He could hear his father's voice calming a distressed woman. They sat in silence as cries started again, in less panic but now slower, resigned. Adolin hung his head. The fire lamp further down the hallway flickered as Syl flitted around it in a ribbon of light.

Then suddenly, a little cry broke the fog of silence. Screeching and pure and scared and wonderful. Newborns had an unmistakable cry that melted the heart, but premature babies have another kind altogether. Adolin looked up, then dared a glance at Kaladin, who had his head nestled in his arms, legs curled up. Kaladin returned the look through his eyebrows, but there was no malice. There was no frown, just resignation. And a little bit of relief for Trim.

With a sloppy soup of strange emotions inside of him, Adolin reached over and hesitantly removed Kaladin's 'kerchief. Kaladin made no effort to stop him. He just looked forward, as drained as ever. Adolin traced his thumb against the ridges of the brands.

"Maybe… maybe I can be your midwife." He winced at at his choice of words. "I mean to say, whatever you're going through is impending and scary, but it will end. It could end in many ways - good and bad. But someday something will change, and I'll always be there for you when it does, no matter how unpleasant, and I'll help pick up the pieces… Although I don't always know how to do that, so you’ll have to guide me from time to time.” Kaladin didn’t respond. “I'll be patient. At least, I'll try to be. And in return, you could try to pretend to like me." He nudged Kaladin lightly with a small grin.

Kaladin's nose was still tucked into his elbow, hair a little unkempt. Adolin absently ran his finger through a lock of it. It was cleaner than what Adolin was used to, now that Kaladin stopped doing sweaty soldier work, and had turned to grooming it into a ponytail. A strand at the front was too short to tuck in, so insead it curled around his cheekbone.

"It sounds a bit messy," Syl piped up. "But it'll do, won't it Kaladin?"

He snorted lightly. "Yeah, it'll do. It'll do for now."

Chapter Text

The next day, the envoy was finally ready to be off. The crisp air sparkled with morning dew. Kaladin had brought Oroden this time and he was immediately swamped by the envoy. Soon enough, Oroden was in Sigzil’s arms.

In the centre of the plateau guards surrounded the collection of bags that had significantly reduced in number, and Adolin stood next to them looking rather proud of himself. Shallan sat on the steps next to where Kaladin stood, squinting into the sun. Maybe there's only so much stormlight can do for someone who drank a winehouse's stock of horneater mud beer.

As Kaladin stood to the side of the crowd, Adolin approached, flashing that charming grin. “I refined my provisions. ” He gestured to the bags, speaking as if it was the most seductive thing to say to a woman.

“I can see that. I assume you prioritised the nesessary items, and not the optional ones?”

Adolin flicked Kaladin a side-eye. “Mhm. Anyway, I forgot something in our rooms but it'll take too long to walk there, so could you quickly fly me? Sigzil seems to be busy.” They watched Sigzil parade Oroden around on his shoulders. Kaladin sighed and nodded, reaching out to Adolin's arm and breathing in stormlight. “I suppose getting the envoy’s Highprince his fashion magazines is for the good of Roshar,” he grunted, and lashed them into the sky.

Adolin’s belly lurched and tumbled several metres under his feet, until swinging back around and up into his chest as Urithiru’s walls fell up. Or Adolin went down. Even though he was going up into the sky. The paradoxes made him feel faint and with nothing solid around him, other than Kaladin’s sure grip, his chest constricted.

Thankfully, they quickly landed on his balcony. Kaladin with grace, Adolin with uncoordination. He had to steady himself on the stone balcony railing for a moment, then puffed out a small “phew!” and strode inside. “Come in, Bridgeboy. Don't just stand there.”

Kaladin sheepishly followed, hesitant to enter the young couple’s rooms for obvious reasons.

“What did you forget to come all the way back up?” Kaladin asked.

“Actually I just wanted some privacy,” Adolin replied.

Kaladin faltered. “What do you mean?”

“I wanted to promise you that I will come back. I want you to be there when I do.”

Kaladin flushed. He didn't want to be treated like a child, but because he’d been acting like one, Adolin had thought it necessary to make silly promises so that Kaladin would be a good boy and behave until Adolin got back.

"Um…” Adolin started, after Kaladin just stood there glaring at the floor.

“I'm not a child, Adolin.” Kaladin blurted.

“Of course you aren't! Storms, Kal, you're far from being a child. But adults need taking care of now and again - especially the old grouchy ones that refuse everyone's help, only to turn around and help others.” Adolin shook his head. “Anyway. I knew it would be unlikely that you'd accept my promise, but I wanted to do it anyway. If not to settle your mind, but my own.”

Kaladin frowned. He wouldn't make a promise for his own sake (that would be an empty promise) but for Adolin’s sake, it felt… almost doable.

Kaladin frowned again. How did Adolin do it? He kept making things feel… not terrible. As if things were actually plausible. He shook his head as if to get rid of the nonsense.

"May I hug you?"

Kaladin flushed again "Huh?"

"It's a thing people do to each other, now and again. It's to make sure they've not been soulcasted into stone. Or a wallflower."

"What's a wallflower?"

"I don't actually know. Wit was banging on about it the other day. I guess it must be referring to soulcast flour, when it's stale. That stuff would build the strongest walls."

"Yes."

"Huh?"

"I, uh… You may hug. Me. Because you kind of begged and it was hard to watch so- oof!"

"I'll miss you, Bridgeboy." Adolin's muffled voice sounded from Kaladin's collar. There wasn't much in their height difference, and it was only when they were close in proximity did Kaladin notice it.

Kaladin rested an arm on Adolin's back, his mind someplace far away. When was the last time he touched someone like this, who wasn't his own parents? A memory shoved its way into the front of his mind, rearing its ugly head. Kaladin could suddenly smell sweat and mud, hear the sound of the riddens bouncing down the chasm walls, scanning Moash's face as he got closer and closer.

Kaladin twitched involuntarily.

Adolin stepped back, but he didn't seem to have noticed Kaladin’s unrest.

"Goodbye, Kaladin." He touched Kaladin’s cheek one last time, offered a small upturn of the lips, and left.

—

Kaladin watched the envoy from the balcony.

He turned back inside before they left.