Chapter Text
Sweat dripped down Kaladin’s temples. He could hear his own breathing in his ears, loud but steady, as he worked through a particularly difficult Kata.
The room at Urithiru that had become the designated training space for the Windrunners was busy, but he hardly noticed the noises around him now, the Kata demanding all his attention. Exercise had a way of focusing his thoughts, creating a moment in time where nothing else mattered- not the world around him, not the darkness of his mind.
But moments, of course, had to come to an end. He reached the last pose of the Kata, held it for a moment, then let the Sylspear drop, vanishing with a puff as Syl materialized, her girlish dress fluttering as she zipped through the air around him as if she were still in the motions of the Kata. Panting lightly, he allowed the sounds of the room to drag him back to reality.
The group training nearest to him weren’t the newest recruits, but consisted mostly of squires who had joined bridge four shortly after taking up residence at Urithiru. They were training with spears, most of the regular sort as few had yet bonded their own spren. That thought threatened to sour the tenuous good mood brought on by his exercise, so he pushed it aside and approached the edge of the mat to watch as Leyten led the squires through a series of stances. They were good, Kaladin thought with pride. Lyn, especially, had taken to the spear with impressive speed, considering she had held one for the first time only a few months before. There were those who thought his inclusion of women in the Windrunners was unnatural, but Lyn’s spearmanship was anything but.
“Not bad,” Leyten said as the group finished their final stance. “One of these days you might be good enough to go up against Kaladin,” the quartermaster said with a nod in his direction.
“I bet I could take him now,” said Ris. “All due respect, sir,” the young Windrunner added hastily.
This earned him a mix of laughs and groans from his squad.
“And I’m the Stormfather,” chuckled Vorrid. “Maybe three on one. And I mean maybe.”
“I’d take those odds,” said Lyn, coming to stand near them with a glint in her eyes. She turned to Kaladin and held out a practice spear. “What do you say, Captain?”
Kaladin accepted it and, for reasons he could not quite explain, found himself stepping onto the mat. The rest of the squad cheered as they stepped back to make space. One of Lyn’s former messenger friends - Kara, he thought - giggled. Syl fluttered over to cheer alongside them, and she had clearly made herself visible to the others because she attracted a number of awed looks from those who had yet to bond their own spren.
Kaladin positioned himself across from Ris, Vorrid, and Lyn, holding his spear to the side to indicate they should make the first move.
He was ready when Ris struck, dodging to the side and countering with his own jab that just barely missed Ris’ chest. He twirled in time to catch Lyn’s spear with his own, the clash echoing through the room, whose occupants had all stopped to watch the display. Vorrid tried a downward slash that Kaladin met with an overhead block, hooking the other man’s spear and sending it flying from his grip. Kaladin turned, putting his elbow into Vorrid’s abdomen just hard enough to knock the wind out of him, as he leapt over a sweep of Ris’ spear meant to knock out his legs. A quick jab to Ris’ side before he could get his spear up to parry sent the younger man stumbling, losing his grip on the weapon. Lyn grinned as the two of them began to circle each other. Almost as one, they struck. Kaladin parried her blow without difficulty, but had to divert his own strike to do it, leaving his chest momentarily unguarded. Lyn pressed the advantage, feinting to the right and landing a glancing blow to Kaladin’s shoulder. He inclined his head in acknowledgement of the hit, then immediately brought his spear up in a counterattack. Rather than dodging back, as Kaladin had expected, Lyn lunged forward, swinging the butt of her spear upwards, inside his reach. The shaft of her spear caught around his neck, but she underestimated his weight, and he used her momentum to send them both sprawling to the floor. Kaladin recovered first, coming up to his knees to bring the tip of his spear to Lyn’s neck, her back to the ground and his knee resting on her spear arm. They were both breathing heavily, Lyn’s chest rising and falling rapidly beneath him, sweat gleaming on her neck. Their eyes met for a long moment, and Kaladin felt a strange sort of thrill. Then she laughed and let her head drop back.
“Well fought, sir,” she panted.
Kaladin grinned and extended a hand to pull her to her feet.
There was a strange energy coursing through him, and as he moved to collect their spears, he could still feel a slight tingle across his palm where their hands had met.
“That was well done,” he said genuinely. “But a maneuver like that requires weight that you don’t have against a bigger opponent, and certainly not against a Fused. With lashings you might be able to compensate, but always know your limits, and how an enemy might use them against you.”
“Sir,” Lyn saluted. There was an intensity to her gaze, and Kaladin thought his heart was beating far quicker than the sparring had warranted. He turned quickly to Ris and Vorrid, who were grumbling goodnaturedly about how easily Kaladin had taken them out.
“Vorrid, a slash like that is a last resort, you leave yourself too exposed. Ris, same problem, you’re not getting back to a defensive stance fast enough…”
As Kaladin offered suggestions to the three squires, his mind drifted back to Lyn. Moments later, though, a familiar voice interrupted his thoughts.
“I, for one, thought you all fought exceptionally well. Especially you, Bridgeboy,” Adolin said from where he was apparently leaning against the door, Shallan beside him (or was it Veil? He could never tell).
Kaladin trotted over to meet them as Adolin announced,
“We’re getting drinks. You’ve been making excuses all week, but this time I’m not taking no for an answer.”
Kaladin groaned.
“I love drinks!” Syl chimed in from where she had settled on his shoulder.
“You can’t drink, Syl,” Kaladin noted with begrudging amusement.
“Drinks are a state of mind, Kaladin!” she protested cheerfully. Shallan laughed.
“Excellent point, Syl,” she chuckled. (Veil, Kaladin thought. This was definitely Veil.)
“Consider it a wedding present,” Adolin added before he could protest.
“I already got you a wedding present,” Kaladin grumbled, but he knew enough of battle to know that this one was lost.
“One can never have enough gifts,” Adolin said haughtily, and Kaladin rolled his eyes.
“Storming lighteyes,” he muttered. He shot a desperate glance back at Lyn and Leyten, but they both shrugged and waved, leaving Adolin to hook one arm through Kaladin’s, the other through Shallan’s, and saunter off in the direction of the Breakaway.
Adolin’s new favourite winehouse- Jez’s Duty- was crowded as usual, but once Kaladin resigned himself to the outing, he found himself enjoying the distraction. Adolin, Veil (she had changed her hair to black, confirming his suspicions), and Syl did most of the talking, but Kaladin was glad for their company. Storm him if he’d ever have believed he would be friends with two lighteyes- and a Highprince at that- but despite himself, Kaladin liked Adolin and Shallan.
Syl and Shallan- Veil- were gossiping about some lighteyes or other and his latest failed relationship. Adolin asked Kaladin about Skar’s fiancee. Damnation, he was good, Kaladin thought. Skar wasn’t even technically under his command, but Adolin had taken the time nonetheless to learn about his personal life.
Then, Adolin got to the point that Kaladin suspected he had been angling towards all along.
“So how about you, Kaladin?” he asked in what he likely thought was a casual manner. “Surely the Captain of the Windrunners has plenty of potential suitors. Anyone catch your eye?”
Kaladin felt heat rising in his cheeks. Storming man.
“Adolin, we’re in the middle of a war. Falling in love isn’t exactly a priority.” Besides, he thought darkly, picturing Laral. Tarah. It never ends well.
Adolin and Veil shared a look, something they had taken to doing when he was around recently.
“Kaladin, life doesn’t stop just because the world is ending!” Adolin countered. “Going on some dates could be good for you! What about that squire woman who was flirting with you? What was her name- Lea? Lis? …”
“Lyn!” Syl cut in cheerfully. Kaladin flushed darker.
“Lyn’s not flirting with me, we’re just friends,” he protested, and was met with three dubious looks.
“Sh- Veil, back me up here,” Kaladin tried. Veil gave him a slightly pitying look.
“The tall, pretty one? Great cheekbones? No, she’s definitely flirting with you.”
Kaladin’s cheeks burned.
“Do you like her?” Adolin asked, bolstered. “She is pretty!”
Was she? Yes, he supposed she was, Kaladin admitted to himself. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t noticed. He enjoyed her company… And if his heart tended to speed up when she talked to him, certainly that didn’t mean anything.
He was silent a moment too long. Veil whistled and Adolin grinned.
“You do, don’t you!” he crowed. Hastily, Kaladin tried to take charge of the conversation.
“Even if I did,” he argued. “I’m her Captain. It would be unheard of!” Adolin snorted.
“So was being a darkeyed captain. Storms, so was training women to fight! Since when have you cared?”
Kaladin supposed he had no response to that. But he couldn’t ask Lyn out… Could he? He tried and failed to think of another reason.
Adolin clapped him on the back good-naturedly.
“Your decision, Kal,” he said. “But it’s obvious she likes you. If you do too, why not see what happens?” Veil’s hair faded back to Shallan’s natural red.
“Who knows,” she added. “You might find something you didn’t expect.” She beamed up at Adolin, who leaned in to kiss her lightly. Storms, but they could be sickening. Kaladin was going to have to get used to them being married.
Syl fluttered back onto his shoulder as Adolin paid for their drinks and the three of them stood to leave. As he followed them out of the winehouse, Shallan caught Kaladin’s arm.
“I know you’ve been hurt before, Kaladin,” she said softly, and he was reminded with a jolt that she understood him in a way Adolin could not. “But that doesn’t mean you should be alone.” She patted his arm lightly before hurrying to catch up with Adolin.
Kaladin shook his head. Lyn was a friend, a Windrunner. That was all.
But then why, asked a voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Syl, did he imagine he could still feel her hand in his?