Chapter Text
Kaladin POV
Kaladin felt good. Not great. Not after everything that had happened in the past year. After Teft...
No, he didn't feel great.
But good. Maybe. The overwhelming weight of his failures had mostly disappeared with the last of the Parshendi occupation. Syl liked the change in him. She smiled more. And so did he. He couldn't help it. In the months since the battle at Urithiru, his wounds had begun to heal. Including some of the internal scars he had been carrying around for far too long.
I will accept that there will be those I cannot protect. It ran through his head every time he thought too long on his past. He’d meant the words. You couldn’t say them and not mean them. And it eased the weight. It did.
But sometimes Kaladin still felt like he was a failure. He still had nightmares, frozen faces of men who had died for him. Tien. Teft. Elhokar. Cenn. Dallet. They haunted his dreams. Almost constantly.
But he was good. Mostly. At least he hadn’t had a panic attack since the occupation ended.
And he had friends. Mostly just Shallan and Adolin. He considered Bridge 4 family. But they had splintered. They were different from who they’d been when they’d first come together. And they’d lost so many of the original crew that Kaladin wasn’t sure it was even still Bridge 4.
Rock was gone. Moash was gone. Teft was dead. In a way he felt like a failure all over again.
A knock at the door pulled him out of his contemplation and Kaladin slid off his bed. As soon as he slid the door open, he was met with Adolin and Shallan waiting outside. Shallan was hugging Kaladin’s mother and whispering something with a secretive smile. Adolin balanced Oroden on his hip, one hand still outstretched from knocking.
“Bridgeboy!” Adolin smiled, “Are you still brooding?” Kaladin tried to scowl at him, but he was holding Oroden in such a soft way, and Oroden was smiling so wide that Kaladin’s sour expression faltered. “A smile?” Adolin announced, triumphant. “I got him to smile Shallan!” Shallan’s head whipped around, barely catching the hint of a grin before Kaladin schooled his expression back to neutral.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, princeling,” he said, crossing his arms.
“Kal,” Hessina chided, a soft smile on her face. Kaladin blushed, sheepishly kissing her on the cheek.
“Be nice, Kal.” She clicked her tongue, grabbing a giggling Oroden back from Adolin. The prince ran a hand through his tousled blond and black hair, tickling Oroden’s stomach one last time before turning back to Kaladin.
“We’ve got plans, Bridgeboy, let’s go.”
…
The plans Adolin was talking about were more of a mistake on Kaladin’s part than anything else. He’d zoned out the last time Adolin had started yapping in his ear like an axehound pup, and he’d accidentally agreed to go to Renarin’s twentieth birthday party. Not that he would have refused to go, but a part of him wasn’t sure whether Renarin actually liked him or not. Renarin didn’t really talk much. And Kaladin wasn’t exactly the social type either. They had never really hung out without the rest of Bridge 4 as a buffer.
But Renarin’s birthday was going to be small. Something about Renarin not liking crowds. The only people from Bridge 4 who’d been able to come were Kaladin and Rlain. And however much he trusted Rlain’s intentions, a part of him was always a bit uneasy around the listener man.
So it was just him, Adolin and Shallan, Rlain, and Renarin.
That was not an ideal situation for Kaladin. Especially since he was the only darkeyes of the group. Rlain was Parshendi, which was different. Maybe. He wondered if that was how Rlain felt all the time. Like he was being watched, judged, picked apart like a surgeon was peeling his skin back.
To make matters worse, Syl wasn’t in Urithiru. She had gone back to Lasting Integrity to help with some of the deadeyes. She was remembering more and more the longer their bond went on, and one of the things she remembered was a friend who’d died in the Recreance. Now that they knew the deadeyes weren’t really dead, the honor spren were rounding them all up, trying to treat them. To heal. Syl had felt obligated to at least try to find her friend, but that left Kaladin in the position he was in now. Alone.
Adolin dragged Kaladin down to the marketplace, going down the lift to the bottom floors of the tower city. It was a strange feeling for Kaladin to stand inside the lifts, completely out of his control. He’d never been afraid of heights, especially since he’d learned he could fly, but suddenly the thought that the lift might break and he and Adolin could plummet to their deaths consumed his thoughts. Syl wasn’t there to help him fly. He was essentially helpless.
He gritted his teeth against the thoughts. Adolin noticed his grimace and frowned.
“If you really don’t want to go, I’m sure Renarin would understand.”
“It’s not that,” Kaladin said, starting to feel a little sick. “It’s… the lift.” Adolin raised an eyebrow.
“You afraid of heights, Bridgeboy?” He smiled. Kaladin rolled his eyes, his unease lifting a bit.
“Shut up, I’m not afraid of heights. Just…lifts.”
Adolin clapped Kaladin on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Bridgeboy, I’ll protect you.” Kaladin’s face flushed, his stomach twisting.
“I don’t need to be protected,” he tried to shoot back, but it came out a little strangled. Adolin glanced at him, seemingly searching for something in his face. Before he could say anything else, the doors to the lift opened and Kaladin stormed out. Adolin grabbed his hand—storms, the man was touchy—ignoring his protests and pulled him along the marketplace until they reached the bar where the others were waiting.
Shallan had somehow beaten them both there, despite leaving Kaladin’s quarters at the same time. Kaladin wasn’t sure how she got around the tower so quickly and quietly sometimes. It was a little bit frightening if he was being honest.
Renarin and Rlain sat quietly next to her, studiously avoiding eye contact with each other. Kaladin wondered if Renarin also felt strange around the listener.
“Finally!” Shallan teased, crossing her arms. Her eyes dropped down to where Adolin was still holding Kaladin’s hand and her eyebrow raised slightly. Kaladin quickly dropped Adolin’s hand, his skin feeling hot. Thankfully, Renarin and Rlain were too busy ignoring each other to notice Kaladin’s embarrassment.
“Happy birthday, little man,” Adolin said, ruffling Renarin’s hair in a way that made Kaladin’s heart ache. Renarin elbowed Adolin in the side, laughing. Tien had had a laugh like that once. He clenched his fists to ground himself, digging his nails into the skin of his palms.
Shallan’s hand on his upper arm startled him out of his thoughts.
“Are you alright, Kal?” She asked, voice soft. It was a habit she had picked up from Hessina. Kal. It had been so long since he’d been that little boy. He sighed, taking a deep breath and releasing his fists.
“I’m fine.” He pulled out a chair. When the waitress came around, he ordered a glass of horneater white.
It was going to be a long night.