Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Kaladin

“They’re baaack,” Syl says in a singsong voice. She swings her feet excitedly from her perch on Kaladin’s shoulder as the Oathgate platform flashes brightly, signalling travelers coming through. Kaladin can’t help the small smile that crosses his face at her words. 

They’re back. Finally. 

He waits off to the side of the Oathgate platform with the rest of the newly reawoken Windrunners, watching from afar when Adolin and Shallan step out onto the platform, finally returned from their journey to Shadesmar. They give hugs all around, to Renarin and Navani and, in Shallan’s case, Dalinar. Adolin’s relationship with his father is still delicate, heavy with the memories and mistakes of the past, so they forgo any overtly physical affection, instead shaking hands with stiff postures and, Kaladin can tell even from this far away, tense smiles.

The Windrunners who’d been sent to fetch them from the Cognitive Realm fly over to join Kaladin’s group, led by Drehy, and he sees Adolin follow their progress, tracking them through the sky and back down to solid ground to reunite with the rest of their Order. Adolin’s eyes flit among their group until he finally catches sight of Kaladin.

Their eyes meet and Adolin’s gaze softens, lips curling upward with joy and relief. 

Kaladin woke up feeling strangely okay this morning, a surprise considering all he’s been through in the past few weeks, so it’s easy for him to give a smile in return, and then Adolin hops down from the platform, turning to help Shallan down behind him, and they're immediately making their way over at a brisk walk. 

When they get close Kaladin steps forward, Syl zipping off his shoulder to swirl around them happily, and meets them out in front of the crowd of Windrunners. Adolin’s strong arms wrap around him tightly and Shallan is not far behind, throwing her much thinner ones around his waist. Kaladin’s shaking suddenly, overcome with everything that’s happened since they left the tower, and he tucks his face down into Adolin’s neck, sucking in a deep breath, one hand clutching tightly to the back of Adolin’s jacket, the other dropping to Shallan’s arm, two warm points of contact to help him weather the storm.

Adolin murmurs comforting words into his hair while Shallan rubs his back soothingly. Clearly they must have heard at least some of what went on here during their absence, and Kaladin is glad for it, grateful that he doesn’t have to explain everything and for the support they so willingly offer him. 

Eventually he pulls out of their embrace, wiping his eyes, and instead of rejoining their group or making their way up with Dalinar and Navani, Adolin and Shallan assume positions on either side of him and the three of them walk back to the tower together, his two favorite people filling him in on the details of their journey, Syl happily leading the way.

_____

Kaladin is sitting on Shallan and Adolin’s couch, flipping casually through a fashion folio Adolin must have left sitting around before he left the tower weeks ago. They begged him to stay, just wanted to change out of their dirty travel clothes, so he made himself comfortable in their living room as he waited for them to reemerge from the bedroom. Syl flew off to wherever it is she goes when Kaladin asks her for some alone time, but only after winking obnoxiously and blowing him an exaggerated kiss.

Shallan rejoins him first, plopping onto the cushions next to him, smacking a wet kiss on his cheek.

“Storms, we missed you, you absolute grump of a man,” she says with a gusty sigh and a teasing grin.

Kaladin tries to suppress his own smile but gives up, his joy at seeing them again impossible to tuck away. Joyspren float around them and Shallan’s eyes light up at the sight of the dancing blue leaves. 

That’s right, Kaladin thinks. They might know about Navani’s new bond with the Sibling, but they haven’t gotten to experience the frankly ridiculous amount of spren firsthand yet. 

Shallan jumps up to grab a sketchbook off the desk in the corner of the room before returning to the couch, settling with one leg tucked underneath her body and leaning into Kaladin's side. She rests her head on his shoulder as she begins to sketch and soon loses herself in her art. 

It’s not long before Adolin joins them too, dropping a kiss on the top of Shallan’s head before collapsing to the couch on Kaladin’s other side. He heaves a mighty sigh and leans his head on Kaladin’s available shoulder, mirroring Shallan, and Kaladin’s heart trembles in his ribcage with affection.

He missed them so much.

It’s quiet for a while, just the sounds of their breathing filling the silence around them, as Shallan sketches and Kaladin continues to flip absently through the folio, Adolin pointing things out with the occasional murmur. Some of his favorites, which of them are the newer, edgier styles, a couple of small improvements he’d make on a piece here or there.

Then Shallan closes her sketchbook with a soft snap and sits up straight, breaking the quiet peace.

“Alright, boys, as much as I’d love to cuddle all night, I do have places to be,” she says. 

Kaladin turns his head to look at her questioningly and Adolin makes an unhappy noise from his other side.

“Where could you possibly need to go, Shallan? We just got back,” the blonde asks incredulously.

“Dark underground criminal organizations wait for no one, I’m afraid,” she says mournfully. She stands, reaching her arms above her head and groaning at the stretch.

“Do you– want us to come with you?” Adolin asks hesitantly. 

Shallan bursts out laughing, quite rudely, in Kaladin’s opinion. He narrows his eyes. 

“What? No!” she says, then backtracks at his and Adolin’s looks of offense. “No, sorry, darling, it’s just… you’re both insanely obvious, even with a lightweaving. It’s in the way you carry yourselves.”

Adolin raises an eyebrow, and she rolls her eyes.

“I love the way you carry yourselves, it’s very attractive, don’t give me that look,” she says to him. “It’s just not great for sneaking.”

She disappears into the bedroom again for a minute before reemerging wearing Veil’s white hat.

“Still me,” she says before anyone can ask. “Veil’s still gone. But she is still a part of me, too.”

There’s a lingering sadness in her eyes but she also seems to be at peace with whatever happened to cause the merging, and Kaladin is happy for her, that she’s found this balance within herself.

Adolin stands and steps toward her, reaching with both hands to pull her face to his and kissing her gently on the mouth. They separate, smiling softly at each other, and then Shallan pulls away, gives Kaladin a quick but sweet kiss on the lips, and heads for the door.

“I’ll probably be out late, so don’t wait up,” she says to them, winking lasciviously at Kaladin, who rolls his eyes even as his cheeks heat up. Both she and Syl must have some kind of competition going for who can embarrass him most. He’s not amused. 

Then she’s gone, and it’s just the two of them.

Kaladin turns to Adolin, who is still standing where Shallan left him by the bedroom door, and finds the other man already looking back at him, eyes dark. Kaladin stands as well, tossing the folio to the table in front of him with a soft thwack, and Adolin moves toward him like a magnet. And then they’re crashing together, hands fisted in clothing, fingers tugging at hair, lips sliding against one another’s with scalding heat.

Kaladin groans deep in his chest, and Adolin whines at the sound of it, pushing his body up against Kaladin’s like he wants to meld them together. 

“Almighty, you have no idea how much I missed you,” Adolin breathes into his mouth, and Kaladin kisses him again, tries to show him through touch that he might have some idea, that he’d wished Adolin had been there with him through everything, even while being incredibly glad he was somewhere else, that both he and Shallan were somewhere else, far away from all the danger and the horror and the death.

Kaladin pulls back with a gasp, clenching his eyes shut against the sudden flood of painful memories, dark and intrusive, tainting the moment.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Adolin murmurs, thumb caressing the side of his face in gentle strokes. The passionspren that had just been raining down have disappeared, making way for agonyspren and painspren clawing at Kaladin’s feet. 

Adolin kisses his cheek, then stretches to press another to the smooth skin of his forehead, right where his scars used to be, and Kaladin lets out a breath like a sob, hard and sudden, his soul aching.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here for you, Kal. I wish I could have been,” he says softly, voice filled with regret, and Kaladin shakes his head, because he doesn’t wish that. He’s glad Adolin wasn’t here. He’s glad he didn’t have to experience what Kaladin did, and he’s equally glad that Adolin hadn’t seen the man he nearly let himself become, there at the end. He’s not proud of that man.

Adolin doesn’t argue, just presses their lips together, soft and tender, and says, “I’m here now.”

Kaladin presses their foreheads together for a breath and then reaches up to Adolin’s shirt, unfastening one silver button at a time before pulling it open and running his hands along the smooth skin of Adolin’s chest. He has a new scar on his stomach, a wound recently healed, and Adolin’s skin twitches as Kaladin runs light fingers across it.

“Spear,” Adolin murmurs, and Kaladin closes his eyes and swallows back the grief. He knows he can’t protect everyone, that lesson still agonizingly fresh in his mind as he thinks of Teft’s soulcast body. But he wants so badly to be able to at least save the ones he loves most, and seeing the scar on Adolin’s body, the evidence of an injury that Kaladin wasn’t there to defend him from, feels like a stab to his own gut.

He exhales a shuddering breath and opens his eyes, letting his hands slide up along Adolin’s ribs, his muscular chest, up the sides of his neck and down his shoulders, sliding the shirt off, letting it fall.

Adolin whips a hand out behind himself, catching the shirt before it flutters to the floor, leaning away to quickly toss it carefully over the back of a nearby chair, and Kaladin grins, ridiculously charmed. Joyspren and passionspren swirl up around them again as he grabs Adolin’s waist with both hands and hauls him closer, kisses him deeply, swallows his moans and savors the taste of him. 

They lose themselves in each other, tangled in Adolin’s sinfully soft sheets, relearning each other’s bodies after being apart for months that carried the weight of years. Skin slides against sweaty skin as they move together, Adolin’s whispers as sweet as honey in Kaladin’s ears, as intoxicating as wine. And when Adolin finally settles himself deep inside Kaladin’s body, Kaladin sighs with both pleasure and relief, because he finally feels complete again. 

Chapter Text

Kaladin

Things return to normal over the next few days, or as normal as things can ever really be in the midst of a war against an ancient and vengeful god. Kaladin stays with Adolin that first night, and then with both Adolin and Shallan the second, because he seems unable to let go of them just yet after they’ve been out of his reach for so long. Neither of them complain, so Kaladin doesn’t feel too guilty about it, but the third morning he puts his metaphorical foot down and heads back to his own room, which has been sadly neglected of late. 

Standing in the doorway, he stares across the sterile room at the unmade bed that he hasn’t slept in since before the occupation, and wonders about what comes next for him. Now that he’s a Radiant of the Fourth Ideal, but still technically retired from the military, he wonders if returning to the clinic to work with his father is even a realistic option.

The thought makes him flinch, remembering the incident with the scalpel, and his mind skitters away from any and all thoughts of the clinic, or Teft, or anything relating to the occupation. He makes the bed, because even if he’s going to go back to his parents’ apartments and stay with them for a little while longer (which, if he’s honest with himself is probably a good idea, he’s not sure if he’s quite ready to be living alone again yet), he can at least leave his room presentable for when he does eventually return.

He changes into something clean, casual clothing that always feels slightly off on his body but that he forces himself into anyway because he’s no longer a soldier. Then he heads up to the Hearthstone halls.

In the clinic his mother greets him with a smile and a hug, standing from her ledger behind the half wall that separates her workspace from the waiting room. Several patients sit, awaiting their turn to be seen by his father.

“Anything I can help with?” He asks, and Hesina immediately puts him to work, setting him up in one of the generic examination rooms, sending the more low-priority patients his way as the day wears on. Syl is fascinated, as she always is, at all of the different injuries and ailments the human body is capable of, constantly asking questions and getting in the patients’ faces, though they aren’t aware of it because she stays invisible to them.

The time passes quickly and the three of them close up the clinic together later that evening, cleaning and organizing and preparing for tomorrow, a new day with new patients and new problems.

As he finishes sweeping the waiting room his mother stacks some folios on the table that patients will often flip through while waiting to be called back. Kaladin hesitates, then clears his throat, and Hesina and Syl look up at him questioningly.

“Can I… Would it be alright if I… stayed with you all? For a little bit longer? Just until I get back on my feet,” he asks his mother, feeling awkward and embarrassed.

“Oh, Kaladin,” Syl says sadly.

Hesina immediately puts the folios down and walks over to him, pulling him down to give him a fierce hug. Kaladin holds on to her tightly. Syl lands on his shoulder and attempts to hug his cheek with her incorporeal arms. He can’t feel it but he appreciates the gesture all the same.

“Of course, Kal. For as long as you need,” Hesina says. His eyes feel hot and he hides his face as he tries to reel in his emotions.

Clipped footsteps announce his father’s arrival but neither he nor his mother move to pull apart, and then Kaladin feels his father’s hand come to rest lightly on his back.

After another couple of minutes Kaladin gives a great sniff, then he extricates himself from the hug, his mother holding onto his arms as he pulls away. Lirin’s hand stays on his back, steadying and warm.

“We’ve done enough for tonight,” he says, voice kind. “Let’s go home.”

They do, together, and Oroden greets them at the door, smiling happily, and everything is okay.

_____

Life goes on. 

The war drags onward, claiming the lives of friend and foe, and time moves ever forward, despite how sometimes Kaladin wants to keep it right here, in this moment, where he has Adolin and Shallan however nebulously, and he has his family, and he has (what’s left of) Bridge Four.

Weeks pass, and slowly Kaladin heals. He stops jumping so much at sudden sounds, like when Oroden’s blocks crash to the living room floor, or when a nearby door slams closed. He works with his ‘therapy’ group – or so Wit has taken to calling it, only smiling mysteriously when Kaladin asks what the word means, as is his way – and he continues to volunteer in the clinic, helping his parents on the busier days. He’s finally able to look at a scalpel again without producing anxiety and fearspren, which allows him to assist with more tasks and treatments. He moves back into his own rooms and learns – with difficulty – how to be alone again. 

Adolin visits the clinic often, sometimes bringing him food if he misses a meal, sometimes just stopping by to say hello. He’s still fighting, going out of the tower on campaigns for days at a time, leading troops against the enemy all over the continent, and every time he leaves Kaladin feels like he’s holding his breath until the other man eventually strolls into the clinic again, alive and whole, waving at his mother with a sunny smile on his handsome face and asking where he can find his favorite bridgeboy.

Kaladin worries about Shallan, too, and the things she gets up to with her Unseen Court. He knows about the Ghostbloods from some of what Shallan has shared with him, and though he’s aware she’s more than capable of handling herself, especially with her Radiant powers, he still hates when she just disappears into the Rosharan underworld with her posse of Lightweavers. 

She tends to visit him more often outside of the clinic, somehow managing on more than one occasion to ambush him in his rooms when he’s just gotten out of the shower and is only half-dressed, clearly an excuse to ogle his body and maybe sneak in a grope or two, if the part of her that is still Veil is feeling particularly frisky.

His relationship with Shallan is different from his with Adolin. He and Shallan find comfort in their shared trauma in quiet moments of reflection, and, yes, in occasional soft touches and gentle kisses. But while they do on occasion get more physical, theirs is more a relationship of quiet understanding and acceptance. 

Adolin, however, is loud in his affections. Frequent touches, constant skin to skin contact whenever they’re in the same room together, declarations of love that have Kaladin blushing uncomfortably at the same time that he basks in it. It’s passionate and consuming, and it takes Kaladin’s breath away.

He loves them both with so much of his heart that he fears he would shatter if he ever lost them. And that makes him afraid.

Not just because losses are part of the package in war. Not just because he has two people to worry about instead of one. He’s also afraid because they are married, and he is not. Because they are bound by oath and promise, tied together for the rest of their mortal lives, and he is not.

He respects them enough to believe them when they say that they love him, too, that he’s not a sidepiece, or a fling, but he knows he doesn’t fit into this the way he should, knows there’s no space for him to fit into. He’s aware that, when it comes down to it, when this arrangement of theirs finally comes to an end, he will be the one left out in the cold, longing for the warmth of their companionship. 

The knowledge stings, but he’s had a long time to get used to it. He’s intimately familiar with loss, and while losing Shallan and Adolin to each other wouldn’t be the same as losing Tien, or Dallet, or Teft, it wouldn’t be that different, either. He hates that the pain of loss is what’s most likely waiting for him at the end of all this and he’s terrified of what it will do to him, but he feels so deeply for them, wants them so much, that he has resolved to enjoy the time he has with them, no matter how short, no matter how it ends, and love them with everything he has while he still has the chance.

_____

“...and I sometimes forget things. Big things, like… I can’t remember the house we used to live in at all. It’s just gone, a big empty space in my mind, no matter how hard I try to remember it,” Giralt says, wringing his hands anxiously. Anxietyspren drift up from the stone floor, little black crosses suddenly popping into existence. 

Kaladin nods. “That’s not so unusual, Giralt,” he says. Giralt watches him from his place in their little makeshift circle of chairs, misery clear on his face.

“Different minds handle trauma differently. There’s no right or wrong way to cope. Some of us forget–” he gestures to Giralt, “–some of us lock everything away until it becomes too much to hold and it explodes in anger, and some of us simply drown. I even gave mine a name… The Wretch. It’s what I turn into when I’ve reached my capacity.”

Giralt stares at him, as do all the other members of their support group. Kaladin pushes down the discomfort he feels at revealing something so personal. If he expects them to share some of their deepest thoughts and feelings, he needs to be willing to do the same. He forges onward.

“For me, it’s like… it’s like it will never be light again. Like it will never be warm again. And while I may want to be alone, just curl up into a ball and die, I know now that there are things that help. Good friends help. Talking about what's bothering me. Not being alone. Distractions, taking my mind off of everything until I can remember that good things still exist. And warrior thoughts. A positive thought for every negative one, that fights off the bad and drowns it out with good. 

“That’s how I cope. It’s probably different for everyone, just like our trauma is. Some many not work for you while they do for others. But I truly believe that the first step to figuring out what’s right for you is to talk about it. So thank you, for sharing.”

Giralt nods at Kaladin, eyes shining, but he looks more hopeful, somehow, like maybe Kaladin’s words made a difference, and the twisting black crosses have all disappeared. 

There’s a light knock at the door and Kaladin turns. A young man with reddish-brown hair and spectacles stands in the entryway, peering in at him.

He turns back to the group. “Well, I think we’ve accomplished a lot today, and it’s just about time for dinner anyway, so let’s call it a night. 

“Thanks, everyone, and I’ll see you in three days. Please, if you need something, you know where to find me.”

There are murmurs and the shuffling of chairs as the men all stand, some shaking hands with each other and with Kaladin as they part ways for the night. When Kaladin’s the only one remaining in the room the young messenger steps inside.

“I like this one,” Kaladin says, smiling at him. “I’m getting… Renarin, and maybe… Lift?” 

The messenger boy grins, and then the lightweaving melts away, revealing Shallan’s mischievous smile. 

“And my hair,” she says. Kaladin snorts. 

“Obviously,” he says, and Shallan comes further into the room, stopping in front of him and bouncing up onto her toes to give him a kiss. 

He leans down to kiss her back, still smiling, when his stomach suddenly lurches. He pulls away, hand pressing in against his abdomen.

“Kaladin?” she asks, concerned.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “It’s just… my stomach.”

“Are you sick?” Shallan asks, surprised.

“I don’t…” Kaladin says, feeling suddenly queasy. “I don’t know,” he mumbles.

Neither of them speak for a minute, Kaladin too busy fighting off the urge to vomit and Shallan obviously at a loss for what to do next. Then she puts a gentle hand on his arm, tugging him toward the room’s exit.

“Come on, I just came to tell you Adolin’s back. Come back to our rooms and let us take care of you,” she says.

“No, that’s not– I’m not going to do that,” Kaladin says, shaking his head. 

“Kaladin–”

“No,” he cuts her off. “I’m fine, I just ate something funny at lunch. Go spend some time with your husband, I’ll see both of you tomorrow.”

She rears back a little at his tone. He didn’t mean to be so short with her, but he really does feel awful, like he’s going to throw up at any second, and he needs to stop talking as soon as possible and get to a restroom. Plus, there’s no reason they should sacrifice their time together to spend the evening hovering over him instead.

Shallan doesn’t try to convince him again, though she does insist on walking him all the way back to his room. She gives him a kiss on the cheek and a soft feel better before she leaves, and Kaladin stumbles into his room and directly to the toilet, where he hurls up everything he’s eaten since breakfast.

_____

He feels marginally better after and even manages to eat a light dinner of chouta bread baked into airy crisps, but just the scent of anything with more flavor makes his mouth water, and not in a good way.

The next day is similar. He’s fine when he wakes up, and he showers and eats before heading to the clinic for the day. An hour or so after lunch he starts to feel sick to his stomach again, and has to run to the shared toilet in the clinic to empty its contents violently into the bowl. He tries inhaling Stormlight, like he does with a physical injury, but there’s no change except for the usual rush in his veins, which almost makes the nausea worse. Towerlight does absolutely nothing, which, in this case, is probably the better outcome of the two. 

There’s a cold sweat on his forehead and he’s suddenly exhausted, though it’s barely late afternoon, and when he feels well enough to stand he begs off working for the rest of the day and escapes back to his rooms, Syl following worriedly behind, where he collapses onto his unmade bed and promptly passes out.

Adolin and Shallan stop by later that evening, waking him from his nap, but he sends them away, telling them he’s still feeling under the weather and that he’ll come to them when he’s rid of it. Lingering sicknesses are rare on Roshar, but the last thing he wants to do is pass it on to anyone else if whatever it is is somehow contagious, so he stays locked in his rooms for the next two days, but it doesn’t go away. If anything, it gets worse. 

His sleep is broken and unrestful. He’s exhausted all the time, nauseated constantly, and his head pounds like the drums he’d once heard in a royal feast hall. He can feel the creeping depression trying to take hold, but he fights against it, tells himself all the things and tries all the tricks he shared with the support group, but it’s harder than usual to feel better, and he can’t even request company because he’s afraid of getting anyone sick, so he wallows, sad and alone and miserable.

Syl flutters around him anxiously the entire time, unsure how to handle the situation. Unfortunately there’s nothing she, or anyone, can do to help him. He just has to hope it will run its course. 

He ends up canceling the next support group meeting, and has to turn Adolin and Shallan away yet again later that same day.

Eventually his mother comes knocking.

“Kaladin, honey, open up. Syl told me you’re not feeling well.”

Kaladin opens a bleary eye and glares at Syl from where he sits tucked into the corner of his couch, bucket propped on the cushion next to him in case he can’t get up quickly enough. She doesn’t look remotely sorry, tiny arms crossed across her chest and face firm with stubborn resolve.

He grunts, levering himself into a standing position, and holds tightly to the armrest until the dizziness goes away. Then he shuffles across the room and turns the lock. The door pops open as Hesina pushes inside, and she gasps when she sees Kaladin.

“Oh, Kaladin, you look awful,” she says. 

“Wow, thanks,” he says, deadpan.

Hesina shushes him and leads him by the arm back to the couch, helping him settle back into his previous little burrow. Syl perches on Hesina’s shoulder, looking down at him from above, and both of their faces are painted with identical worry.

“Symptoms?” she asks, and Kaladin lists them. Dizziness, nausea, fatigue. His negative reaction to the smell of certain foods, the pains in his stomach. Hesina’s eyebrows scrunch together.

“When did they start?” she asks him.

“Three or four days ago?” he says. She tutts, then smoothes his unwashed hair back from his forehead. Storms, a shower sounds heavenly right now. If only he could stand without nearly passing out or puking.

“It sounds like some kind of food poisoning, but if that’s the case it should have passed by now.”

He closes his eyes, the coolness of her hand a relief against his warm skin. His throat closes; embarrassingly, he feels like crying. 

“Let’s get you up to the clinic, maybe your father will know more,” Hesina says softly. Kaladin nods, and the three of them plus Kaladin’s bucket slowly make their way upstairs to the clinic, where, hopefully, Lirin will be able to give them an answer.

_____

Lirin does not know more. He’s just as stumped as Kaladin and Hesina, and his parents decide that Kaladin’s going to stay with them until he gets better, regardless of the risk. They tell him they’ll keep Oroden away from him for the time being, but that someone needs to take care of him, and they’d rather be the ones to do it as they’re the ones with the most relevant experience.

Kaladin doesn’t even argue all that much; he’s too tired, and having someone take care of him sounds nice for once. Syl approves.

It gets… not better, but more bearable, over the next week. He wakes feeling absolutely terrible, throwing up more often than not into the bucket they keep next to his bed, and he can still only stand to eat very bland things. They’ve found that he tends to feel the slightest bit better after he’s got something in his stomach, though they have to be very picky with which foods to give him.

He’s never been so consistently tired in his entire life, never wanted to just sit because the thought of standing exhausts him. He’s losing weight, though he didn’t have much to spare to begin with, and Hesina expresses concern over it, worrying that if they can’t find something he can keep down with a little more nutrition than baked chouta bread his body’s going to have a hard time finding the energy to fight off whatever’s wrong with him.

Lirin tries all the herbs and remedies he can think of, for food allergies and stomach conditions and nutritional deficiencies, but nothing he offers works, and some Kaladin can’t keep down at all.

His mood fluctuates from numb and lethargic to thoroughly depressed, with the occasional spot of good humor in between. He misses Adolin and Shallan and Bridge Four and his therapy group. He misses Teft something fierce, the hole in his chest refusing to heal cleanly. 

The worst days are the ones when he thinks of Moash more than he probably should, of how Moash had wanted him to kill himself, how Moash had almost made him believe it was the only answer to all of his pain. 

Being around his little brother helps. Oroden is a bright ray of sunshine in a dark world, and Kaladin loves his little laughs and the way he babbles like anyone can actually understand what he’s saying. He stays out of his brother’s reach, just in case whatever he has is catching, but he loves to watch him play and toddle around, innocent and curious and happy.

One evening, while he’s sitting on the living room couch absently watching his baby brother play with the set of carved wooden animals Kaladin had bought him last month (from the same stall he’d found Tien’s horse at, incidentally), Hesina asks him a new question.

“Kaladin… Have you experienced any swelling?”

“Swelling?” He repeats, looking up at her as she watches him, brows pinched. Syl, human-sized and wearing one of her favorite havahs, looks up from where she’s playing with Oroden to follow their conversation, curious.

“Yes, swelling. In your feet perhaps?” His mother sounds calm, but also like she’s got an idea in her head and needs more information before she’ll be willing to share it.

“Uh, yeah, actually. My feet, when I’m sitting, mostly,” he says, and Hesina’s eyes widen slightly. 

“Kaladin, I’m going to ask you a question now, and I don’t want you to be embarrassed or get upset with me, alright?” she says, and Kaladin’s pulse spikes. What is this? What is she possibly going to ask that could embarrass him enough that she feels she needs to give him a warning?

“Have you… had sex, recently?” She asks carefully. Kaladin nearly chokes, but she’s not done yet, apparently.

“...With another man?”

“Mother! What?” he snaps, pushing himself into a more upright position, his face burning and stomach curdling. He hears Syl let out a nervous little laugh and throws a burning glare in her direction before looking back at his mother. “That’s none of your–”

“Kaladin, please just answer the question,” Hesina interrupts, voice still unnervingly calm.

Why would she be asking him that? Does she think…

“I don’t have a… sexual sickness, if that’s what you’re asking. I did all the tests for that,” Kaladin says, voice tight, not meeting her eyes.

She’s quiet for a minute. “So, the answer is yes, then?”

Kaladin snaps his gaze back to her, glaring fiercely. “Yes,” he bites out. “Not that it matters.”

Hesina’s eyes fill, and Kaladin i stunned into silence. His anger evaporates at the sight of her tears and his stomach drops.

“Mother, what–”

“Oh, honey,” she says, and she rushes over, sitting on the couch next to him and pulling him in close to her smaller frame, hugging him tight.

He’s still very confused and a little bit scared, Syl’s blue face mirroring his own feelings when he seeks her out over Hesina’s shoulder, but he hugs his mother back anyway until she recovers, wiping her eyes on the collar of her shirt and leaning back. She cups his cheek with her free hand and he’s even more bewildered, because now she’s smiling at him, little joyspren popping into existence around them.

“Oh, my baby boy,” she whispers.

“What? I don’t understand,” he says, and the tremble in his voice must finally alert her to his distress, because she rushes to reassure him. 

“Oh, no, honey, don’t be upset. It’s a good thing. I don’t know how it’s possible, but it’s a wonderful thing,” she says. 

“What’s a wonderful thing?” Syl asks, bemused, echoing Kaladin’s thoughts.

“New life, Syl. New life is a wonderful thing.” Hesina smiles at Kaladin, her eyes shining. 

Kaladin stares at her, trying to make the words make sense. 

New life. New life. 

Nausea, fatigue, headaches. Swelling in his feet. Feeling more emotional than usual. Cramping. 

Because that’s what it was. Cramping. Not stomach aches. Not food poisoning. 

He’s been cramping, because he’s pregnant. 

____

“Well,” Lirin says, one hand on his hip while the other scratches at his balding head. 

They wait, but nothing else is forthcoming, besides a couple of shockspren triangles forming suddenly behind him. 

“Well what?” Kaladin says, trying very hard to keep from snapping. He’s frustrated and scared and confused, and he just wants to know what’s going on with his body, is that really too much to ask? 

“Well, I mean, it certainly does seem like he’s— sorry, like you’re, well, pregnant,” Lirin says, gesturing at Kaladin’s exposed midsection and sounding like he hardly believes what he’s saying himself. 

“But— how is that even possible?” Syl asks, repeating the question they’ve all asked a hundred times at this point. “Don’t only human females have the ability to carry children?”

“Yes, Syl, you’re correct, and as for how… I have no storming idea,” Lirin says, bewildered, shaking his head.

After Hesina dropped the metaphorical bomb on Kaladin and he recovered from nearly having a panic attack, Hesina called Lirin into the room and shared her suspicions with him as well. 

Lirin then immediately hustled the five of them down to the clinic – not even giving the four non-spren time to change out of their nightclothes – to perform what has to have been the most embarrassing and humiliating physical examination of Kaladin’s entire life. And that includes the times he’d been stripped naked by slave traders and assessed for his “worth”. 

Kaladin’s anatomy being what it is, there were certain aspects of the standard pregnancy examination that Lirin couldn’t perform, but he’d done the parts he could, and had come to the conclusion that, yes, Kaladin was indeed with child. 

Kaladin, of course, is stuck on the how of it all. Clearly he’s not a woman, and is therefore missing several of the necessary pieces for conception.

And yet here they are.

“Well, let’s talk it out,” Hesina says patiently, logicspren clouds floating around her head. Kaladin feels a sudden burning frustration at the relentless spren. Why do they have to be everywhere? Is nothing private anymore?

“When, exactly, did you last have sex?” Hesina asks him, bouncing a sleepy Oroden on her hip. His little brother is up way past his bed time, but they weren’t going to wake their usual sitter so late, especially considering the more… sensitive nature of Kaladin’s condition. Rumors are the last thing any of them want right now.

“I’m not– Why–” Kaladin sputters. 

It always manages to surprise him how blunt she can be about things like this, despite the fact that she’s been this way since he was a child, always sensible and unembarrassed at the same time he’s blushing and desperately wishing he was anywhere else. Beneath the mortification, though, he’s grateful that she’s being so rational about it all. He’s too busy trying to keep the panic at bay, Syl is all wide eyes and gaping mouth, and at this point his father just seems to be talking himself in circles. 

He clenches his eyes shut and sighs explosively, scrubbing his hands over his face. Unfortunately, if he wants their help figuring this out he’s going to have to share at least some of the details.

He exhales long and slow before answering. 

“A month ago?” he says, after trying to count backwards to the night Adolin and Shallan returned to the tower. “Five weeks, maybe?”

“Six, I think,” Syl says, and Kaladin shoots her an unimpressed look. She doesn’t stick around when Kaladin’s being intimate with someone at his request, despite how very curious she is about it all, but he also doesn’t appreciate her keeping tabs on when and how often he asks her for that privacy. 

Hesina gives them a strange look but evidently decides to let it go as just another unusual aspect of their Radiant bond. 

If only she knew, Kaladin thinks.

“That sounds about right as far as symptoms go,” she says. “Did you…” she hesitates and Kaladin squints at her. 

She’s blushing, pinks spots high on her cheeks, and her preemptive reaction to whatever she’s about to say makes Kaladin’s stomach squirm in anticipation. And nausea. Always nausea. He pulls his bucket a little closer, just in case.

“Was this your first time–”

He cuts her off before she can finish, his face heating.

“No.”

“Alright,” she says, nodding, rubbing a soothing hand over Oroden’s back as he fights sleep, eyes drifting closed before he forces them wide open again. “Okay, that’s fine.”

Almighty, this is so awkward. Kaladin wants to lock himself in his bedroom and hide until the end of time. Which might be sooner than they all expect, he thinks darkly.

Soooo awkward, Syl says in his head.

“Did you and your… partner… do anything different than you normally do? Anything… unusual?”

“No,” Kaladin says emphatically, flustered. What exactly did she think they got up to that would result in this?

Lirin chimes in, scratching his chin now, gaze unfocused.

“You said earlier that you tried to use Stormlight when you thought it was an illness,” he says slowly.

“Yes,” Kaladin agrees, thankful to be moving away from the previous line of questioning. “So?”

“But nothing happened, correct?”

“Right, nothing happened,” Kaladin confirms. He wraps his arms around himself as he shivers. 

“Can I have my clothes back now?” he asks, and Lirin gives a little “Oh! Yes, of course,” and bustles over to the countertop where Kaladin’s nightshirt and soft pajama bottoms are folded in a neat pile.

He hands them back to Kaladin, who immediately pulls the shirt over his head, then hops off the examination table to pull his pants on. 

“Does Stormlight normally heal sicknesses?” Lirin asks curiously.

“As far as I know,” Kaladin responds, fastening the tie on his pants. “I haven’t been sick since I became a Radiant. Not physically, at least,” he amends. He looks up to see three suddenly pitying faces staring back at him.

“I mean,” Kaladin continues, intentionally ignoring them – now is not the time to dwell on his various neuroses. “I’ve used it to sober up before, and obviously to heal physical injuries. I think Shallan’s used it once for food poisoning. Or maybe that was actual poison, I can’t remember.”

His parents look horrified at that but he ignores that too.

“So the Stormlight doesn’t view this as an injury,” Hesina says contemplatively after recovering from her previous shock. “Or as something in your body that needs to be fixed. Or the Stormlight would have interfered with the fetus when you tried to use it earlier.”

Kaladin winces, then nods slowly. “I guess not,” he says. “But that still doesn’t answer the question of how it happened to begin with.”

They’re all quiet for a moment, and then Lirin’s head snaps up. 

“The Stormlight heals, but what about Towerlight?”

“What about it?” Kaladin asks, not following.

Hesina perks up as well, and Kaladin gaze turns to her as she explains.

“Isn’t Towerlight a mixture of Stormlight and Lifelight?” she says, and Kaladin notices the heavy emphasis on the Life in Lifelight. He shakes his head.

“I see what you’re saying, but it doesn’t work like that,” he argues.

“How do you know?” Syl chimes in. Kaladin looks at her, and her eyes are alight with the challenge of working through a complicated problem. Kaladin opens his mouth to respond but stops, because he doesn’t actually have an answer to that.

“Do we really know what Lifelight can do? Or even all that Stormlight is capable of?” Lirin asks the room at large.

They don’t. They have no idea what the limits are of any of them, Stormlight and Lifelight and Towerlight and Voidlight and Warlight. They’re learning more every day about what they can use Light for, how it can be applied to real world problems, everything from healing mortal injuries to heating water for personal showers. 

And the Towerlight is an even newer discovery, has only been present since Navani bonded with the Sibling, bringing Urithiru back to life. 

Could it actually be possible that Towerlight is responsible for this? 

“No,” Kaladin says, reasoning it out. “No, that doesn’t make sense. You can’t tell me people weren’t sleeping together centuries ago, the last time the Sibling was awake. If what you’re saying is true then every time two men had sex one of them would end up pregnant. Surely if that were the case we’d have come across records of it. They kept records of everything.”

It’s a good point, and they all fall quiet again, damned logicspren floating all around the room as they ponder. Hesina bounces lightly on her toes as Oroden drools onto her shoulder, having finally given up the fight, sleeping soundly. His soft snuffling is the only sound for several minutes as they wrack their brains for some kind of explanation.

“Maybe…” Hesina says hesitantly, like she knows Kaladin’s not going to like what she says next. “Maybe you’re just… special.”

Kaladin immediately throws up his hands. “That’s not– No. That’s not an acceptable explanation, mother,” he says, exasperated.

“Maybe it’s the only one, son,” Lirin says quietly.

Kaladin turns to look at him, eyebrows raised in disbelief. “Seriously?”

Lirin shrugs. 

“It’s not the first time you’ve been exceptional, Kaladin,” Syl says gently.

Kaladin looks away from them, unsure how to feel about that. He’s not sure if being exceptional is a good thing or a bad one.

“What if, for some reason, the Tower saw the opportunity to create life, and it took it?” Hesina says. “We don’t know for sure that it hasn’t happened before, and even if it hasn’t, why does that mean things can’t be different now? From what you’ve shared with us, even the spren have said things are different this time around. The way Stormlight behaves, the Radiant bonds. What if the Towerlight has changed, too?”

Kaladin doesn’t have an answer for her, because it makes sense in a strange, convoluted way. What if the tower doesn’t see them as men and women, but just as humans? What if it saw, like his mother said, an opportunity to create a new life, and decided then and there to make it happen?

There’s certainly no other explanation for how he, a man, managed to get pregnant, nor how he’s somehow still actually carrying this embryo, despite missing key parts of the necessary reproductive anatomy to even get to this point.

“I–” he says, and then he swallows, sitting heavily back onto the examination table, exhaustionspren drifting around his legs and feet. Lirin comes over to him and squeezes his shoulder, shooing the spren away with his free hand.

“We’ll do another examination tomorrow, try to understand what we're dealing with here,” he says, voice low and soothing. “We’ll need to learn more about your current… anatomy.”

Storms.

“See if I have a uterus, you mean?” Kaladin says. “A vagina?”

“Well– I–” Lirin stutters, calm evaporating in the face of his sudden embarrassment.

Kaladin rolls his eyes, cheeks heating again. “I don’t have a vagina. I'm pretty sure I'd notice that.”

It’s awkwardly quiet for a moment, then Kaladin continues. 

“...I don’t know about the uterus, though. I guess I’d have to have one, right? For this to even be possible?”

He looks up at Lirin now, whose hand is still resting on his shoulder, and Hesina, gently rocking his little brother, but they look just as lost as he feels. Syl, on the other hand, is smiling brightly. 

He looks away from his spren. He can’t handle that right now.

“...Let’s worry about that tomorrow, son,” Lirin says finally, and Kaladin nods.

“Can I ask…” Hesina starts hesitantly, then stops.

“Ask what?” Kaladin says, beyond exhausted now, picking at a loose seam on his pant leg. He’ll need to mend that soon before it unravels.

Her voice is quiet when she speaks again.

“Who?” 

Kaladin closes his eyes, his heart skipping a beat uncomfortably in his chest. He’s not going to be able to keep it a secret for long anyway. 

He swallows, throat feeling tight.

“Adolin,” he whispers. 

Lirin’s hand squeezes his shoulder once before relaxing again. Hesina makes a little sound that Kaladin doesn’t even want to try to interpret. His eyes feel hot and his hands start to tremble, so he clasps them tightly together in his lap.

Lirin sighs and pulls him into a hug, warm hand pressing Kaladin’s head to his chest. He sniffles quietly as he lets his father hold him, tears slowly escaping to seep into the front of Lirin’s worn, familiar nightshirt.

_____

On the way back to their family’s apartment Syl has the brilliant idea to ask the Sibling.

“They spoke to you before, back when you fought to defend them. Maybe they’ll speak to you again. It can’t hurt to ask.”

It’s actually a good idea, so when they arrive at the apartment they convene in the living area, Kaladin and a full-sized Syl sitting side by side on the small couch.

“Did you do this?” Kaladin asks the air bluntly. 

His mother gives him a disapproving look but he ignores her. He’s not going to beat around the bush; he deserves answers, especially after everything he did a couple of months ago to defend the tower and the Sibling during the occupation.

The Sibling answers right away.

I did not. 

“But–”

The Towerlight did.

Kaladin stops short, confused. “Isn’t the Towerlight… yours?” 

Is Stormlight the Stormfather’s?

“...Yes?” Kaladin says slowly, voice trailing up at the end in a question. He sees motion in the corner of his eye and turns. Syl is shaking her head slowly.

No, it is not, the Sibling responds. The Stormfather commands the storms and grants access to Stormlight, and the Stormlight is of him, but he does not control Stormlight.

“You make it sound as if Stormlight has a mind of its own,” Kaladin says.

Not a mind, no. But it does have Intent, as does all Light.

“Intent? What does that mean?” Kaladin looks at Syl, who seems to be just as interested in the answer as he is. His parents, standing on the other side of the room, look stunned. It belatedly occurs to him that they’ve never spoken to the Sibling before, or the Stormfather. How strange is his life that things like this have become normal for him.

All Light has Intent, the essence of their creator. Stormlight has the Intent of Honor. Lifelight has the Intent of Cultivation. Towerlight has the combined Intent of both.

“The combined Intent of Honor and Cultivation… But how does that lead to this?” Kaladin asks, gesturing down at himself. He’s not sure if the Sibling can actually see the motion, but knows they understand regardless. 

Towerlight is Honor. Towerlight is also Life. You protected us from annihilation, and the Towerlight, bound by Honor to repay you for your protection, granted you the gift of Life.

He’d saved the tower, saved the Sibling and the Towerlight, so they’d gotten him pregnant. 

“Maybe next time the Towerlight can ask for consent first,” Kaladin says, head spinning.

Towerlight doesn’t understand consent, only Intent, the Sibling replies.

“And apparently you don’t understand sarcasm.” Syl attempts to smack him on the arm but her hand goes right through him. He blows out a breath. “Well, thanks for answering my questions, I guess. At least now we know the how.”

The next morning they do a more thorough exam, which is just as humiliating as the previous one, and it turns out he does have a uterus from what they can tell, though the anatomical changes seem limited to that. 

They’re also relatively positive that his hormone levels have changed, as is usual and necessary to support any pregnancy. That one’s easier to confirm with the way he’s felt like an emotional wreck lately.

He’s practically surrounded by emotion spren constantly, he feels so much.

It’s different than the Wretch, because it’s not just varying levels of listlessness and despair that are plaguing him now. Instead it’s sudden bouts of frustration at things that ordinarily wouldn’t be more than a slight annoyance to him. Immense waves of overwhelming sadness striking at seemingly random moments. A nagging worry that constantly itches at him, increasing his already sky-high stress levels.

He misses Adolin and Shallan like an open wound, but doesn’t know how to face them yet. He has no idea what he’s going to tell them, or if he’s going to tell them anything at all. Maybe instead he’ll just lock himself away like a hermit for the rest of however long this lasts, then in five months’ time pretend he found a random kid laying around somewhere and decided overnight to adopt him.

He’s terrified of putting a strain on his two best friends’ marriage, no matter that they both chose to allow him into their bed to begin with. In his mind, an extra bed partner is one thing, but a surprise child… Kaladin and Shallan had been overly cautious in that regard, often foregoing the risk completely despite her other preventative measures and choosing other methods of intimacy. And with Adolin…

Well, with Adolin, it had never even been a possibility.

Until it apparently was. 

He stays with his parents and brother instead of moving back to his own rooms, and he avoids working in the surgery unless his father needs the extra hands, not wanting to be caught by a surprise visit. On those days when he does don the surgeon’s coat he stays in a back room, never straying out to the waiting area for fear that Adolin – or even Shallan, at this point – might drop by, asking to see him. 

He’s changed the location of the support group meetings to somewhere more secluded, and they only meet once a week now. Soon, he’s going to have one of the more veteran members take over running them completely, even though it feels terribly close to him abandoning them. But there’s not much else he can do about it until all of this blows over.

Syl disapproves of pretty much every one of his decisions lately, but he ignores her. She doesn’t understand all the nuances of human relationships yet, and doesn’t get why telling Adolin and Shallan would be a bad thing. She insists that it’s something they would want to know, and while he doesn’t disagree on that point specifically, he still refuses for reasons to do with the larger context of their relationship. 

She’s very angry with him when he puts his foot down about it and refuses to speak to him for an entire day. Thankfully, she grudgingly returns the next afternoon and tells him that while she doesn’t agree with him, she’s not just going to fly off and leave him to deal with it alone.

Kaladin nearly cries at that. Stupid storming hormones.

Chapter Text

Adolin

While Adolin has always enjoyed the finer things in life – a soft bed, fine clothes, a quality glass of wine – he doesn’t know if he’s ever experienced anything quite as luxurious as a hot shower. 

When they returned to Urithiru after their journey to Shadesmar, they were amazed by the changes to the tower. It felt like they left one place and came back to a completely different one. Adolin’s top two favorite changes would have to be no longer needing to use heating fabrials everywhere they went, and showers.

He tilts his face into the spray of gloriously hot water, letting it pound against his skin and run down his neck and chest, then he turns around, head falling forward, as the water massages his back, steam rising around him in plumes. It’s something straight out of a fantasy, the way it just drains the tension out of his muscles, how the stress seems to slough off of him with the dirt and blood and follow it in swirls of color down the drain. 

It’s been a hard campaign, the one he’s currently fighting, and today was a particularly difficult day. They lost more people than the enemy had, gave up more ground, and Adolin himself took a nasty wound that, without the Edgedancers supplementing their medical corps, would probably have killed him.

Today, though, it hadn’t even left a scar. Adolin scrubs at his side just above his hip, where the blade bit in deep, washes off all traces of the blood that soaked through his uniform before he was physically dragged off the field of battle and practically thrown into the healing hands of a white-uniformed Radiant. 

He heaves a heavy sigh, water droplets spraying from his lips, and permits himself another thirty seconds of bliss before he makes a gesture with his hand, cutting off the flow of water from the faucet in the ceiling.

Twenty minutes later he’s dressed in a casual but stylish outfit, dark pants paired with a light shirt, jacket with subtle gold trim trailing the edges and collar. He runs a hand through his damp hair one last time and then heads out the door, off to find his favorite bridgeboy, who he somehow hasn’t seen in nearly a month. 

It puts him in a weird mood, thinking of just how long it’s been since he’s seen Kaladin. They spent those few days together after Shallan and Adolin returned from Shadesmar, and then things settled back into something resembling normal, like it had been before Shadesmar but after Kaladin had been relieved from duty by his father. Lunches at the clinic, just him and Kaladin, and evenings at Jez’s duty, all three of them. Nights spent together, limbs intertwined, soft hands and heated kisses. 

And then, suddenly, Kaladin disappeared. He got sick, Shallan told him, and he wouldn’t let them in to see him for fear of passing whatever it was on to them. Then, a few days later, when Adolin went back to Kaladin’s rooms again to check on him, he didn’t answer at all. 

Adolin told Shallan about it and they both went looking for their wayward Windrunner, starting at the Hearthstone clinic. Hesina greeted them with a smile and motherly hugs and told them that Kaladin was still unwell and that she’d convinced him to stay with them until he was feeling better. Adolin felt a mixture of relief and worry at the news, because what could possibly be so wrong that Kaladin, a Knight Radiant, was still suffering enough that he had to move into his parents’ apartment for observation?

They waited another week before asking again, and Hesina just gave them an understanding smile and a shake of the head, telling them that he still wasn’t feeling back to normal yet, and that she’d tell him they said hello.

And then Adolin was sent out on campaign again, and Shallan left the tower for some shady Ghostblood business with her entire Lightweaver crew in tow, and they both were so busy trying to stay alive that they didn’t have much spare time to worry about the third member of their triad.

But Adolin’s back now, and Shallan is supposed to be returning tomorrow per her most recent spanreed, and he’s decided he’s going to talk to Kaladin no matter how bad he says he feels.

He waves genially at the soldiers patrolling the entry to the Hearthstone corridors, trying to pull himself out of his strange mood by sheer force of will. By the time he approaches the Stormblessed apartments all of the tension he washed away in the shower has returned full-force. 

He knocks with more confidence than he feels, then waits, resisting the urge to tap his foot impatiently. It’s just past dinner time, so they should all be home from the clinic by now, but it’s not quite late enough that he’d be interrupting Oroden’s bed time. 

A minute later Hesina answers the door, smiling when she sees who it is.

“Adolin! You’re back! How was the campaign?” She asks. She doesn’t invite him inside, instead choosing to start a conversation standing in the doorway. Adolin attempts to peek over her shoulder but isn't able to see far inside the apartment.

“It was… fine,” he says, distracted by a sudden flash of color, something moving across the living area, something a familiar bright blue…

Hesina sighs. “He’s still not feeling well, Adolin, I’m sorry,” she says, and it sounds like she truly is sorry. 

“Hesina, please,” he implores, giving up on any semblance of small talk. “Can you just let me in to see him? I just need to know he’s okay.”

“He’s okay, Adolin, I promise,” she says earnestly. Rationally he knows she’s probably telling the truth, but something feels off. Why won’t Kaladin talk to him?

“Please,” Adolin says again, but she just shakes her head sadly. 

“I’m sorry, Adolin, I can’t.”

Adolin hangs his head, throat going unexpectedly tight. Kaladin’s obviously not contagious enough that he can’t be near his family. Why won’t he let Adolin in?

“Adolin…”

He clears his throat. “It’s fine,” he says roughly. He looks up at Hesina and pastes on a smile, then has to look away again at the pitying expression on her face. “Would you please tell him I stopped by?” he asks.

“I will, Adolin,” she says, voice kind.

Then he turns and walks away, the door closing with a quiet click behind him.

_____

Shallan

Shallan is angry. She returned last night to find her husband mopey and depressed, flipping idly through fashion folios, mind obviously a thousand miles away, and when Adolin told her what happened when he went looking for Kaladin she couldn’t stop the irritation from bubbling up within her. 

What game is Kaladin playing, pushing them away like this? Clearly he’s well enough that his parents aren’t overly concerned with whatever’s going on. So he’s willingly choosing not to talk to them. Why?

She is determined to find out.

_____

Shallan sneaks out the next night after Adolin falls asleep, his hair spread out across his pillow in a halo of mismatched strands as he snores lightly.

Using some of Veil’s tried and true tricks and a few of Shallan’s distracting illusions, she manages to break into Kaladin’s parents’ apartment, tip-toeing through the living area and down the short hallway to the bedrooms. She creeps silently past Lirin and Hesina’s room, then little Oroden’s, before slipping in through the door cracked at the end of the hall. Pattern stays just outside the bedroom door, ready to alert her if there's any movement elsewhere in the apartment.

The room is small and cluttered, a wooden desk squeezed into one corner and a small bed pushed against the wall opposite the door. Kaladin lays sprawled across the bed, shirtless, his too-large frame causing his feet to dangle off the end of it. She spots a metal pail on the floor next to the bed, presumably a sick bucket in case Kaladin can’t make it to the toilet in time. 

There’s nothing else out of the ordinary that she can see on first inspection, no bottles of herbs or medications, no tinctures for rashes or boils. She looks Kaladin over as best she can in the darkness, but she thinks he looks fine. Maybe a little thinner than the last time she’d seen him, but if he’s been vomiting this whole time that would certainly explain any weight loss. She’s still frustrated at how they’re being frozen out, but she’s also very relieved to finally see him in person again, glad he’s, if not fully back to normal, at least okay enough that his parents aren’t worried.

She suddenly desperately wants to touch him, but she refrains, afraid of waking him, so she leaves the way she came in, Pattern slinking onto her clothing as she moves stealthily back down the hallway and out of the apartment, closing and re-locking the door behind her.

When she returns to her room Adolin is still sleeping peacefully, none the wiser of her midnight stroll.

_____

The following morning, after a quick bite to eat and a long kiss goodbye to her clearly dejected yet trying to play it off husband, Shallan does a little more reconnaissance. She waits on the outskirts of a different housing area until she spots the man she’s looking for, closing the door to what must be his assigned rooms and heading off in the opposite direction. 

Shallan follows, the lightweaving she’d donned weeks earlier when she’d interrupted Kaladin’s support group meeting hiding her true identity. When they’re far enough away from the residential wing so that it won’t seem like she’s been following him from his home, Shallan quickens her pace to catch up with Noril.

“Pardon me, sir,” she calls, her voice nasally and a touch lower than her normal tone.

Noril turns, surprised, then smiles when he recognizes her as someone Kaladin’s been seen talking to in the past.

“Can I help you?” he asks politely.

She pushes on the nosepiece of the barely-tangible glasses as the lightweaving shows them slipping down her nose slightly.

“Hi. Yes, sir. Have you seen Radiant Stormblessed around today? I have a message for him from Bondsmith Kholin,” she says, bouncing on the balls of her feet like she’s anxious to complete her assigned duty and move on to her next task. “I can’t seem to find him anywhere.”

Noril’s smile droops and he shakes his head. “I haven’t seen him since last week. He had to cancel our meeting again yesterday due to personal matters.”

“Ah,” Shallan says, confused and worried and still very frustrated. “Well, I guess I’ll keep looking. Thanks anyway.”

Noril waves, then continues on his way. Shallan lets him go, then turns and heads upstairs to the Hearthstone clinic, still wearing her disguise.

She enters the waiting room and signs in as a new patient with a made up name, Borden, and takes a seat in one of the mismatched chairs spread throughout the room. It’s comfortable enough, and she people-watches as she waits, mentally adding new facial features to her collection, observing postures, imagining new outfits for her various disguises.

Eventually Lirin pokes his head out and calls her name, indicating with a smile and a wave that she should follow him into the back where the treatment rooms are located. 

There’s a slightly awkward conversation where Lirin asks what brought her in today and she realizes she hasn’t actually thought of a reason to be here, but she thinks she recovers well enough, telling him she’s been having severe headaches for about a week now and that it’s affecting her concentration. He asks a few follow up questions, then recommends drinking more water, eating regular meals, and getting at least eight hours of sleep each night, and then he sends her on her way with a bottle of pain relieving herbs and a promise from her to return if the headaches don’t go away in the next few days.

Before she leaves the treatment area she asks if she can use the restroom, and Hesina points her down a smaller back hallway in the opposite direction of the treatment rooms. She smiles and thanks her, then moves in the indicated direction.

“Pattern, is anyone watching?” She whispers.

“Mmm, no, the woman is looking at her papers, and there is no one else in the hall,” he says, voice hushed, though she knows he’s probably made himself audible to only her anyway.

Shallan darts down the hall, past the bathroom and into a storage room filled with books and ledgers. Shutting the door quietly behind her, Shallan pokes around until she finds the shelf containing patient logs, then pulls out the most recent one she can find, dates spanning from two months to about three days ago, when Shallan assumes they’d filled this ledger and needed to start a new one.

She flips through, scanning for Kaladin’s name, and sees two entries within the past few weeks, but the notes are sparse, not really giving her anything new to go on.

Nausea, abdominal cramping, headaches. Recommend bed rest until recovered. 

Another entry, about a week later: Patient given herbs for nausea, additional supplements.

Then nothing. She growls, then reads through it again just to be sure she didn’t miss anything.

Additional supplements. What does that mean? Supplements for what? Lirin and Hesina could stand to take more thorough notes.

She suddenly hears footsteps coming down the hall and quickly replaces the ledger, then presses herself against the wall behind the door. The footsteps pass by, fading gradually.

“Pattern, can you check if the coast is clear?” She whispers, and Pattern hums. His inky black pattern slips off her clothing and under the door, then returns a few seconds later, slithering back to his place blending with the dark fabric of her imaginary pants.

“Mmm, the coast is clear, Shallan,” he hums happily. He seems to be enjoying himself immensely, which doesn’t surprise her. Sneaking around is just another version of lying in his eyes, and Pattern loves lies.

“Thank you,” she whispers, and then she opens the door quietly and slips back down the hall and into the bathroom, where she flushes the toilet and washes her hands before leaving the clinic with a thank you and a wave.

_____

“Adolin, darling, please cheer up,” Shallan says. They’re sitting across from each other at the dining table in their apartment, dinner having been brought up to them by their room steward, and Adolin has done nothing but push the food around his plate for the last ten minutes to the point where it’s all mashed together and nothing looks even remotely edible anymore.

He gives a miserable little grunt and she rolls her eyes at him.

“Gemheart, I’m sure he’s fine. He’s just…”

“Not feeling well?” Adolin asks, looking up at her with eyebrows raised. “Because if that’s truly the case and he’s still not feeling any better, then we should definitely be concerned. And if that’s not the case then we should probably be concerned for completely different reasons.”

She sighs. He’s not wrong. She’s worried about Kaladin, too. She doesn’t understand why he’d avoid them both the way he has, refuse to even tell them what’s going on and shun any sort of contact to the point where he has his mother running interference for him.

“I know, Adolin. But if he wants space, then we should give it to him,” she says, trying to be the voice of reason. Normally that’s Adolin's job, but he’s not dealing well with Kaladin’s sudden and apparently self-imposed absence from their lives, so she supposes it’s her turn to step up.

Adolin’s expression falls and her heart breaks a little for him. For them both, because Kaladin has abandoned her, too, and though they express it differently – her mostly with frustration and Adolin with dejection — it still hurts.

“Yeah,” he says, going back to pushing the food around his plate.

Shallan sighs again. “Everything’s going to be fine, darling. He’ll probably just show up one evening like nothing happened and everything will go back to normal.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Adolin says. It’s clear he doesn’t believe her even a little.

“Everything will be fine. You’ll see,” she repeats. 

Everything will be fine, she thinks, even if I have to make it fine myself.

_____

She sneaks into Kaladin's room again that night, after Salas has set and Nomon’s blue light shines down on Urithiru, more determined than ever to figure out what’s going on. Pattern stays in the hallway like he did last time as she shuts the door quietly, turning to face the room.

The scene looks much the same as it did the previous night, Kaladin’s too-big body sprawled across the too-small bed, the sick pail sitting innocently next to it. Shallan carefully closes the door behind her with a barely audible click, then moves silently over to the small bedside table where a half-covered light goblet sits, emitting a dim glow, just enough to see by.

She pulls the table drawer open and rifles through the contents as quietly as possible. She finds two medicinal bottles, one clearly marked as the anti-nausea herbs Lirin had noted in the patient records. The other contains little brown pills, flat like coins, made up of what looks like ground and pressed herbs. She’s never come across them before, and turns the bottle over to read the label. 

She nearly drops it, shockspren popping into existence all around her. 

Supplemental herbs for pregnancy?

Her hands start to shake and she sits down right there on the floor, feet from where Kaladin is still sleeping soundly. 

Did he get someone pregnant? She didn’t even know he was sleeping with someone else. Who? Why?

Maybe this is why he hasn’t wanted to speak to them. Maybe he’s in a relationship with someone else and is too scared to tell them the truth. Maybe, now that he’s gotten whoever this woman is pregnant, he can’t continue on with their… whatever it is they have. Had.

She feels her eyes start to burn. She feels hurt, betrayed. She wants to rage at him, give him a piece of her mind for hurting her and Adolin this way. Oh, Adolin… How is she going to tell him about this? 

She puts her face in her hands, bottle still clutched in her grip, as she tries to calm herself, taking deep breaths, agonyspren drifting around her legs in a twisting dance.

A noise startles her, making her jump, and she looks up to see Kaladin roll over suddenly and grab the empty bucket by the bed before promptly vomiting into it. 

She watches, still in shock, as he retches several times, then he puts the bucket down and pushes himself up in his tiny bed, catching his breath. He looks pale and, yes, actually sick.

Shallan lowers her hands and the herbal pills rattle in the bottle she still holds, and Kaladin’s head whips around at the sound. He’s already half out of the bed before he realizes it’s her, and then he freezes, eyes wide in the dark of the room

“Hi, Kaladin,” she says, trying to keep her voice steady despite the storm of emotions roiling within her.

“Shallan,” he breathes, and she watches in horror as his bright blue eyes suddenly fill with tears.

“Oh–” She stands, startled, pills falling forgotten to the floor as she reaches for him.

“Shallan,” he says, and he sounds so sad and miserable that she can’t stop herself from stepping forward and pulling him into a hug, being careful to avoid the bucket on the floor.

“Shh,” she says, holding his head to her chest, combing through his long hair with gentle fingers. She hears him swallow and sniffle a few times, clearly trying to hold back more tears.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and she just shushes him again. She pushes aside the burning, painful questions for now; they can wait. It’s not often that Kaladin needs something from them, and she’s not going to take this moment of vulnerability for granted, no matter the circumstances. She can be his friend, even if that’s all she is now.

After a few minutes he pulls away, wiping his eyes and clearing his throat. Shallan slowly returns to her spot in front of the bed, bending to pick up the bottle she dropped in her haste to comfort Kaladin.

The tension grows as the silence drags on, and Shallan finally breaks it.

“I don’t want to make assumptions, Kaladin, but you haven’t really given us much to go on,” she says. Her voice wavers in the middle, but she’s proud that she manages to stay calm. 

He doesn’t answer, avoiding her eyes, and she wrestles down a renewed wave of frustration.

“I found these,” she shakes the little bottle of pills, “in your drawer.”

Kaladin closes his eyes, looking pained.

“Did you–” she starts, then has to stop when her throat closes up. Taking a deep breath, she tries again. “Are you sleeping with someone else?” She asks.

Kaladin opens his eyes and finally looks at her, mouth falling open.

“What?” He asks, dumbfounded.

Shallan shakes the pills again, anger seeping into her voice now. “These are for pregnancy, Kaladin. It says it right here on the label.” 

She remembers belatedly that she needs to keep her voice down because Kaladin’s parents and brother are only a few walls away. She lowers her voice to a heated whisper.

“Are you sleeping with someone else? Did you get another woman pregnant?”

Kaladin shakes his head. “No– No, Shallan, no,” he says, but she doesn’t hear him, too caught up in the sense of betrayal flooding through her veins now.

“How could you, Kaladin? How could you do this to us? To Adolin? Storms, he loves you so much–”

Kaladin cuts her off in a loud voice. 

“Shallan.” 

Her mouth snaps shut and she looks at him, swallowing back the torrent of words. 

“I didn’t. I didn’t sleep with anyone else.”

She stares at him blankly, throat tight. His eyes are panicked and, yes, they’re filling with tears. Again. There are even agonyspren fading in and out above his rumpled bedsheets.

Shallan’s heart suddenly feels like it skips a beat. 

Her gaze darts down to the bucket by the side of the bed, there because Kaladin apparently can’t even sleep without getting violently ill. She looks at the pills in her hand. Then her eyes meet Kaladin’s again just as a tear escapes his lashes and leaves a glistening trail down his cheek.

“Shallan,” he whispers.

“Oh, storms,” she says, feeling faint, and she wobbles dangerously. Kaladin is off the bed like a shot, catching her under the arms before she falls, lowering her carefully to the floor. He sits with her, wrapping his arms around her as she trembles.

“You're not sick,” she whispers to his chest. She feels him shake his head.

“No,” he murmurs.

“You’re…” she trails off, unable to voice the word. It’s so unbelievable. So impossible.

“Yes.” A whisper. Soft, and terrified.

She looks up at him, sees the pain in his eyes. She twists in his arms, sitting up more fully, and cups his face in her hands.

“Oh, Kaladin,” she breathes. “Don’t be upset.”

She feels something bubbling up inside of her, forcibly pushing aside all the other emotions fighting for dominance. It takes her a minute to figure out what it is. 

Joy.

She laughs breathlessly, her own eyes filling with tears now. “Don’t be sad,” she says, shaking her head. “This is a miracle.”

Kaladin’s eyes widen, as if surprised. Oh, he thought I’d be mad, she puts together.

“Kal, this is wonderful,” she tells him, smiling, as blue leaves swirl around them happily.

“I thought you’d be angry,” he says quietly, searching her face desperately to see if she’s telling the truth, if she’s really not mad at him. “I thought you’d be upset with me, because it was supposed to be you.”

She laughs at that, a little bit hysterical but mostly relieved. 

“Kaladin, darling, no. I’m not mad. I’m the opposite of mad. I’m so, so happy.” She pets the side of his face, feeling the rough stubble on his cheeks against her palm.

He still looks confused. She takes a deep breath and attempts to explain. 

It’s difficult, because she’s not exactly sure how to express what she’s feeling, but she has to try anyway. Kaladin deserves to know. Adolin, too, but she thinks he might already understand her thoughts on the subject. She’ll have to talk to him later just to make sure they’re all on the same page.

“I’m… relieved, in a way,” she finally says. His brow furrows but he stays silent, waiting patiently, and she continues. “I’m… not ready to have a child. I don’t know if I ever will be, to be honest.”

His arms squeeze around her a little tighter and she’s grateful for the support. 

“This… You… It’s taken the pressure off, I suppose. Storms, it sounds so selfish, I know–”

“It's not selfish,” Kaladin says softly. Shallan feels a surge of affection for him.

“Thank you,” she says. “But it’s not just that, I promise. I’m happy for other reasons, too.” 

She needs to make sure he knows that.

“I’m happy that you have this now. I can see how everything’s been weighing on you, Kal, feeling like what you have with us isn’t real, or at least not as real as our marriage is. We’ve tried to show you that’s not the case, but I feel like the message has never really sunk in.”

Kaladin tries to look away but Shallan doesn’t let him, holding his head steady, keeping their eyes locked.

“Maybe– maybe this can help you see that you do belong with us. Not because of this, but… I don't know, I'm not explaining this well,” she says, flustered, her words getting all tangled. She takes another breath, tries to sort out the jumbled thoughts in her head.

“Kaladin, we both love you, very much, and we have always wanted you to be an equal part in our relationship. I’m sorry we didn’t make that clear.” 

Kaladin looks stunned, but she keeps going, desperate to get the words out now that she’s found them. “I know our marriage throws things off balance, but it’s just paperwork to us. In our hearts we want to be with you, too. We don't need this–” she gestures to him, to the pills, tripping over her words again but pushing on regardless, “ –to know that you belong with us, but I think it’s also a kind of blessing, a real, tangible connection that ties us all together. I… I’m so happy, Kaladin.” 

She starts to cry then, joyful, overwhelmed tears, and Kaladin pulls her in tight against his body, rocking her gently.

“I love you, too,” he murmurs, kissing her hair.

Storms, what a whiplash of emotions tonight. She’s tired from it all, wants to curl up in her bed and sleep for a week.

“When are you going to tell Adolin?” She asks, thinking they really ought to move this conversation somewhere more comfortable than the cold stone floor of his tiny bedroom. Maybe she can convince Kaladin to come back to their rooms with her.

Kaladin is suspiciously quiet. She pulls back to squint up at him. 

“Kaladin?”

“I hadn’t… thought about it,” he answers quietly.

Shallan’s mouth drops open. “You weren’t going to tell him?”

“I wasn’t planning on telling anyone,” he says, and she smacks him on the arm. 

“What were you going to do then, Kal? Were you going to just lock yourself away for the whole six months, not talk to anyone but your parents? Or– or were you going to…” she trails off, eyes widening as another option suddenly occurs to her.

Kaladin must read it on her face because he immediately rushes to reassure her.

“No! No, Shallan, not that. Never that,” he says, and she lets out a relieved breath. She believes him, of course. The thought just popped into her head and she panicked, but this is Kaladin they’re talking about. He would never.

“Then what?” She asks, genuinely curious.

“I don’t know what I was going to do,” he says honestly. “I was just kind of taking it day by day.”

“Kal. You have to tell him.” Her voice leaves no room for argument. 

“Yeah. I know.”

She leans up and kisses him on the forehead, right where his slave brands used to sit. 

“He’s going to be so happy. You’ll see.” She smiles. “This is a miracle, Kal. Life, in a time of so much death.”

“Yeah, that’s what scares me,” he says softly, and her smile falls away. She leans back into the safety of his embrace and squeezes her arms around his waist, giving comfort and sharing strength, because he’s right. 

That scares her, too.

____

It’s been nearly a week and Kaladin still hasn’t told Adolin. Shallan is trying to be patient but it’s hard, Adolin is still so sad all the time. 

Shallan told him she talked to Kaladin, that he was okay and that he’d come back around soon, but that didn’t cheer Adolin up the way she’d intended. Instead, he got even more glum, depressed that apparently Kaladin was willing to trust her with whatever was bothering him but not him. She tried explaining that she’d basically forced it out of Kaladin, but it didn’t seem to make a difference. 

Shallan has been back to visit Kaladin twice since, once more during the night, sneaking into his room like she had the first two times, then once at a more regular time of the day, after Kaladin assured her she wouldn’t be turned away by his parents anymore. 

They were a little confused at first; it seemed like maybe Kaladin hadn’t exactly been forthcoming about the nature of their relationship. But she did her best to reassure them and set the record straight about the three of them, much to Kaladin’s chagrin. He practically dragged her out of the living room when she started explaining how sometimes they paired off, and how sometimes they didn't, instead choosing to do things as a throuple when they– 

Well, maybe she went a bit too far, but he deserved it for hiding from them and at least now there would be no more misunderstandings about it all. She just hoped she didn’t traumatize them too badly, for Kaladin’s sake.

Unfortunately, she was barred from giving Adolin the same treatment. She’d love to just spill her guts to him, tell him everything, wipe the miserable look off his face and see it light up with elation, but Kaladin said he wasn’t ready yet, and she was loath to break his trust.

It was just so hard. 

“He’ll come to you when he’s ready, Adolin,” she tells him yet again. Adolin paces in front of her, alternately running his hands through his hair and pulling at it in frustration.

“But why? Why hasn’t he come before now? Why does he trust you enough to tell you the truth but not me?”

“Adolin, honey, I told you, I didn’t give him a choice,” she sighs. 

“Please just tell me. Please. I’m going crazy,” he begs, all wide, pathetic eyes and pouting mouth. It takes a substantial amount of effort but she manages to hold her ground.

“I promised, Adolin,” she says gently. “I’m not going to break his trust, not about this.”

Adolin's face falls and he opens his mouth to say something else but is interrupted by a knock at the door.

He looks at her, eyebrows raised, but she shakes her head. She’s not expecting anyone either.

Adolin runs his hands through his hair in an attempt to flatten it into some kind of order, then strides over to the door and pulls it open. 

Kaladin stands on the other side, stone-faced, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

Shallan’s eyes immediately flit down to his stomach, but his shirt is loose, and she knows there’s nothing to see there anyway. It was a completely instinctive reaction on her part, one she’s definitely going to have to train herself out of.

When she looks back up she’s practically walloped by the expression of longing on Kaladin’s face as he stares at Adolin, who is frozen in place, shockspren popping into existence around his head. 

“Kaladin,” Adolin breathes, and his body leans toward the other man as if he wants to reach for him, but Kaladin moves a tiny step back and Adolin stills again.

“Kal?” He asks, shockspren fading away, and Shallan can hear the hurt and confusion in his voice loud and clear. She grits her teeth but resolves to let it play out… For now.

“Would you…” Kaladin says, voice awkward and stilted, “...like to have dinner with me tonight?” 

He shoots a glance at Shallan, who gives him an encouraging smile, then looks back at Adolin again. “Just the two of us?”

Adolin’s mouth hangs open for a second before he recovers. 

“Yes! Yes, of course, Kal. I’d love to have dinner with you,” he says. 

He doesn’t try to reach out to Kaladin again and Kaladin doesn't come any closer, but he smiles anyway, and Kaladin’s expression lightens just a fraction, the ever-present wrinkle between his brows smoothing as he relaxes minutely.

“Alright,” Kaladin says, and the corners of his lips quirk up slightly. Shallan wants to dance and  jump and whoop for joy. She restrains herself admirably. 

“I’ll see you later, then,” Kaladin says, and without waiting for a response he turns on his heel and walks away, leaving Adolin to stare at the empty doorway for several seconds before he closes it softly.

Shallan stands and walks over to him, wrapping her arms around him from behind, and he grips her forearms as they squeeze around his middle. 

“Finally,” she mutters into his broad back, and she can feel him chuckle. It sounds suspiciously wet.

“Finally,” he says. 

She decides right then and there that if Kaladin doesn’t tell her husband everything tonight then she’s just going to have to take it into her own hands.

Chapter Text

Adolin

Shallan left an hour ago with a smile, a kiss, and a wink, and Adolin’s been wearing a hole in his living room rug ever since.

He paces when he’s nervous – something he picked up from his father. And he is nervous. Very nervous. Because Kaladin will be here any minute now, and he’s going to tell Adolin why he’s been avoiding him for weeks, what’s so wrong with him that he couldn’t even have visitors, why he needed time to work up the courage to even speak to him…

He knows it can’t be something terrible, because Shallan hasn’t seemed too upset about it since the first time she spoke with Kaladin last week. And she winked at him earlier, which kind of gives him the opposite impression. He thinks. He’s not sure. He doesn’t know anything for sure, and it’s been driving him slowly crazy.

Concentrationspren follow in his wake as he paces and he can feel himself starting to sweat nervously. He stops, shaking his hands out, breathing in deeply a few times to calm his racing heart.

And then he goes and nearly has a heart attack when Kaladin arrives.

He gives three sharp knocks, equally spaced, and after the initial shock Adolin finds himself grinning at how Kaladin’s still such a soldier, even when he hasn’t officially been one for months. 

The thought relaxes him because it reminds him that this is just Kaladin. This moment has felt so monumental, like he’s been building it up in his head because he hasn’t seen the man in so long, but in the end it’s just Kaladin, his best friend, his bridgeboy. They’ll figure it out; they always do.

He opens the door wide, grin widening when he sees Kaladin, dressed in clothing that Shallan no doubt had a hand in picking out. Adolin can easily imagine her hurrying up to the Hearthstone wing the second she left here to bully Kaladin into keeping their date, then staying to help him pick out an outfit Adolin would approve of. 

He appreciates her effort very much; he’s not too proud to accept help, and Kaladin looks stunning. Of course, Kaladin would look stunning in a flour sack to Adolin, so that’s not saying much.

“Hey, Kal,” he says, keeping his voice casual and friendly. Adolin knows that if Kaladin is nervous about something the best way to get him to talk is to set him at ease, let him open up in his own time… which sounds distressingly like what Shallan’s been trying to tell him all week. He pushes that thought away.

Kaladin grunts at him and comes inside, heading straight for the dining table, which is set with all of the Windrunner’s favorite foods. Adolin pulled a favor to get such a specialized menu so last minute, but he’d do it again without hesitation.

“Please, have a seat! I’m sure you're famished; I’ve heard grunting and brooding can really take it out of a man,” Adolin says cheerily, pulling out his own seat and settling into it. He grins innocently at the glare he receives.

“Storm off,” Kaladin mumbles, then grabs a fork and begins to dish food onto his plate from the first serving tray, utensils clicking on the fine dishware. Adolin watches as he looks at the next tray, pausing as he sees that it, too, is something he likes. 

“I got all your favorites,” Adolin says quietly. 

Kaladin grunts again before continuing to serve himself, but it’s a little sound this time, softer around the edges, and Adolin smiles as he piles food onto his own plate.

They eat, and Adolin chatters lightly about his day, about the campaign he’s set to go out on next week with his father, about the trouble Shallan’s been getting up to. He avoids the chasmfiend in the room, not mentioning Kaladin’s absence or how it has affected Adolin, though he wants to. He wants to tell Kaladin how much he missed him, how much he missed having him around. He wants to know what he did so wrong to make Kaladin feel like he couldn’t trust him. 

Kaladin loosens up gradually and has even started peppering the occasional sarcastic remark into Adolin’s commentary, which is always a good sign. They’ve just started in on dessert when Kaladin sets his fork down with a clatter and stands abruptly.

“What’s wrong?” Adolin asks, startled, rising as well. 

Kaladin doesn’t answer. He just pushes his chair back with an earsplitting screech and bolts into Adolin’s bedroom.

“Kal!” Adolin shouts, alarmed, and he follows at a run. He crosses the threshold into the bedroom but doesn’t see Kaladin there so he keeps going. Skidding to a stop in front of the open bathroom door he finds Kaladin on his knees, forcefully expelling Adolin’s carefully planned meal directly into the toilet.

“Kal,” Adolin says, aghast, and he kneels beside the other man, rubbing between his shoulder blades comfortingly.

Kaladin continues to retch until there’s nothing left in him but bile and then he falls backward, leaning heavily on the opposite wall with his legs splayed out haphazardly in front of him.

“Sorry,” he mutters, panting, and Adolin waves it away carelessly. He stands, cleaning up as best he can, wiping around the toilet and flushing the mess down, and then grabs a clean cloth off the stack by the door and wets it in the sink before handing it to Kaladin to wipe his face with. The other man mumbles his thanks and presses the cool cloth to his forehead, then his eyes, then wipes his mouth. 

Adolin sits down next to him, shoulder to shoulder.

“You okay?” he asks, trying to keep the worry he feels from coloring his voice.

“Yeah,” Kaladin says. He sounds exhausted. “I’m used to it at this point. Sorry you had to see it, though.”

“It’s fine,” Adolin says, and then it’s quiet again for a few minutes.

Eventually, he clears his throat and hesitantly asks the question that’s been plaguing him for weeks. 

“Will you tell me what’s going on?”

Kaladin doesn’t answer, just sits with his eyes closed and head leaning back against the wall. Adolin swallows, his stomach in knots, and watches the twisting black crosses writhe around his feet.

“Are you dying?” He whispers.

Kaladin’s eyes fly open and he lifts his head off the wall, looking at Adolin in shock.

“No,” he says, flabbergasted. “What–? Why would you think that?”

“Because you’ve been sick for a month now and you won’t even look me in the eye and you’re obviously afraid of telling me about whatever’s wrong with you. What else am I supposed to think?” Adolin asks, and he sounds less frustrated and more sad, which is… yeah, pretty accurate.

Kaladin’s eyes flick between his for a long moment before he sighs. 

“No, Adolin, I’m not dying,” he says, and Adolin can hear something like shame in his voice now. “I’m sorry if I made you think that.”

Adolin’s body suddenly relaxes as he lets out a relieved breath, weeks of tension draining out of him all at once. He wasn’t aware of the weight he’s been carrying around from worrying about Kaladin; he’s almost dizzy with the sudden absence.

But he still hasn’t gotten an answer to his original question.

“Then… what’s wrong?”

Adolin can practically feel the discomfort radiating off of the Windrunner but he waits him out.

“Nothing’s… wrong, really,” Kaladin murmurs eventually, eyes flitting away again. Adolin’s brow furrows, confused, but Kaladin continues before he can ask again.

“I’m…” Kaladin blows out an explosive sigh, then takes a bracing breath. “I’m pregnant, Adolin.”

Adolin nods.

“Wow, okay, yeah. That makes sense.” He keeps nodding.

“Adolin,” Kaladin says slowly, staring at him. “Did you hear me?”

Adolin nods again, then stops abruptly and shakes his head once. 

“I’m sorry. What?”

“Adolin… please don’t make me say it again,” Kaladin says in a low voice.

Adolin shakes his head again, like maybe he’s got water in his ears and he’s not hearing correctly. 

“I’m– you’re–” he stutters, then stops. Whispers. “Pregnant?”

Kaladin nods, and the entire world stops. Adolin’s stuck, frozen in this infinite moment, time stretching out like taffy as he sits on the floor of a bathroom with one of the loves of his life, who has just told him he’s pregnant with his child.

Everything snaps into motion again, speeding back up all at once, and Adolin’s pulse thunders in his ears. He feels suddenly lightheaded.

“How?” He asks, and Kaladin shrugs. 

“Towerlight, apparently. It thought it owed me so it gave me a gift.”

“Towerlight?”

Kaladin shrugs again, looking down, hands clasped tightly together in his lap. Adolin feels removed from his body, like he’s seeing and hearing everything from an outside perspective, unable to fully comprehend complicated things like words and meanings.

“Are you– are you sure?” He hears himself ask. His voice sounds tinny in his ears.

“Yes,” Kaladin says simply. No explanation, but Adolin doesn’t need one. Kaladin’s a surgeon. His father’s a surgeon. They’d know if it was real or not. It’s real.

It’s real.

He must stay silent for too long because Kaladin shifts, holding onto the wall as he stands. 

Adolin's head tilts up, following him but not really seeing him, not comprehending. 

It’s real. Towerlight. This is real.

Kaladin steps over him easily with his ridiculously long legs, then walks straight out the door.

It takes a second for Adolin to catch up.

“What? Hey– Kaladin, wait!”

He scrambles up, nearly tripping into the washbasin face first. He steadies himself and hurries after the Windrunner. 

Kaladin’s already made it through the bedroom by the time Adolin gets there.

“Kaladin!”

Footsteps across his living area. Adolin hurtles past his bed and into the next room, skidding to a stop by the dining table just as Kaladin reaches the door to the outside hallway.

“Wait!”

Kaladin grasps the door handle but doesn’t turn it, waiting.

“Please don’t go,” Adolin says breathlessly, taking a cautious step closer to the other man.

“Why not?” Kaladin asks, voice flat. “I told you what you wanted to know. You made your opinion on the matter pretty clear.”

Adolin takes another step. “No, Kal. I don’t think I did,” he says softly.

Kaladin turns slightly, eyeing Adolin over his shoulder.

“You wouldn’t even look at me,” he says, still in that awful monotone.

“Because I was surprised. I– That’s the very last thing I ever would have guessed, Kal. I didn’t even know it was possible.”

Kaladin opens his mouth to respond but Adolin cuts him off before he can. He needs to let Kaladin know how he really feels before Kaladin talks himself into believing something that’s not true.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I was– I am surprised, but I don’t want you to leave here thinking something terrible. Because you are, aren’t you?” 

Kaladin’s jaw tightens.

Adolin takes a few more slow steps, only a couple feet separating him from Kaladin now.

“I am–” Adolin starts but has to stop as he suddenly chokes up. “I am so– happy,” he gets out, and Kaladin finally lets go of the handle, turning around fully. Adolin takes another small step closer, and another. Just inches, now.

“I don’t understand how, but… Storms, Kal.” 

His eyes burn, tears blurring his vision. He tries to blink them away, wants to see Kaladin’s face, his eyes.

“I’m going to be a father?” Adolin asks hoarsely, and he blinks again but this time he can’t pull the tears back and they fall instead, little pearls of pure emotion dripping down his cheeks. “We’re going to have a child? A child– with– of… us?”

Kaladin steps forward at the same time that Adolin reaches for him, closing the remaining space between them. Adolin’s fingers clutch at Kaladin’s shirt desperately as the Windrunner’s arms surround him, pulling him close. Adolin gasps into Kaladin’s shoulder, and then he’s laughing wetly, the shock and lingering disbelief melting away into pure, unfiltered happiness.

He wants to lift Kaladin up and spin him around, shout from the top of the tower that he’s going to be a father. Stand up in front of everyone, him and Kaladin and Shallan, and kiss him to within an inch of his life.

He pulls back, Kaladin’s arm’s still bracketing him, and reaches up to cradle the other man’s face between his hands. 

“We’re going to have a baby, Kal,” he whispers, grinning even as tears continue to slip down his cheeks, and Kaladin gives him a shaky smile. Adolin kisses him soundly, uncaring of the lingering sour taste in Kaladin’s mouth. Kaladin huffs an amused breath through his nose at the appearance of a veritable army of tiny blue joyspren and Adolin laughs out loud, deliriously happy, wondering how anything could ever top this moment. 

____

Kaladin

Legs thrown carelessly over the armrest and head resting on Adolin’s thigh, Kaladin dozes on the living room couch, the other man’s fingers combing gently through his long hair. 

It’s been an emotional evening for him, all of the buildup of the past week finally coming to a head, leaving him feeling wrung out and exhausted, but also infinitely relieved. He did it. He told him, and Adolin isn’t mad. Shallan isn’t upset, either, which is even more surprising to him. Instead, she seems more the opposite of upset. Excited, and, like Kaladin, relieved, but for very different reasons than he is. 

It’s probably the absolute best way this all could have turned out, which is… strange, for him. He’s not used to his life playing nice.

He still worries about their relationship, but at this very moment those thoughts are distant, eased into submission by the warmth of the comforting hand on his chest and the achingly tender fingers in his hair.

He balances on the precipice for long minutes, content to stay here in this liminal space of soft thoughts and gentle touches, but he must tip into actual sleep eventually because he’s woken some time later by Adolin moving out from underneath him. 

Too groggy to object with words he whines low in his throat, eyes still closed, and feels a hand push the hair away from his forehead, followed by the soft brush of lips on his cheek.

“Shh, I’m just going to move you to the bed,” Adolin murmurs, and then an arm works itself beneath his back, another under his knees, and he’s being lifted off the couch and into strong arms.

Kaladin’s head lolls to rest against a firm chest and he inhales deeply, the fresh scent of Adolin filling his nose, his lungs, his entire body. He feels warm, held and protected, relaxing into Adolin’s hold in a way he’s never let himself do with anyone before. He feels vulnerable and exposed, but it doesn’t bother him the way it normally would. Maybe it’s because he’s so tired, unable to pull himself fully into the waking world, sleep sticky and eyes heavy. Or maybe it’s because it’s Adolin holding him, and he trusts him in a way he trusts no one else.

His eyes slip closed as Adolin carries him, steps jostling him lightly, Adolin’s firm grip never wavering. Then he’s being lowered down onto expensive sheets, gloriously cool against his skin, downy soft pillow beneath his head, and Adolin’s arms retract, taking their comforting warmth with them.

Kaladin shivers, rolling onto his side, unconsciously trying to follow, and he’s rewarded with a hand in his hair again. A thick blanket is pulled over him up to his chin and he snuggles down into the bedding, feeling vaguely like an axehound pup burrowing into the warmth of its mother’s body. 

And then, warm, comfortable, and safe, Kaladin gives in to the siren song of sleep, letting it pull him into blissful darkness.

_____

He sleeps through the night, which has been a rare occurrence lately with the way his digestive system has been reacting to all the new hormones wreaking havoc on his body. It’s wonderful and refreshing, and he’s not even upset that the reason he finally does wake late the following morning is due to a particularly robust wave of nausea. At least it let him get a solid ten hours.

Instinctually he reaches down for his metal pail, which isn’t there, but he does find a deep serving bowl, so he uses that to avoid making a mess on the sheets. 

The sheets of the very fancy, very plush bed he unintentionally slept in last night, it seems.

“Better out than in!” A cheerful voice chirps in his ear as he shoves his face into the bowl and empties the meager contents of his stomach into it. He grunts at Syl, hopefully making it clear how unamused he is at her blatant lack of sympathy. She giggles and flies off.

He feels more than sees Adolin join him on the edge of the bed, a large hand coming to rest between his shoulder blades, rubbing comfortingly while his stomach continues to clench painfully.

When the wave of sickness finally recedes Kaladin lifts his head to take several deep lungfuls of fresh air. Adolin takes the bowl from him, leaning down to place it carefully on the floor near the end of the bed, then straightens again and hands him a damp cloth to wipe his face with. Kaladin takes it, mumbling his thanks.

“Has it been like this the whole time?” Adolin asks, concerned.

Kaladin grunts, pressing the cool cloth into his eyes hard, causing strange colors and shapes to dance across the backs of his closed lids. He wipes his forehead and mouth before tossing the cloth to the floor by the soiled clothing hamper on the opposite wall.

“Yeah,” he says, voice hoarse, throat burning from the acid. “It’s been pretty awful.”

“I’m sorry,” Adolin says, hand still rubbing lightly on Kaladin’s back.

Kaladin shrugs. “Believe it or not, male bodies are even less used to pregnancy hormones than female ones. It is what it is.”

He glances at Adolin, who gives him a tight-lipped smile. Kaladin’s brow furrows.

“What’s wrong?”

Adolin shakes his head, lips pursing. Kaladin raises a skeptical eyebrow at him.

“You’re terrible at hiding your emotions, princeling. Just tell me what’s bothering you,” he says, and Adolin gives him a wry smile before it quickly drops again.

“I just…” He trails off, searching for the right words. 

“I didn’t think it would be so… miserable,” he finally says, sighing. “I mean, I knew it wasn’t always easy – apparently carrying Renarin was particularly tough on my mother – but, I don’t know… I guess it’s just hard to feel glad when you’re so obviously suffering.”

Kaladin lets the words settle into the quiet of the room. They’re not untrue, is the thing. But… that’s also not the full picture, he thinks. Sometimes good things only come after a little bit of struggle. Maybe even because of them. 

He reaches over and takes one of Adolin’s hands from where they’ve been twisting together anxiously in his lap, pulling it over to rest on his own leg. Adolin is forced to scoot closer on the bed, the sides of their bodies pressing together. 

Kaladin lets his head fall onto Adolin’s shoulder and he feels the other man’s breath hitch, his free hand coming up to pet Kaladin’s hair like it’s magnetized. Adolin’s always had a strange fascination with Kaladin’s hair, but he doesn’t really mind it. It feels nice, the way he plays with it, braiding the strands together, combing the tangles out with dextrous fingers.

“It is miserable, I’m not going to lie to you,” Kaladin says, frank. “And it’s probably going to get even more so, once I start getting bigger. My body’s not made for this, no matter what crazy ideas the Towerlight has in whatever passes for its brain. But… it will be worth it, in the end, I think,” he says, voice low, almost careful. 

These are thoughts that have been dancing around his mind for the past few weeks while he’s had so much time alone to think, and he’s glad to finally be able to share them with someone other than his parents, but it’s still terrifying, trusting someone this way, being so vulnerable so willingly.

Adolin twists slightly and presses a kiss to the top of Kaladin’s head, his breath ruffling Kaladin’s hair.

“Of course it will, bridgeboy,” he whispers. 

They fall silent again. Kaladin feels like he’s in a bubble, separated from the rest of the world, just him and Adolin and their unborn child. It’s a strange feeling, knowing there’s something living and growing inside of his body, and even stranger to think that it's not just part of him, but is of him, and of Adolin, too. Will it have his brown hair, or will it be born with Adolin’s mismatched locks? Will it have sky blue eyes or deep, rich brown? 

Will they get his crippling depression? Their own little Wretch to battle for the entirety of their life, dragging them down into despair even when they should be happy?

He hopes not. He hopes this child gets their personality from Adolin, with his enthusiasm and joy for life present in everything he does, his infinite reservoir of kindness, his endless capacity to love.

He clenches his eyes shut at the sudden ache in his chest, lifting Adolin’s hand to give it a long kiss on the knuckles.

“I love you,” Adolin murmurs, and Kaladin nods, squeezing his hand hard. 

"I love you, too," he whispers.

He hopes Adolin knows how much he means those words. He hopes he knows that Kaladin loves him so much that sometimes he feels like he’s going to crack open with it, like it’s too much for any one person to contain, and that sometimes he’s so completely overwhelmed by it all, because love may be the word they have but love isn’t big enough, isn’t deep enough, not for the way he feels, not for the way he cherishes and admires and yearns for this man, holding him so very close to his ruined heart. 

_____

It takes some cajoling from Adolin but Kaladin eventually agrees to wait for Shallan to return before he heads back to his family’s rooms. Adolin assures him that he sent a messenger last night to his parents, telling them that Kaladin was staying the night with him, and Kaladin blushes when he imagines what their reactions may have been to that. Raised eyebrows from his father, maybe even a suggestive comment from his mother.

He rubs his face at the thought but pushes it aside, resolving to enjoy the morning with Adolin. 

The atmosphere is… strange. Not a bad strange, just different. 

Adolin is quieter than usual, though he moves around the room like he’s walking on clouds, a smile practically glued to his face, eyes shining. He touches Kaladin a lot, little things like a brush of the hand when he walks by or a gentle nudge to the side of his foot when they’re sitting next to each other on the couch, Kaladin analyzing some of Adolin’s strategy reports while Adolin himself peruses the stack fashion folios that had accumulated during his time in Shadesmar.

Kaladin catches himself smiling at Adolin’s soppy antics more than once and tries to reign it in, but his light-hearted attitude is infectious.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this happy,” Syl says to him, awed, as she takes the place on the couch Adolin just vacated. He’s apparently taken it upon himself to make sure Kaladin drinks at least half of the tower’s water supply by lunch.

Kaladin thinks about Syl’s comment and, sadly, she’s probably right. “Guess I haven’t had a lot to be happy about ‘til now,” he says quietly.

Syl looks devastated at that, which makes Kaladin pause, thinking over his words. 

Syl was there through almost all of it, through his days as a bridgeman and the times he struggled with the darkness after Kholinar and during the occupation. He knows she’s seen him on his darkest days, but she’s also been there with him through lighter ones. Like the good times with Bridge Four, and after that, with Adolin and Shallan. 

But she’s never seen him like this before, so taken care of, so loved and comfortable and content. It must be heartbreaking for her to finally understand how unhappy Kaladin’s life has been, that even during those other happy times he wasn’t ever able to feel the level of joy that he does now. 

“Don’t be sad,” he says, instinctively reaching for her hand. He still can’t quite feel her but he keeps his hand there anyway, curls it inward like he would if she’d been fully corporeal. She smiles at him with shimmering eyes.

“Well, that’s not going to happen, Kaladin. I'm absolutely going to be sad that apparently you’ve never been happy in your entire life until now.”

“That’s not what I meant, Syl. Come on, I’ve been happy.” 

“Alright, you’ve been almost happy,” she retorts, rolling her eyes, and he smiles at seeing her replicate such a human behavior. “But now I know what being truly happy looks like on you, and it makes me sad that this is the first time you’ve ever felt this way. You deserve to be happy all the time, Kaladin.”

He swallows, taken aback by the sincerity in her voice. “Thanks, Syl. You do, too.”

When Shallan finally does return about an hour after he and Adolin have a very light, very bland lunch, she takes one look at their faces and squeals, running over to pull them both into a crushing hug. Syl shrinks down and flies around them in a happy streak, twirling and weaving around the falling blue leaves.

“A baby!” Shallan shouts, grinning from ear to ear. “We’re having a baby!”

Adolin kisses her, laughing, arms looped around both of them, and then turns to Kaladin, eyes dancing. 

“We’re having a baby,” he says.

“Yeah, I guess we are.” Kaladin smiles.

Chapter Text

Kaladin

The next few weeks are eye-opening for all of them. 

After the revelation and the subsequent celebrations, Kaladin returns to his parents’ apartments, but only after he makes several promises to Adolin and Shallan to stop avoiding them, and to share any new details with them the first chance he gets, and to think about, just consider, moving in with them, at least until the baby is born.

Because apparently they want to be part of this, too. His pregnancy journey, as Shallan called it. They want to take care of him. 

It’s a lot to take in, but he promises to think about it, so long as she never uses the term pregnancy journey again.

Things mostly return to normal, and Kaladin continues to help out in the clinic, handling minor injuries to leave his dad free for the more serious ones. He knows eventually he’ll have to step up to help with those as well, but for now he thinks it’s better for him to stick to the small stuff; he’s seen enough blood and gore in the last couple of years that he think’s he’s earned at least this small reprieve. 

Bridge Four comes calling, as he knew they would; he knew his “sick” excuse could only hold them off for so long. He doesn’t tell them anything, not yet. He figures he’ll have to at some point, but he’s going to wait until it’s more obvious physically, just to simplify matters. He doesn’t want everyone thinking he’s playing a joke on them (as if he would, especially about something like this), and it will leave less time for them to get all weird or protective or whatever around him. 

But for now he just tells them he’s feeling better, which he is. The constant nausea has receded significantly, only resurfacing when he consumes too much in one sitting or eats something particularly heavy or spicy. His mother is a godsend, sharing all the tips she learned during her pregnancies, one of which wasn’t actually that long ago. It’s strange to think that she’ll be a grandmother soon.

Because he’ll be a father. 

Mentally, he’s been doing better since telling Shallan and Adolin. They’ve been nothing but happy and supportive, and the weight of guilt and fear that he’s been carrying since the night his mother finally figured out what was going on has mostly disappeared.

Sometimes, though, he worries. And, unfortunately, now when he worries, he worries hard. 

He’s always felt emotions very deeply, he knows this, but now it’s like they’re all-consuming, like they crash over him in a monstrous wave and drag him under until he doesn’t know up from down anymore. He used to be able to tether himself to shore, latch onto something to help keep him afloat until the deluge passed, but now he just gets swept away, thoughts and worries and emotions drowning him in a steady, inescapable torrent.

What if this child does end up with his curse, his inability to just be happy? What if Shallan starts to feel left out, like she’s not part of it because she’s not biologically involved? What if Adolin starts to pull away from him because he doesn’t want his relationship with Shallan to suffer? What if Kaladin loses them both?

What if Kaladin’s a bad father, unable to cope with the stresses of parenthood? What if he can’t handle dealing with his own hateful emotions and those of another tiny, very dependent human? What if, as important to the war effort as he has admittedly been in the past, he is forced to fight again, and he dies? What if they all die, and the child is left behind without any parents at all?

When he gets like this now it’s hard for even Adolin to pull him out of it, which worries everyone. He stays in bed, unable to find the energy to even start the day, tears dripping slowly down the sides of his face, soaking the pillowcase beneath him. Agonyspren and anxietyspren and anguishspren are his constant companions, weaving a terrible quilt of angst over and around him. 

Someone always stays with him on those days, Adolin or Shallan, when they’re not busy doing other tasks, or one of his parents. Syl, of course, never leaves his side.

His mother talks to him, tries to distract him with conversation, which sometimes works for short periods of time, before he loses all interest and falls back into his suffocating cloud of depression.

His father goes about it differently. Lirin will drag a chair to the side of Kaladin’s bed and pull out a medical tome, or sometimes a stack of patient records, and he’ll work through them quietly and steadily, sometimes sharing interesting bits with Kaladin as he comes across them. Kaladin appreciates not being forced to participate in the conversation, especially because when he can no longer stand to humor his mother it just fuels the feelings of guilt already pressing down on him.

Adolin and Shallan tend to take a more hands-on approach, one or both of them often climbing into his much too small bed and pulling him close while he cries silent tears of guilt and shame. He knows it hurts them to see him in such a state, but there’s honestly nothing he can do about it. He’s tried. 

It helps anyway, the physical contact. Helps him concentrate on something other than the oppressive darkness, and he eventually falls asleep, cradled in their arms. Most times when he wakes up the crushing emotions have departed, leaving just an echo of despair behind, like his body has almost managed to reset itself while sleeping. This is another strange thing for him, since before when he would fall into his dark moods they’d last for several days or even weeks, depending on the circumstance. It tells him that hormones are yet again to blame, at least concerning the severity of these instances and the strange, but thankfully short, timespan.

The extreme emotional episodes seem to level out some after the second month, just about a third of the way through what his father tells him is a full-term pregnancy. He’s still had very few physical changes aside from his skin looking healthier (glowing, his mother says), and his hair, which is shinier and fuller than it’s ever been, despite not using the fancy products that Adolin insists are a necessity for hair like his. He’s perfectly okay with the lack of visible changes, because he knows the moment it starts becoming obvious and word gets out his life will be absolute chaos.

He’s in one of the back examination rooms one afternoon with Syl, stitching up a small cut on a young darkeyed girl’s knee while her mother and father sit anxiously beside her. Syl, his “assistant”, as she’s taken to calling herself, makes silly faces at the girl, distracting her and making her laugh as Kaladin works.

Suddenly they hear raised voices coming down the hall from the waiting room.

“Syl, can you go see what’s going on?” He asks her while he ties off the last stitch. 

“On it,” Syl says, and she shrinks down to her smaller size and flits out into the hallway. 

Kaladin wraps the newly stitched wound with a clean bandage and then stands, moving over to the basin to wash his hands. Syl reappears then, looking panicked.

“Kaladin, someone’s really hurt, you have to come,” she tells him frantically. 

Kaladin asks the family to please stay put for now but that someone will come to dismiss them soon, and then he jogs down the hall after Syl to see what the commotion is.

Passing the empty desk where his mother normally sits, he rounds the corner to the waiting room to see both his mother and father, along with Drehy – Drehy? – and several soldiers dressed in Kholin blue, huddled around a figure in a bloodied uniform slumped in one of the waiting room chairs. Spren of all kinds flock around the group; anxietyspren, painspren, agonyspren, anticipationspren, fearspren. 

“...get him into the back, come on,” his father is saying, and Kaladin hurries over to help, shooing the spren out of the way as two of the soldiers bend and loop the unconscious one’s arms over their shoulders, standing his limp body up between them.

Kaladin stumbles back a step when he sees the soldier’s face, because it’s Adolin, unconscious and injured in the clinic’s waiting room, Adolin bleeding from what looks like several different battle wounds, Adolin whose face is ashen and pale, who looks on the verge of death.

“Oh,” Syl gasps next to him. 

“Kaladin, go set up the surgical room, now.” 

His father’s voice is whip-sharp but calm, in control, the way he always gets during medical emergencies, and it triggers something in Kaladin, something trained into him from years of working in his father’s clinic back in Hearthstone as a boy. He turns and runs ahead of the group of soldiers, sprinting for the surgery room.

He gathers everything he thinks his father might need from his one brief glance at Adolin… Towels, clean water, bandages, antiseptic, stitching thread, surgical instruments, numbing ointment. Even some fathom bark for pain, on the off-chance that Adolin wakes up enough to be able to chew it. 

By the time he’s done they’ve arrived, dragging Adolin over to the surgical gurney, Syl flitting around them anxiously. Kaladin helps lift him onto the flat bed and then Hesina starts corralling the group of soldiers, leading them back out the door. Kaladin can hear her asking for information on what transpired to leave Adolin in such a state, in case there’s something specific they need to know about one or more of his injuries, and then the door shuts behind them and it’s just him and Lirin.

And Syl, but she shouldn’t be here for this.

“Syl, go,” he tells her.

“Kaladin–”

“Go.”

She leaves without another word.

Kaladin turns back to the table and his brain immediately grinds to a halt as he looks down at Adolin’s face, worryingly pale, covered in dirt and blood, features lax. He can’t reconcile this bloodied soldier with the man who is always so full of life, who just two days ago was practically bouncing with excitement when he finally convinced Kaladin to try on some of the new fashion pieces he’d just requisitioned.

“Clothes,” Lirin says, and Kaladin moves to obey, mind fracturing like broken glass. He distractedly kicks at the spren who have followed them in as he reaches for scissors, then he cuts Adolin’s uniform off so they can see what they’re dealing with, which injuries need to be triaged first. He starts with the bottom half.

Almighty, there’s so much blood, he thinks as he cuts Adolin’s pants straight down the legs, blood making the fabric sticky and heavy.

As he and his father peel them away they reveal a deep gash down the front of Adolin’s left thigh, a diagonal slice from his hipbone to the inside of his knee, the split skin welling up a deep, dark red even as Kaladin watches. 

“We need to treat this first,” Lirin says immediately. He moves quickly to Adolin’s left side, pouring antiseptic liberally onto the leg wound and beginning to carefully and efficiently wipe it free of any dirt or debris that could cause infection.

“There’s a lot of blood but thankfully I think they missed the artery or he would have bled out by now. I'm going to try to stitch it up so he doesn’t lose any more.”

Kaladin nods, dazed. 

“I need you to evaluate the rest of the injuries while I clean it,” Lirin says, glancing quickly up at him before he gets back to work on Adolin’s leg. “Let me know if there’s anything else that could be fatal.”

Kaladin nods and does as he’s told, cutting off Adolin’s shirt and undershirt. 

Purple underneath the skin of Adolin’s ribs… he palpates the area. Bruised, possibly cracked, but nothing feels out of place. A gash on his upper right bicep, from a sword or large dagger, bleeding sluggishly, not urgent. Head wound; a slice and a contusion over one eye, splitting his eyebrow. Lots of blood but head wounds always bleed a lot and it’s slowed already, not urgent. Nosebleed, most likely not urgent.

He rolls Adolin to the side enough to see his back but not enough to disturb his father working on Adolin’s leg. Left side is clear. Does the same with the right. A couple of shallow cuts, a dark bruise, could be internal bleeding but Kaladin doesn’t think so. Possibly urgent.

“Possible internal bleeding, right side,” he says out loud. His voice sounds funny, flat. He presses into the area firmly.

“Swelling?” Lirin asks, not looking up this time, hands painted red. In Adolin’s blood.

“Minimal. Skin gives, doesn’t feel firm,” Kaladin replies. 

“Okay, that’s good. We’ll keep an eye on it,” Lirin says, and Kaladin continues his examination, scouring for injuries, trying to keep his mind on what he’s doing and not on who he’s doing it to. Besides some more shallow cuts and numerous bruises he seems to be alright. Kaladin relays the rest of his findings and Lirin nods.

“Come over here and help me with this,” Lirin says. Kaladin does.

The cut is dangerously deep, though Lirin was seemingly correct when he said whoever sliced him missed the artery, which probably saved him from losing the leg completely. Or dying. One more inch and he’d be dead.

Lirin has just finished cleaning the wound, tossing the soiled gauze aside, so Kaladin hands him the surgical needle and stitching thread before firmly pinching the skin of Adolin’s leg closed so that Lirin can sew it back together, blood beading between his fingers.

It takes over forty stitches to close the wound completely, and they are both covered in red up to their elbows by the time they finish. Kaladin remembers how he was stitching closed that little girl’s knee less than an hour ago. He wonders absently if someone ever discharged the family or if they’re still sitting in the exam room, waiting for him to return. 

Lirin straightens up when he’s finally done, wiping his hands on a rag, staining it scarlet.

“Okay, son, let's clean the rest of him up, get rid of the dirt so hopefully we can prevent infection and rotspren from taking hold. Then we can take a look at those other wounds.”

Kaladin nods and grabs a clean towel, dipping it in the water basin and carefully wiping Adolin’s body clean. Lirin does the same, and then, once he’s rid of most of the grime, they get to work.

_____

Apparently Adolin was wounded while in the field and no one saw him go down.

His Cobalt Guard had been distracted, intentionally pulled away from him so that the enemy could attempt to take down the Shardbearer, and they were kept separated until after the Singers managed to neutralize him. When the Guard finally made their way back to where they last saw him they had to search for over ten minutes, unable to locate where he’d fallen.

He was eventually found at the bottom of a pile of Singer bodies, bleeding and unconscious beneath a Stormform he’d slain as he fell.

It had been a split battle: an offensive arm at an enemy stronghold several miles away, and a defensive one staying behind to hold their base at Narak. Scouts had reported earlier that all Fused were focused on the stronghold battle, leaving only regular Singer soldiers and some Regals in the second prong of the attack, so most of the Windrunners and other Radiants were sent to supplement the stronghold forces, including the majority of the Edgedancers.

Adolin was in charge of the Narak defense, and in the end was successful at his task, keeping the desert city out of Odium’s hands. 

He went down near the end of the battle and his Cobalt Guard wasn’t able to locate either of the two Radiant healers that had stayed back with their half of the army. They had found Drehy, though, who immediately flew them the short distance to the Narak Oathgate, brought them back through to Urithiru, and lashed them up to the Hearthstone levels and immediately into Lirin’s clinic.

With all the Edgedancers and the few Truthwatchers out in the field it was up to Kaladin’s father to save Adolin’s life.

Now the surgery room is spotless again, cleared of all evidence of the emergency triage just a couple of hours ago like it never happened, and Kaladin stands next to the cot that’s been pushed up against the wall, staring at the unmoving form of the father of his child.

Adolin hasn’t woken yet. He knows that’s normal after this type of injury, knows that it takes time for the body to replenish blood lost, to recover from the shock. He probably won’t wake up until after he’s healed by a Radiant.

They’d sent Drehy back to the Plains with a message for Dalinar, letting him know of Adolin’s condition and to request a healer return to Urithiru as soon as possible. They heard back half an hour ago; Dalinar himself would be returning with Renarin imminently.

Because of course they’d taken Renarin with them on this campaign. Renarin, who abhors the battlefield, who would rather study dusty tomes and ancient records with the other scholars. Of course Dalinar had dragged him out to the Shattered Plains this time, leaving them with no Radiant healer in the tower and Adolin Kholin bleeding out from a near-fatal wound.

Kaladin stares at Adolin, watches as his chest rises and falls steadily, chapped lips parted, eyes moving rapidly beneath purple lids. Both of his eyes are blackened now from his broken nose and the eyebrow above his right eye is swollen and stitched closed. He has a thin sheet pulled up over his bare body, but Kaladin remembers the deep bruises littering his chest, arms, and legs. In his mind he can still see the gruesome wound on Adolin’s leg, the one that nearly killed him, when he closes his eyes.

The door opens behind him and Kaladin hears his father approach, can tell it’s him by the footsteps, light and measured.

“The Oathgate just activated, so they should be here any minute,” Lirin says and Kaladin nods. That’s good. Then Adolin won’t be in pain anymore.

“He’s going to be fine, son.” His father’s voice is soft and kind. Respectful. Respect for Adolin? For Kaladin’s feelings for Adolin? He doesn’t know and doesn’t have the energy to figure it out. 

He nods again, numb.

“Kaladin…” his father says, sounding concerned. Kaladin sees Lirin glance around the room, then at the floor by Kaladin’s feet. He looks down. There’s nothing there.

Oh, maybe that’s the problem. No spren.

Syl steps up beside him, glowing blue form back to human size again. He doesn’t look at her. He can’t look away from Adolin, but she doesn’t seem bothered by that. She just lays her head on his shoulder, and though he can’t feel the physical touch he’s grateful for the comfort she offers.

They stand there in the quiet, watching Adolin breathe, until the door bursts open again two minutes later.

“Adolin,” Dalinar Kholin says, more emotion in the single word than Kaladin has ever heard in his voice since he’s known the man. He hurries to Adolin’s side trailing a wave of emotionspren and reaches out to touch him before hesitating, looking back at Kaladin and Lirin, and then at Renarin, who is just now jogging into the room after his father, his own little spren army in tow.

“Renarin, here,” Dalinar says unnecessarily, but Renarin doesn’t comment, quickly joining him at Adolin’s side. He doesn’t hesitate, laying gentle hands on his brother’s chest, blue glow intensifying beneath them.

“His leg is worst,” Lirin offers, and Renarin nods once before closing his eyes in concentration. 

The transformation is gradual, the bruising that’s visible on Adolin’s face slowly fading back to his natural skin color. The swelling decreases, the stitches above his eye popping out of the skin one by one, falling to the cot next to his head. Kaladin imagines the cracked rib mending, fusing back together beneath the skin, the cut on his leg knitting itself closed bit by bit, stitches falling out of that, too. 

It takes under five minutes to heal him, five minutes until the wounds that almost took Adolin’s life disappear like they were never there at all. Color returns to Adolin’s cheeks, his breaths coming easier than before, and Kaladin feels suddenly weak, has to step back to lean against the wall of the surgery. Both his father and Syl turn toward him, concerned.

“Kaladin?” Lirin asks, voice low.

Not low enough apparently, because Dalinar turns, sharp eyes finding Kaladin immediately.

He looks back at Adolin, squeezing Renarin’s shoulder once in thanks, then turns and makes his way toward where Kaladin and Lirin stand.

“Thank you for saving my son,” he says somberly to Lirin, reaching out to shake the surgeon’s hand. Lirin takes it, nodding in acknowledgement, and then Dalinar steps over to Kaladin.

“Kaladin… Thank you,” he says, and Kaladin feels a strange, muted sense of shock when he sees tears in the old warrior’s eyes. He knows Dalinar loves his sons, but he’s not often a man who shows weakness, even to those he trusts. Kaladin understands those instincts.

He still can’t find it within him to speak so he just nods as well, and then he’s surprised all over again as Dalinar pulls him into an awkward but genuine hug. 

Dalinar pulls back, clapping Kaladin on the shoulder once before stepping back. He nods at Syl respectfully, then turns back to look at his sons.

“When will he wake?” He asks, gaze on the younger Kholins but words obviously meant for Lirin.

“Could be at any time, though with severe injuries it can take several hours, even after Radiant healing. The body still needs time to recover from the shock,” his father explains.

Dalinar nods. “I’ll have him moved to his rooms so that he wakes in a more familiar environment.”

Lirin opens his mouth to argue, used to observing his patients for a period of time after major surgeries, but closes it again after a moment. There’s no need to observe Adolin; he’s perfectly healthy now, after all. He’s just sleeping.

Kaladin looks over at him. He’s just sleeping. Maybe if he keeps telling himself that he can get the images of Adolin’s bloodied body out of his head. He’s just sleeping.

“Of course,” Lirin says, and Dalinar nods at them before walking back over to the cot. 

Lirin takes it as a dismissal and motions for Kaladin and Syl to follow him out. Kaladin hesitates; he doesn’t want to leave. He wants to stay with Adolin until he wakes, until he can see with his own eyes that he’s okay, that he’s not actually dead and that Kaladin’s not just imagining otherwise. But after another gesture from his father he goes, leaving the three Kholin men behind.

_____

Adolin

Adolin wakes to someone playing gently with his hair.

He smiles, eyes still closed, remembering how his mother used to run her fingers through it, separating the black strands from the blonde, and the blonde from the black in Renarin’s hair. The memory is fond, bittersweet.

“Oh, you won’t be smiling once I'm done with you,” a voice above him says.

That’s Shallan’s voice. What is his wife doing out on the Shattered Plains? Isn’t she away, trying to find the location of the Ghostblood’s newest hideout?

He fights against the sheer exhaustion attempting to drag him back under, forcing his eyes open. It’s a struggle; each eyelid feels like it weighs a storming ton, but eventually he succeeds.

It’s dim in the room, light goblet completely covered, a soft amber glow emanating from just a single sphere lying on the table beside it.

This is not the cramped tent he’s been sleeping in for the past few days outside of Narak.

It takes him a second, but then he realizes he’s in his bed in Urithiru, and Shallan is indeed with him, sitting next to him with a sketchbook propped on her knees as she combs her fingers through his hair.

“Shallan?” He croaks. 

She looks over at him, surprised. “Oh, you’re actually awake this time. Here, just a second,” she says, hand leaving his head as she leans away from him.

He pushes himself up carefully to sit, taking stock of his body as he does. He’d obviously been injured; why else would he be here when the last thing he remembers is laying down to sleep in his tent on the Plains? Everything feels normal and all his limbs are accounted for, so that’s good, but he feels completely drained despite just waking up.

Shallan hands him a glass of water and he takes it carefully, his grip weak. He takes a sip, cool water soothing his parched throat as he swallows.

“What happened?” He asks. He sounds a little better this time. Still hoarse but less like he’s spent the last two hours screaming. He hopes that’s not the case, anyway. It worries him a little that he can’t remember.

Shallan gestures for him to take another drink so he does, and then she takes the glass and puts it back on the table. Then, after placing her sketchbook on the table next to the water, she scoots closer to him and takes his hand with her uncovered safehand, the one that had just been playing with his hair, and she presses her body along his and twines their fingers together.

“You were fighting outside Narak when your Guard was somehow separated from you,” she says, matter-of-fact, and suddenly the memories start flooding back. “From what they’ve been able to put together, you were being targeted as a Shardbearer, and you were surrounded and overwhelmed. They found you some time after you’d gone down, in a pile of bodies, and at first they thought you’d bled to death.”

Shallan’s unaffected facade crumples and Adolin pulls her trembling body into his arms, pushing away the exhaustion he feels.

He remembers now how they’d isolated him from the Cobalt Guard, how they’d surrounded him. He can feel their weapons slamming into his Plate over and over, too many of them for him to defend against. He sees the Plate shatter even as he takes down foe after foe, remembers the pain of their weapons slamming into his body, slicing his skin.

“And there weren’t any Edgedancers,” he murmurs. Shallan shakes her head.

He’d known it was a risk to send the bulk of the Radiant healers off with the offensive arm, but he and the other generals, including his father, had honestly thought Odium would concentrate more on protecting their own stronghold than on trying to capture Narak, something they had failed to do several times already. 

“How did I get here?” He asks, rubbing a soothing hand up and down Shallan’s back.

He has to strain to hear her answer, her voice muffled by his loose nightshirt.

“Drehy flew you and a few others back to the Oathgate.”

Adolin frowns. “But… We didn’t leave any healers here. They were all with us, even the ones we left behind at the start of the campaign. They joined us for the offensive.”

He feels Shallan nod against his chest.

“They brought you to Lirin,” she says, and Adolin’s stomach drops to his feet. Oh, storms. 

If they brought him to Lirin Stormblessed, chances are Kaladin was there as well. That means that Kaladin was probably there when they dragged Adolin into the clinic on death’s door, straight from the battlefield, unconscious and covered in blood. 

Storms, he probably helped Lirin with the surgery, too.

Fuck.

His stomach is doing backflips and twists and he feels nauseated, his mouth watering dangerously as he imagines how Kaladin reacted, how he felt. He squeezes his eyes shut and swallows.

“Kaladin?” He asks, and Shallan shakes her head again, giving a sad little hiccup.

“Not good,” she says, voice thick. 

“Storms,” Adolin says, his head falling back to the headboard with a thump. 

They continue to hold each other until Shallan’s shaking slows, and then she suddenly sits up and smacks him hard in the chest.

“Ow, hey!” He says, grabbing her wrists as she tries to hit him again. 

“You stupid, idiotic, storming man,” she growls, and Adolin pulls her into his body again, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. 

“I'm sorry,” he says softly. “I’m sorry.”

She shudders and then collapses into him, a wounded sound escaping her. Adolin’s heart clenches in his chest.

“I'm sorry,” he whispers again.

She’s quiet for a minute, and then she mutters, “Don’t you ever storming do that again, Adolin Kholin.”

Adolin nods, face still pressed into her wild hair. “I won’t.”

Eventually they part, Adolin getting up to use the bathroom and wash his face, hoping maybe it will wake him up some more. He feels like he could sleep for days, exhaustionspren proof of his tiredness as they trail his slow and heavy footsteps, his muscles feeling weak and lethargic.

Returning to the bed, he sits next to Shallan and threads his fingers through hers again.

“Have you talked to him?” Adolin asks. 

She shakes her head. “I sent him a message but I didn’t want to leave you. It’s only been a few hours since they brought you here. I just got lucky with the timing; Renarin and your father had just gotten here when I arrived back at the tower.”

“I need to go find him,” Adolin says, worry starting to spike, forcing the exhaustion away.

“Yes, you do.”

There's something strange in her voice, so he turns, squinting at her in the dim light.

“Adolin… I was so scared when I saw you. Terrified,” she says, eyes shining. “Kaladin loves you just as much as I do, and you nearly bled out on the table in front of him.”

The rest goes unsaid. That Kaladin doesn’t deal well with loss or even potentially losing someone. That him not responding to Shallan’s message or coming to their rooms is a bad sign. That he’s been alone since he almost saw Adolin die.

That he’s carrying Adolin’s child, and that he had a front row seat to what could have been yet another unthinkable tragedy in his life.

“Do you know where he is?” Adolin asks, climbing off the bed to change into something more substantial than the nightshirt and pants his father and brother had apparently dressed him in when they brought him here earlier.

“Dalinar said he left the surgery with his father before they did, so I assume he’s at his parents’ apartment. At least I hope he is.” 

Adolin agrees.

Shallan joins him, nimble hands buttoning his shirt from the bottom up while he works from the top down. Adolin nods his thanks, then pulls on a pair of dark pants and slips into the first pair of shoes he finds as Shallan throws on a casual havah, buttoning up her safehand sleeve.

He doesn’t even bother to check his hair, just grabs Shallan’s hand and they’re out the door.

Chapter Text

Kaladin

He’s aware of what’s happening around him. It’s not like with Teft, when he was so overcome with rage and despair that he felt like he’d been turned into someone else completely. Or like with Tien, his mind abandoning him completely in the face of his anguish.

He knows his family is worried about him, whispering to each other in the kitchen, trying to figure out a way to help him. They’re worried about his unresponsiveness, and, strangely enough, the lack of spren around him. He wants to tell them he doesn’t need their help, it will pass, just like it always does, except he can’t find the words. His mouth refuses to speak, his brain unable to bridge the connection required for communication. He’s not that bothered by it, though, because he doesn’t actually want to talk to anyone anyway.

But he knows, he’s aware. It’s why he’s in the living room and not alone in his bedroom, or back in his own apartment. He might not be the same man who stood at the edge of the Honor Chasm and nearly ended his own life, but he also isn’t that far removed from the man who jumped off the top of Urithiru without any hope of returning.

He can’t be that man. Not anymore. Can’t let his mind betray him.

So he sits on the living room couch and lets his parents and Syl whisper about how to help him, lets them talk to him and comfort him and coax him into eating something, even though he isn’t the slightest bit hungry. 

“Kaladin, honey, you need to eat. You missed dinner, and you still haven’t put back on all the weight you lost,” his mother says pleadingly.

He takes another cracker off the plate she holds out to him, takes a bite. It takes like dust in his mouth, like ash. It's a struggle not to spit it right back out.

There’s a knock at the door and Hesina stands, setting the plate down on the couch where she’d been sitting next to Kaladin. Another knock, more urgent this time, and Hesina calls, “Coming!”

Kaladin follows her with bleary eyes as she hurries toward the door. She turns the handle and pulls it open. He can’t see who it is from his angle, the door blocking his view of the hallway beyond. 

“Kaladin, I'm sure he’s fine,” Syl says quietly from beside him. He doesn’t respond; he has nothing to say.

Lirin joins Hesina at the door and there’s a short discussion, and then Hesina pulls the door open wider, letting the visitors enter. Kaladin heart begins to pound painfully in his chest as he recognizes them, the rush of blood in his ears deafening.

He blinks and suddenly Adolin’s there, kneeling in front of him in the middle of a writhing pool of spren – Adolin’s? Or his? – holding both of his shaking hands tightly in his own. His hands are so warm, so alive. Shallan is sitting on the couch next to him and he has no idea how they both got there between one second and the next. He stares at Adolin’s face, clean, undamaged, full of life. Watches his mouth move. He’s speaking.

“–al,” he hears, and sound suddenly returns to the world, loud and abrasive and disorienting.

“Talk to me,” Adolin says, pleads. He looks so concerned. Why is he concerned? He’s the one who almost died. Kaladin is just the one who got to watch.

“Kaladin, gemheart, can you hear us?” Shallan’s voice. Shallan’s hand on his back, between his shoulder blades, another warm spot of connection. Gemheart. So soft. Like that one time she called him darling. Usually it’s just Kaladin or stormface or sometimes Adolin’s favorite, bridgeboy.

“How long has he been like this?” Adolin’s not speaking to him anymore. He’s talking to Kaladin’s parents and Syl, who all stand off to the side, watching with worried eyes.

“He hasn’t spoken since the surgery,” Lirin answers. 

Hesina crosses her arms over her chest anxiously. “We got him to eat a little bit, and he seems to be mostly aware of his surroundings, but we haven’t been able to get him to talk.”

“Fuck,” Adolin swears in a low voice, turning back to Kaladin. His eyes are so blue, so bright. Those eyes had almost never opened again.

“Hey, Kal,” he says gently, thumbs rubbing the backs of Kaladin’s hands. “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk. It’s okay. I understand. But… do you think you could try to let me know that you’re listening? Maybe squeeze my hands a little? Just so we know if you can hear us.”

Kaladin watches the way his face changes as he talks, how his eyebrows knit together and his lips pull tight with worry. 

Why is he worried?

“Can you squeeze my hands, Kal?” 

Kaladin squeezes Adolin’s hands, fingers jerking slightly. 

Adolin lets out a relieved breath. “Oh, storms, Kal.” His voice is shaking.

“Thank you, love, thank you for doing that for me.” He gives Kaladin a weak smile. Kaladin squeezes his hands again. Adolin squeezes back.

The hand on his back begins to move, rubbing up and down his spine in slow, calming passes. Kaladin’s suddenly exhausted, but he doesn’t want to close his eyes because then Adolin will be gone again.

Adolin’s eyes flick away from Kaladin, to the side where Shallan sits next to him, and then he’s looking back at Kaladin again, soft blue eyes locked onto his.

“You look tired, Kal. Let’s lay you down, huh?” Adolin lets go of his hands and Kaladin immediately clenches them into fists, wanting the other man’s touch back desperately. 

Adolin then gently pushes Kaladin down onto the couch, guiding his head to rest on a pillow and physically lifting his legs up onto the cushion Shallan had been sitting on just seconds ago. 

Kaladin doesn’t resist, laying on his side, eyes still glued to Adolin, who turns to grab the blanket Kaladin’s mother is holding out to him. He shakes it out and lays it on top of Kaladin, over his shoulders and tucked around his back. He goes to take a step back but Kaladin’s hand shoots out from under the blanket and latches around his wrist in an iron grip.

“Okay, it’s alright. I'm not going anywhere,” Adolin says soothingly. He steps closer again and Kaladin loosens his grip slightly but doesn’t let go.

Shallan’s fingers comb the hair away from his face and his eyes flutter closed, despite how little he wants to go to sleep right now.

“I'm right here,” Adolin says softly, and Kaladin feels his body shifting, his arm moving down. It’s harder than he expects to force his eyes open again but he does it, sees Adolin sitting, leaning against the side of the couch just in front of him, wrist still held in Kaladin’s grasp. Adolin smiles up at him, and Kaladin notices distantly that his eyes are wet.

His eyes slip shut again. Adolin’s body is warm next to him, Shallan’s fingers soft in his hair, and, finally, he rests.

_____

Adolin

He sits on the floor for the rest of the night even as his legs go numb, his shoulder aching from the awkward position he has to hold his arm in to accommodate Kaladin’s unrelenting grip on his wrist. Hesina offers to bring him a chair but he declines. He can’t imagine what it would do to Kaladin if he woke up and Adolin wasn’t where he’d been when he closed his eyes.

Shallan gets him a pillow and blanket, helps him prop his head on the couch in a way that isn’t too hard on his neck, and he dozes, exhaustion of the past day catching up to him, as Syl watches over them. He never really gets into a deep sleep, waking several times, eyes immediately seeking out Kaladin, but the other man hasn’t moved, still curled up under the thick woven blanket, still clutching Adolin’s wrist like he’s afraid to let go.

Some time later there’s the sounds of people waking, moving around the apartment, making breakfast in the kitchen. He’s in a state of half-sleep through all of it, the noise a strangely nostalgic soundtrack to his waking dream. 

He jerks awake when a hand shakes him lightly. It’s Shallan, eyes bloodshot and hair tossed up into a frizzy, messy bun. She went to lay down in Kaladin’s bed for what remained of the night, but from the look of her Adolin can tell she didn’t get much more sleep than he did.

“Hey,” she says softly. Adolin groans quietly, tilting his head to both sides to stretch out the tight muscles of his neck. He shifts around, pinpricks of pain traveling down his legs as the blood flow returns. 

“Do you think we should wake him up?” Shallan asks him.

“Yeah,” Adolin says, voice rough, as he rubs his gritty eyes with his free hand. “I don’t want him to wake up without us here.”

Shallan nods and steps back, letting Adolin stand awkwardly, legs still stinging uncomfortably as he attempts to shake the feeling back into them. Kaladin still hasn’t let go of his wrist, grip tightening as Adolin moves around.

He finds a spot to settle on the couch in the curve of Kaladin’s body just above his bent knees, and with his free hand he brushes the hair back from Kaladin’s face. It’s tense even in sleep, and Adolin’s chest aches with guilt at the pain he’s caused. It wasn’t intentional, and it wasn’t even wholly preventable, but it still hurts him to know he’s responsible for what Kaladin went through yesterday.

Shallan sits cross-legged on the floor in front of them, reaching out to thread her fingers through the hand Kaladin has tucked in close to his chest. 

“Kal,” she calls softly. 

His eyelids flutter once before opening slowly. Adolin can see the instant the pieces fall into place; his dull gaze focuses on Shallan’s face, turning sharp, and his jaw clenches.

“Hey, bridgeboy,” Shallan says, smiling. “How are you feeling?”

A muscle in Kaladin’s jaw tics and his brows draw inward. Angerspren start to spring up on the floor as his eyes dart around, taking in his surroundings, and then they land on Adolin and his face drains of color.

“Kal–” Adolin says, and Kaladin slams his eyes closed, attempting to shut Adolin out. 

He yanks his hands away and pushes himself up into a sitting position at the very end of the couch, as far from Adolin and Shallan as he can get. Shallan shoots Adolin a worried look. 

“Kaladin–” She starts, but the other man cuts her off.

“No.”

Adolin’s mouth falls open.

“What?”

Kaladin doesn’t answer, just opens his eyes and glares at them. He crosses his arms over his chest, clearly attempting to project anger and intimidation, but Adolin can see the fear still lingering in his eyes.

“Kal…” he tries again.

Kaladin stands abruptly and disappears down the hallway to his room, leaving them sitting there, stunned. Hesina pokes her head in from the kitchen and jumps when the door to Kaladin’s room slams closed, echoing down the hall and into the common area. Her brow furrows and she looks at them both, taking in their dumbfounded expressions, and then she sighs.

“He’s never been very good at being vulnerable,” she says quietly, wiping her hands on the towel she carried in from the kitchen with her. Syl steps through the doorway and part way into the living area, then starts down the hall before stopping, turning back around and looking at them helplessly. 

“What should we do?” She asks, distraught.

Hesina looks worriedly in the direction her eldest son disappeared. “We used to let him come out of it in his own time, but now I wonder if we shouldn’t have done more. Tien was always so good with him,” she says quietly, voice wobbling.

Shallan stands and walks over to Hesina, laying a gentle hand on her arm. 

“May I hug you?” She asks, and Hesina nods, eyes shining.

Shallan embraces the taller woman and Hesina hugs her back gratefully. 

“I'm– sorry, I just worry about him so much,” she says thickly. “Lirin and I have tried but we just don’t understand him, we can’t reach him where he goes.”

“We know,” Shallan says comfortingly. “We all feel the same way. Syl’s been trying to help him for years now. Adolin and I are lucky, though, because I have my own dark places, too, so I have some idea of what Kaladin’s feeling. And of course Adolin is just immune.”

Hesina gives a little hiccuping laugh, making eye contact with Adolin over Shallan’s shoulder. She’s seen the effect Adolin has on Kaladin, how he’s able to pull him out of the darkness of his thoughts. Usually.

“Immune. Like Tien was,” Hesina says with a sad smile. 

Adolin’s throat tightens, but he accepts the compliment without arguing. He knows he can never measure up to Kaladin’s brother, but he’s honored that maybe there’s a part of him that reflects the brightness Tien brought to all their lives before he passed.

The two women part, wiping their eyes, and Hesina gives them a small smile before returning to the kitchen. Shallan walks over to Adolin and pulls him up from the couch, Syl walking over to join them.

“What do you think?” Shallan asks them. Adolin can see the confidence she exuded to Hesina start to crack, unsure of what they should do next.

“I'm not leaving him alone right now,” Adolin says without hesitation, and Syl nods, looking relieved.

“I think that’s probably a good idea,” she says. “I haven’t seen him this bad since the night Teft…” she breaks off, looking away. 

“It’s okay, Syl,” Adolin reassures her. “We’re here now.” 

Syl gives him a watery smile. “Hesina’s right, you know. You are like Tien. I didn’t know him, but Kaladin thinks about him often, so I feel like I do. You really are the only one who can cheer him up when he’s like this.”

Adolin swallows but can’t seem to find his voice.

“You do it for me too,” Shallan chimes in, smiling at Adolin gently, squeezing his arm.

Adolin’s gaze drops to the floor for a second to gather himself, then he looks back up at them and clears his throat. 

“Well, I'm– glad,” he says roughly.

Syl’s smile is a little lighter now, a little more teasing. “I think I'm just going to leave you guys to it. Just in case, you know…”

“Syl, I seriously don’t think we’re going to–” Adolin starts.

“Good idea,” Shallan says over his protests.

Adolin gapes at her. “Shallan, we’re not going to–”

“You never know,” she says cryptically. “Especially with you two.” Adolin hears a suspicious hum coming from the direction of her skirt.

Syl giggles and shrinks down before flying off in a streak of light. 

Shallan and Adolin make their way down the dim hall holding hands, and they share a last anxious look before Adolin knocks on Kaladin’s door. Then he pushes it open without waiting for an answer.

Kaladin’s in his bed, facing the wall, long body curled into a tight ball. 

“Get out.” 

Adolin doesn’t even pause. “No,” he says, letting go of Shallan’s hand and walking closer to the bed. 

Kaladin rolls over and sits up, expression dark.

“Leave me alone, Adolin,” he growls. And there’s the angerspen again, as if Adolin couldn’t already tell that Kaladin was furious with them. 

Adolin shakes his head as he stops by the bed, and then he lowers himself to a knee right in the middle of the spren, directly in front of Kaladin, tilting his head to look up at the other man.

“I'm sorry,” Adolin says earnestly. “I'm so sorry I put you through that, Kaladin. If I could take it all back I would.”

“Would you?” Kaladin asks him, face dark. “Would you go back and refuse to fight, Adolin? Would you hang up your armor if I asked you to?”

Adolin opens his mouth but nothing comes out. He doesn’t– He can’t– There’s no way he could stop fighting. There’s a war going on. His men depend on him.

“That’s what I thought,” Kaladin says in a low voice, moving to turn away again. Adolin grabs his arm, pulling him back, and Kaladin growls.

“Let go of me.”

“No, Kal. I'm not going to do that. And you know I can’t stop fighting, that’s not how it works.”

Kaladin tries to pull his arm out of Adolin’s grip but Adolin holds on tighter.

“I would never ask you to step down if fighting is what you felt you needed to do, and I know you would never really ask that of me, either,” he says, voice soft.

Kaladin stops trying to pull away, gaze falling to his lap. He swallows, anger slowly leeching out of his posture. The spren around Adolin start to fade, one by one, until it’s just him there.

“No,” Kaladin agrees in a whisper.

Adolin lets go of his arm and reaches down to take his hand instead. 

“I'm sorry,” he says again. “I wish it hadn’t happened like that. You never should have had to see that.”

He kisses the back of Kaladin’s hand, holding it to his lips for a long moment. Then Kaladin speaks again, voice rough.

“I keep trying to tell myself it wouldn’t have made a difference if I’d been there, if I went on that campaign with you, but… maybe it would have.”

He looks up at Adolin, eyes haunted.

“Maybe I could have saved you. Maybe… Maybe I could have saved so many people.” He shakes his head and a tear falls, skipping quickly down his cheek and dropping into his lap. “How many people have died since I stopped fighting that I could have saved?”

“Kaladin, you can’t think like that,” Shallan says from behind him. He hears her steps come closer and then she sits next to Kaladin on the bed, putting an arm around his shoulders and pulling him into her side.

“People make their own choices for better or for worse, and you’re allowed to make your own, too. You can’t live in maybes and what-ifs. I know it’s not always easy, because maybe things really could have gone differently, but that’s the way life is. We make the best choices we can, and we respect those choices, and then we deal with the consequences.”

Kaladin stares down at his lap, crying silently. Shallan sighs and kisses his slumped shoulder.

“It’s not your fault. War is terrible, and bad things happen. But it’s not your fault, and we don’t blame you,” she says gently.

Adolin nods in agreement. “What she said.” 

Kaladin gives a wet-sounding snort and Adolin’s heart lifts just the tiniest bit.

“I am sorry, though. You never should have had to go through that.”

Kaladin lifts his head again and glares at Adolin with reddened eyes.

“I'm a surgeon. I have to go through things like that all the time,” he says, voice tight.

“Yeah, but not usually with someone you love,” Adolin says, eyes locked on the other man. Kaladin grits his teeth and looks away. Shallan bumps against him lightly, offering her support.

It’s a few minutes before Kaladin breaks the silence again. 

“You’re not allowed to die.” 

It’s a childish thing to say, a useless plea that Kaladin knows isn’t something anyone can ever promise. 

“You can’t die. Either of you. You can’t– You can’t–” he breaks off with a wounded noise. 

Adolin rises and joins them on the bed, sitting on Kaladin’s other side. The Windrunner turns his head into Adolin immediately, burying his face in Adolin’s shirt.

“You can’t leave me alone,” he finishes, muffled, and Adolin’s heart shatters. He looks at Shallan across Kaladin’s body and she’s crying now, too, tears tracking down her cheeks. 

“Oh, Kal…” Adolin sighs.

He strokes the back of Kaladin’s head as the other man shudders. 

“I can’t promise not to fight,” Adolin says slowly, “but I can try to be more careful.”

Kaladin is still for a moment before he pulls back. His face is wet and blotchy but his eyes are bright.

“Promise you won’t ever leave the Cobalt Guard behind,” Kaladin says. Demands. “That you’ll never go into any fight without your armor or without a Radiant healer nearby. That you'll never set yourself up as Shardbearer bait to draw the enemy away.”

“Kal–”

“Promise me,” Kaladin says passionately, eyes burning. “Promise me you’ll be more careful with your life, Adolin. You're not just a pawn, not just a piece in this war.”

“Yes, I am, Kal. We all are. That’s how war works,” Adolin argues.

“I DON’T CARE!”

Kaladin’s shout takes them all by surprise and they freeze. Kaladin’s panting, worked up to the point that he’s visibly shaking, vibrating against Adolin’s side where they’re pressed together.

“I don’t care, Adolin! Screw your tactics and clever battle plans, promise me. Promise me I'm not going to lose you, promise me that our child will have the chance to know their storming father.”

Adolin grabs the sides of Kaladin’s face and pulls him close, pressing their foreheads together hard. Storms, he knows it’s stupid, knows it’s an impossible promise to make, but in the face of this vast love he makes it anyway. 

“I promise. I promise, Kal. I promise.” 

Kaladin lets out a shaky breath, then pulls out of his hold a second later. He turns to Shallan, who is watching the scene with wide, wet eyes.

“You too, Shallan,” he says, voice wet but unrelenting. “Promise me that you won’t risk your life unnecessarily, that you won’t do anything stupid on your secret missions. You don’t even need to tell me what you get up to, but please, please just promise me that you’ll come back from them.”

Shallan’s lip wobbles, and then Kaladin drives the point home like a dagger in the chest.

“Shallan, I want our child to know its mother, too,” he says, and Shallan nods as the tears start to flow unchecked. She falls forward and Kaladin catches her, hugging her desperately.

Adolin would be impressed if he thought Kaladin was doing it to manipulate them, but he knows that’s not the case. He knows how deep Kaladin loves, how hard he falls, and he believes with his whole heart that Kaladin would never be the same again if he lost them. The thought terrifies him.

He’s going to do everything in his power to keep this promise, impossible or not. 

Chapter Text

Adolin

Over the next few weeks Adolin reworks his battle strategies in an attempt to find a way he can still do what needs to be done, still fight and protect and defend, but also not put himself in a position where he’s often the most desirable target. 

He considers letting someone else wear the Plate, but the thought of giving it up even temporarily when it feels like such an interwoven part of him now makes him anxious. 

It’s not like he’s going to stop fighting, anyway, so he needs it if he’s going to fulfill the other part of his promise. He just needs to be smarter about how, when, and where he chooses to do the fighting. 

What he doesn’t anticipate in adopting this new approach is his father’s reaction to the sudden changes he makes. 

The first couple of times he’s back out fighting on the Shattered Plains everything works out realtively well. Adolin opts for more strategic offensive maneuvers that rely less on using distractions and more on embracing the element of surprise. Then, when the surprise has worn off and the Singers begin anticipating their moves, Adolin shifts to older techniques, ones reminiscent of those that were used during the Blackthorn’s days, back when he and the future King Gavilar fought ruthlessly to unite a war-torn nation. Techniques that, against other human armies, might be seen as defunct and old-fashioned, but against the Singers are new and almost innovative.

They’re surprisingly effective to the point that Dalinar himself, on his own campaign in Thaylen City, hears of their success.

Adolin is currently in a meeting of generals and various other military leaders on the upper floors of Urithiru, discussing how realistic an attempt to recapture the capital city of Kholinar would be. Much of the congregation agrees with Adolin; that they don’t have the troops or the manpower, that it would be a waste of resources and an unnecessary loss of life. 

From the intelligence they’ve received from their informants in the city the occupation has been civil, for the most part. Yes, humans are now being used as servants and slaves to their Fused and Singer masters, but the Coalition’s contacts have said that their treatment is still far superior to how humans have historically treated their own slaves and parshmen. While the idea of leaving his home in the hands of the enemy chafes, especially when he remembers his failure to liberate the city the last time he was there, it’s stable and his people are alive. An extended siege would lead to more death and destruction, and they can’t afford to sacrifice any more lives than they already are on their current active warfronts.

The meeting breaks up after a majority vote, declining the petition to storm Kholinar and attempt recapture. Adolin breathes a quiet sigh of relief (which makes him feel like a coward regardless of the fact that he knows it’s the right decision) as the various Highprinces and dignitaries file out, but that relief quickly dissipates as his father picks his way across the slowly emptying room toward him.

He’s a large man, taller and broader than Adolin (though not as tall as Kaladin – very few people are as tall as Kaladin) and his imposing presence makes it feel as if a highstorm is approaching, Adolin waiting out in the open with no shelter to protect him from the impending stormwall.

He sucks in the breath he’d just let out, straightening as Dalinar comes closer.

Gritting his teeth, Adolin forces back the sudden pulse of anger that often accompanies seeing his father’s face now. He pushes down memories of his mother, tainted now with the overlying knowledge of what his father did, and lifts his chin.

“Adolin,” Dalinar says, coming to a stop in front of him. He looks him over like a general does one of his commanders, which isn’t far from the truth, actually, but it rubs Adolin in all the wrong ways anyway.

“Father,” he says stiffly.

Dalinar eyes him, then sighs, wilting slightly.

“Son, must it continue to be this way between us?” 

He looks weary, worn down by the demands of leadership and prolonged fighting. Even the War of Reckoning, as long as it dragged on, was a war of isolated skirmishes with time in between to live. By the end it hadn’t even really been a war at all, more a dick-measuring contest between Highprinces who used the war as an excuse to manipulate each other and build status and wealth.

Adolin raises his eyebrows. “Sorry, I must be confused. Did you think that publicizing all of your sins – including killing my mother – would bring us closer together?”

Dalinar sighs again, rubbing his eyes.

“Adolin–”

“Save it, father. What do you need?” Adolin asks, pushing down the fury, ignoring the angerspren bubbling around his feet. 

How dare his father act like airing his appalling history with the entire world would absolve him of guilt? How dare he think he’s earned forgiveness, especially from the sons from whom he’d so violently stolen their mother?

It looks like Dalinar swallows back his first choice of response. Maybe he actually does want to try to mend their relationship. Too bad Adolin isn’t interested.

“I heard about your change in tactics on the Plains,” he says finally. Adolin nods once but doesn’t volunteer any additional information.

“Why?” Dalinar asks once he sees Adolin isn’t playing along.

“I felt a change in strategy was necessary for continued success,” Adolin says, overly formal.

“Cut the chullshit, Adolin,” Dalinar snaps, and Adolin feels the banked fire of his anger flare up again. “Why are you going against the plan we worked out specifically for your campaign on the Plains? We settled on that one for a reason.”

“Is the new one working?” Adolin asks tightly. His fists are clenched at his sides, breath coming quicker, but he holds onto his composure. Barely.

“Yes, but that’s not the point,” Dalinar says. 

“Well maybe it should be,” Adolin retorts. “My strategy is working better than yours, and you’re just pissed off about it.”

Dalinar’s eyes flash. He opens his mouth but Adolin cuts him off.

“If you want me to just do what you say instead of acting like the leader I'm supposed to be, then go ahead and order me to change it back and be done with it. Otherwise, leave me alone and let me do my job.”

Dalinar’s mouth snaps shut. Adolin decides to take it as consent to keep doing what he’s doing, and, shaking, brushes by his father and out the door.

_____

He storms back to his rooms, fuming. He knows it’s a problem, how he can’t stand to look his father in the eye, the way he struggles to have a conversation with him or even be in the same room. Renarin has many of the same reservations and feels just as betrayed as Adolin does, but he’s better about compartmentalizing it all. He’s been able to put it aside for the greater good. Adolin is not so selfless.

His anger ebbs some as he walks. It’s a terrible thing, knowing what his father did, but it’s not something he can change or fix. The only thing he can control, as Kaladin likes to say, is how he reacts to it. 

Which is, unfortunately, not well. Not today, at least. He’s working on it.

By the time he arrives back at his rooms he’s mostly cooled off, though he’s still on edge about his father feeling the need to approach him at all. Does he still not trust Adolin as a leader? After everything Adolin has done and accomplished, does he still consider Adolin a failure for his part in losing Kholinar? Adolin considers himself a failure, but it hurts in a different way to know that others do as well.

He enters his apartment expecting it to be empty; Shallan was still out of the tower yesterday when he returned from the Plains, and Kaladin isn’t usually around unless one or both of them invite him, and especially not in the middle of the day. So he’s surprised when he sees the tops of three heads peeking over the back of the couch, one vibrant red, one glowing blue, and the other a deep brown.

“Hey!” he says happily, the last of his stormy mood disappearing as he’s greeted with his two favorite people and one of his favorite spren. 

They all turn to him with identical smiles and Adolin slows, because there’s something mischievous about those looks that he’s learned by now advises caution.

“What…” he starts, trailing off as Shallan glances off to his side, eyes twinkling. He halts, turning to look.

There’s a large duffel bag and a military-sized backpack slumped against the wall. He missed seeing them when he entered a moment ago because they were hidden behind where the door swings open. 

He whips his head around and finds Kaladin looking back at him with eyebrows raised.

“Still looking for a roommate?”

Adolin practically leaps over the couch as joyspren burst into existence all around him, hugging them both as they laugh at his obvious surprise and joy. Syl shrinks down into small size and zooms through the blue leaves, mimicking a windspren as she laughs happily. 

“Really?” Adolin asks, face buried in the side of Kaladin’s neck, half his body sprawled over Shallan’s lap while one leg still hangs awkwardly over the back of the couch. Kaladin wraps his arms around Adolin’s torso and tugs, pulling him all the way over, and Shallan gives an oof as his weight drops completely onto her. She shoves him off and he lands on the floor with a thump, grinning like a maniac.

“You’re moving in with us?” 

He doesn’t remember ever feeling this happy. 

Well, that’s not exactly true. He’s been this happy a few times before. At his wedding. The first time he kissed Kaladin and Kaladin kissed him back. Definitely the night Kaladin told him they were pregnant. 

“Looks that way, yeah,” Kaladin says, eyes crinkling at the edges. 

“YES!” Adolin shouts to the ceiling, throwing his head back and his arms out wide, gloryspren flying all around him. “We did it! Shallan–” he crawls over to her on his knees and pulls her face down to his to kiss her soundly on the lips. “We did it! He’s ours now!”

“He was already ours, idiot,” she says fondly, ruffling his hair.

“Yes, but now he can’t escape!” Adolin declares, grinning maniacally, and Kaladin kicks at him. He dodges, laughing, as laughterspren join the joyspren and gloryspren to swirl around them in twinkling silvers and golds and blues.

He flops onto the floor by their feet, staring up at the school of colors with a goofy grin painted across his face as his wife and his partner nudge him playfully with their feet, calling him all sorts of insulting names that Adolin knows really mean sweetheart, and darling, and beloved, and even thoughts of his father aren’t enough right now to make a dent in the happiness that the three of them have built with each other.

_____

Kaladin

It’s been about three months when Kaladin realizes he’s going to have to start telling people soon. Either that or lock himself away for the next however long – 35 weeks, the surgeon side of his brain tells him – and not come out until this whole thing is over.

While that sounds tempting, it would have its own repercussions. Kaladin is a popular person around Urithiru, and his self-imposed isolation several weeks earlier hasn't gone unnoticed. Along with Shallan, Adolin, and Bridge Four asking after his whereabouts, his parents also fielded inquiries from the men in his support group, military officials, some of his typical training partners, other Radiants, various Windrunners and their squires, and even people down in the Breakaway. Some would be easy to brush off, but others, like the Kholins, would not.

What makes everything even more complicated is that the self-crowned King of Urithiru is technically the grandfather to his child, and the queen is bonded to the spren that made it all possible. It’s interesting that the Sibling hasn’t told Navani yet, but from what Kaladin remembers of his conversation with her she's all but said that it was the Towerlight’s doing and not hers. 

The line separating the two in Kaladin’s mind is still fuzzy, but he supposes if he thinks of it in terms of the Stormfather and Stormlight he can see the split. He’s just curious about how Navani hasn’t already figured it out, since she and the Sibling are basically in each other’s minds, and the Sibling definitely knows.

Well, if she knows she hasn’t said anything, and if she doesn’t know she will soon.

Because while Kaladin’s been able to go about his life in the tower with only small changes in his daily routines – less combat training and more katas, for example – he has the feeling that that might not be the case for much longer. He’s already moved in with Shallan and Adolin, which is definitely taking some getting used to. He loves them and he likes living with them, but the loss of privacy is difficult for him, and when they go out on jobs or campaigns he feels their absence much more viscerally, especially when they’re gone at the same time. 

But now, just shy of halfway through, he’s finally starting to show. 

It’s not visible at all with clothing on, and so far he’s the only one who’s noticed the change; Adolin and Shallan have both been gone for almost a week now, so he’s been sleeping in their giant bed all by himself. But they’ll be back soon – a spanreed from Adolin came through earlier saying he’ll be back tonight – and, unless he falls face first into the duvet and passes out, he’s bound to notice the slight pooch in Kaladin’s lower belly, the softness smoothing out the usually sharp edges of his abdominal muscles.

Kaladin has mixed feelings about that, worries some about the changes his body is going through, but he just as quickly dismisses them, because he meant it when he told Adolin that he thought everything would be worth it in the end. What is vanity compared to creating a new life, after all? 

He is curious and also slightly wary of how his body will respond to the sudden reduction in hormones afterward, though his reaction to the addition of them finally seems to have leveled out some recently – thank the Heralds – and he tries not to think too hard about the actual delivery (his father has assured him it will be fine; he has experience in this type of surgery and Kaladin has all the Towerlight he needs to heal after). All in all, he’s really just trying his best to enjoy it, as his mother likes to tell him to do, despite the challenges of life and love during wartime and his unique circumstances.

He’s propped up in the middle of their bed in pajama bottoms and nothing else, breathing in the scent of Shallan’s shampoo from the pillow he stole, as he reads the most recent reports on the Windrunner squires’ progress from Sigzil. He sent Syl away an hour ago, told her to please stay elsewhere for the rest of the night, and she giggled and winked before zipping off, because she’s never not trying to embarrass him. 

He hears the sound of the door opening and closing in the other room and then Adolin’s tired but upbeat voice calls out his name.

“Kal, you here? I'm back!” 

Occasionally, if they’re both gone for an extended period of time Kaladin will go stay with his parents, spend some quality time with his little brother and try not to think about Adolin and Shallan running head-first into danger without him. He went this time, too, but when the scribe read the spanreed to him earlier this morning he decided he wanted to be in their rooms when Adolin returned.

“In here,” he calls, quickly scanning the last row of glyphs before dropping the papers to his lap. 

Adolin comes striding into the room dressed in full uniform, thankfully clean of any blood or gore this time.

“So, I just want you to know that you should be very proud of me for not strangling my father today,” he says cheerfully as he starts on the buttons of his coat. Kaladin snorts. 

“I’m always proud of you for not choosing violence, Adolin. Also, how is this different from any other day?” 

Adolin shoots him a grin, finishing with the last button and sliding the jacket off before hanging it up in the armoire. His boots come off next, and he props them by the bedroom door, then starts in on his shirt.

“It’s not,” he admits. “Just wanted to reiterate.” 

The shirt goes in the clothing hamper, as do the stiff uniform pants and a plain white undershirt. Then, in just his smalls, he stretches his arms over his head with an obscene sound, muscles of his stomach and chest flexing, arms long and graceful. He’s gorgeous, all pale skin and hard muscle, broad and strong and looking every inch the storybook prince.

“Storms, you have no idea how much I missed my bed,” he groans. He lowers his arms and shakes himself out a bit, then pauses and eyes Kaladin, gaze dropping from his face to his chest, trailing down his bare torso to where the blanket pools around his waist.

“Seems like maybe the bed’s not the only thing you missed,” Kaladin says dryly.

Adolin’s eyes darken and he stalks the last few feet to the bed, climbing up and crawling over to Kaladin on his hands and knees. Kaladin reclines a bit as Adolin crawls over top of him, staring down at Kaladin like Kaladin’s the most tempting thing he’s ever seen and he wants to devour him whole.

“You’re not wrong, bridgeboy,” Adolin murmurs, resting all his weight on one hand, trailing the other across Kaladin's chest, brushing over a nipple lightly. Kaladin arches into the touch with a small sound and Adolin leans down to capture his mouth in a wet, claiming kiss.

Kaladin slides even further down until he’s resting flat against the mattress, his heart pounding with nerves at what he’s about to do. He can feel the heat in his cheeks from preemptive embarrassment, feels like he’s being silly and overly sentimental, but he desperately wants to share this moment with someone, with Adolin.

Adolin pulls away and dips in to nip the skin of his jaw, brushes a kiss along his cheekbone, mouths at his neck. Kaladin grips the back of Adolin’s head with one hand, fingers tangling in his unkempt hair, and uses the other to grab hold of the one still massaging his chest. Adolin’s fingers twist around his, pulling at them, twining them together, but Kaladin has other plans, dragging the hand slowly down his body. Conjoined fingers track over the hard bumps of his ribcage, the softer hills and valleys of his upper stomach. Over his belly button, through the thin trail of hair leading downward.

Then he stops, fingers forcing Adolin’s hand open flat, and he presses it gently down underneath his own, right where that new softness sits low on his belly.

Adolin freezes. His hand twitches underneath Kaladin’s. His breath is hot against Kaladin’s neck, making him shiver.

The damp lips against Kaladin’s neck disappear as he extricates himself slowly, rising up to look at Kaladin with wide eyes. Kaladin gives him a small, nervous smile.

Adolin shifts back slightly, looking down at where his hand rests on Kaladin’s stomach, just above the waistband of his pajama pants. His fingers flex under Kaladin’s and Kaladin pulls his own hand away, placing it on the other man’s hip instead.

The hand on his belly moves, gently palming over the small bump, feeling out the new shape of Kaladin’s body. He looks awestruck.

“That’s– I–”

Kaladin nods, drawing Adolin’s gaze back up to his face. “Yeah,” he says, voice hoarse.

“Oh my god,” Adolin says on a gasping laugh, and Kaladin grins, vision suddenly blurring before him.

“Yeah.”

“Kal–”

Adolin lunges at him, slamming their mouths together, and Kaladin gives back as good as he gets, their lips sliding and tongues tangling messily. He groans as Adolin’s hand slides off his belly to squeeze at his waist, then his ass, pulling his hips upward forcefully while he grinds down into Kaladin hard. 

Kaladin tears his mouth away from Adolin's, throwing his head back to gasp in a breath. 

“Storms,” Kaladin gasps out, arching into Adolin’s firm body. His feet get tangled in the sheets as he kicks at them, then finally they’re gone, somewhere at the end of the bed or maybe on the floor, he doesn’t care, so long as they’re not stuck between them anymore.

Adolin mouths at his neck again, teeth scraping the rough stubble there, as Kaladin continues to move beneath him, rocking upwards, desperately seeking friction.

Cool air kisses his wet skin as Adolin moves down, hands roaming Kaladin’s chest so enthusiastically it feels like there are dozens of them, tracing his pecs, teasing his nipples, tangling in the dark hair there. Hot swipes of his tongue leave Kaladin arching, presenting himself wantonly, before Adolin moves on again, sliding down the bed and in between Kaladin's legs. 

His hands grip the waistband of Kaladin’s sleep pants, crumpling the fabric in tight fists, but he doesn’t pull them off yet. Instead he slows, kisses gentling as they trail down his abs, over his belly button, and then they stop, hovering over the skin of Kaladin’s lower stomach, breath ghosting hot over the spot Kaladin guided him to minutes before.

Kaladin looks down but Adolin’s not looking at him, staring instead at the place where something is growing inside of him, and as he watches Adolin presses the softest kiss to the spot right where the bump is highest, a barely there pressure, holding for several seconds before pulling back again.

He looks up at Kaladin then and Kaladin has to look away, can’t stand to see the look of adoration and devotion in his eyes if he wants to keep his composure. He stares at the ceiling, blinking desperately, as Adolin finally shimmies his pajama pants down his thighs, then pulls them off his feet when Kaladin lifts them helpfully.

Adolin shucks off his own underwear and then kisses his way back up, from the arch of Kaladin’s foot to his calf and knee and up the inside of his thigh, before he moves to do the same on the other leg. Kaladin’s trembling from the tenderness of it and he’s almost relieved when Adolin finally reaches the top again. 

Adolin arranges him so his legs are bent with feet planted on the bed, and then he settles between them on his knees. His own cock is standing at attention but he ignores it, leaning down to press his face into the curls at the base of Kaladin’s straining erection.

Kaladin groans, cock twitching, and Adolin wraps a gentle hand around the base before tilting his head and lapping above his fingers. 

“A– Adolin,” Kaladin says, eyes glued to how Adolin is now rubbing Kaladin’s cock against his cheek, eyes shut and expression one of pure bliss.

On his next slide upward Adolin’s mouth falls open and he sucks the tip of Kaladin’s weeping cock inside, mouth scorching and perfect against Kaladin’s sensitive skin, wet lips wrapping tight around him, tip of his tongue teasing the head and slit with soft little flicks.

Kaladin’s whole body tenses. The tendons strain in his neck, his shoulders tighten, and then he releases his breath in a gust as Adolin slants to the side again, lips dragging down the length of him with light suction.

The hand still at the base of his cock starts pumping slowly and Kaladin can’t help thrusting into it with tiny movements. Adolin doesn’t stop him, and instead seems to enjoy seeing him lose control, eyes glinting as he watches Kaladin’s face. Kaladin pants, eyes still glued to Adolin, watching him with desperation, and Adolin gives his cock another sucking kiss before rising up to slide him into his mouth again, moving past the head this time, enveloping more of Kaladin’s cock in that perfect heat.

Adolin bobs up and down, lips tight, hand meeting his mouth with each motion, until suddenly he stops and sucks so hard Kaladin gasps, hands flying down to snag in Adolin’s hair. Adolin moans and Kaladin nearly bucks into him at the vibration, stops himself just in time, and Adolin presses his free hand to Kaladin’s hip bone heavily, holding him to the bed. 

“Fucking– Adolin,” Kaladin says as Adolin hums around him, still sucking. Finally he relents, returning to slowly bobbing on Kaladin’s cock, pressing his tongue firmly to the underside each time he rises up. Kaladin’s lost in the all-consuming heat of it, his vision distorting, and Adolin begins to take him deeper with each dip, wet sounds loud in the quiet room, until Kaladin can feel the pressure of the back of his tongue, the gentle bump against the walls of his throat, squeezing tight around him. Adolin slides the hand gripping Kaladin’s hip over a few inches, hardly noticeable except Kaladin can feel every spot their bodies are connected, and that possessive touch sends him right to the edge.

“Ado– Adolin–”  he says, clenching the fists still tangled in Adolin’s hair in warning, and Adolin swallows, the motion squeezing Kaladin’s cock in a breathtaking wave, and he comes hard, cock throbbing as he pulses into Adolin’s mouth. He tries to watch as Adolin swallows but his eyes flutter shut, sensation overtaking him completely. He feels Adolin pull off gently, licking him clean as he pumps him, milking the rest of his orgasm, Kaladin shaking with the aftershocks.

He eases off just as Kaladin begins to feel oversensitive, crawling up Kaladin’s body, using his fingers to tip Kaladin’s head so that he can kiss him. Kaladin’s tongue feels slow, sloppy, but Adolin doesn’t seem to mind, groaning at how blissed out Kaladin is, and Kaladin feels him press his own cock down onto Kaladin’s thigh, seeking friction.

He reaches down to grip Adolin’s cock firmly and Adolin keens, pressing his face into Kaladin’s neck. 

“I got you,” he murmurs, stroking firmly from root to tip, a slight twist at the end, the wetness leaking from the tip easing the way, and Adolin trembles, breath coming in wet gasps as Kaladin works him over. It’s not long before he’s close, and Kaladin stops moving, just holds still as Adolin begins thrusting desperately into the tight ring of his hand. One, two, three more thrusts, and Adolin is spilling between them, coating Kaladin’s thigh and stomach, dripping over his fingers as Kaladin pumps him through his climax.

Adolin collapses half on top of him, sweaty and sated, and Kaladin wraps an arm around his back, feeling the rise and fall of his heaving breaths. It’s several minutes before Adolin recovers, pulling his flushed face from where he’d taken shelter in the crook of Kaladin’s neck, and he goes immediately for Kaladin’s lips, capturing them in long, languid kisses, eyes closed and bodies pressed together skin to skin.

“So that’s a thing for you, hm?” Kaladin murmurs in between lazy kisses. Adolin huffs out a laugh, air puffing over Kaladin’s cheek, and pulls back to look Kaladin in the eyes.

“My baby, growing inside of you? Yeah, Kal, it’s a thing,” he says, and he grins at Kaladin’s sudden blush.

“Storms, Adolin. You’re–” Kaladin cuts off, unsure what Adolin is. Just that it makes Kaladin squirm.

“In love with you? In love with our child?” Adolin asks him softly, and Kaladin still feels squirmy but he pulls Adolin into a kiss anyway, because maybe the squirmy-ness isn’t a bad thing, maybe it’s just a Kaladin-and-uncomfortable-emotions thing, and because, yeah, he’s in love with both of them, too. 

Chapter Text

Kaladin

Things come to a head the following day, when Dalinar seeks out Kaladin personally. 

Kaladin took the morning to visit the Windrunner barracks, since he hasn’t seen much of them lately what with most of them usually out on one Kholin campaign or another. He’s just leaving the lower floors, heading toward one of the main lifts, when Dalinar intercepts him, two of his honor guard trailing behind him a short distance away.

“Sir,” Kaladin salutes, Syl copying him expertly, and Dalinar smiles at them, saluting in return.

“You don't need to call me ‘sir’ anymore, son,” he says to Kaladin, lightly chastising.

Kaladin ignores the comment but does lower his arm, relaxing into a posture resembling parade rest.

“May I speak to you privately?” Dalinar asks. Kaladin feels a little tingle of anxiety but shoves it away; there are several things Dalinar could want to discuss with his former Highmarshal and the ex-leader of the Windrunners.

“Sure,” Kaladin says, glancing at Syl, who rolls her eyes and nods, shrinking down and flying off down the corridor, probably heading to the clinic to ask his mother endless questions about scribing. 

She’s been getting better about granting him privacy, partially because she’s decided she wants privacy herself sometimes. She told him that she‘s working hard to become her own person with her own hobbies and sometimes needs time alone to explore those things more, so he’s been doing his best to give her that freedom.

Dalinar nods before turning and leading them back down the way Kaladin just came, toward the barracks. Kaladin follows half a step behind, the honor guard trailing them both.

The Bondsmith leads them into a less busy corridor and then chooses a small meeting room Kaladin knows is often used by some of the Radiant orders’ leaders for strategy meetings; he’s used it himself several times in the past. He holds the door open for Kaladin to pass through and then pulls it closed behind them, leaving the honor guard in the hallway to stand sentry at the entrance.

Kaladin’s nerves ratchet up a notch. It’s been a while since it was just the two of them, and a lot has happened since the last time they met like this. Namely, the nature of his relationship with Dalinar’s son and the consequence of said relationship that Kaladin carries with him literally everywhere now.

They move toward the small table in the center of the room but Dalinar doesn’t sit, so Kaladin stays standing, too. 

“I find myself in a difficult position,” the older man says. 

Kaladin watches him, hands once again clasped behind his back, waiting. 

“As you know, Adolin has refused to be my heir to Urithiru. He has also refused to be in the line of succession for the throne of Alethkar.”

Kaladin nods once, unsure where this is going. He knows of Adolin’s decision and he mostly agrees with it. He believes that Adolin needs to do what’s right for him, and becoming a political puppet, living in the shadow of his father and uncle, will never allow him the freedom to be who he wants to be.

On the other hand, Kaladin can think of no better person on Roshar to lead a nation than someone as competent, as fair, and as selfless as Adolin Kholin.

He’s not sure why any of it is his business though.

“Renarin has also refused. Jasnah, as you know, is currently King of Alethkar, with Gavinor as her heir, so while that is not as… robust, a line of succession as I’d wish, it will do for now. That just leaves us with the problem of Urithiru.”

Dalinar pauses, peering at Kaladin closely. After a second he looks away and reaches into his coat, pulling out a single piece of paper.

“Navani and I have talked in depth about this matter, and we’d like for you to be our heir,” he says matter-of-factly, as if he hasn’t just flipped the world on its head. Kaladin takes an instinctive step back and Dalinar looks up at him again, eyes tracking the movement, but he doesn’t comment.

“You are a natural leader, and the people look up to you. You understand what it takes to do the right thing above all else, and won’t crumble in the face of adversity.”

Kaladin opens his mouth to argue at that – he absolutely did crumble, that’s exactly what he did – but Dalinar cuts him off.

“Being relieved of your position was not because I thought you couldn’t handle it, Kaladin. It was because you deserved a break, time to heal. All soldiers do, sooner or later. But I know and you know that if you were needed to take up the spear again, to lead, you would do so without hesitation.”

He closes his mouth, because Dalinar’s right about that at least. He would, no matter what the consequences would be to himself. He would absolutely fight again to protect those he loved.

Dalinar opens the folded sheet of paper, holding it out to Kaladin, who takes it slowly.

“This is a writ that names you my heir, and Navani’s heir, to Urithiru, in the case of our deaths, incapacitation, or abdication.”

Kaladin is speechless. He looks down at the writ but the words don’t make sense, of course, just symbols written in dark ink spread across the paper.

“You don’t need to decide now,” Dalinar continues, voice dropping from his previous tone of command and into something more understanding. He claps a huge hand on Kaladin’s shoulder in a fatherly gesture. “I understand it’s a decision that shouldn’t be made lightly. But I ask you to please consider it. You are our best option. If not you it will fall to the Highprinces, few of which we believe will be up to the responsibility. But more than that, Kaladin, we believe in you, and know you would do well.”

“I don’t– I don’t know–” Kaladin starts, mind whirling. Him, Dalinar Kholin’s heir? King of Urithiru? He doesn’t want that. He never wanted to be king of anything, only ever wanted to be treated fairly.

“Just think about it, son,” Dalinar says, smiling at him, and then he’s guiding Kaladin out of the room, patting him once more on the back before he walks off with his guards and leaves Kaladin standing alone with a single, life-changing piece of paper in his hand.

_____

Kaladin goes about his day as planned, working with his mother and father in the clinic, taking his lunch break in their apartment so that he can play horses and soldiers with Oroden and Syl. Syl acts as the general to Kaladin’s troops, trying to defend against Oroden’s army, which apparently knows the surge of gravitation, flying haphazardly into their carefully arranged defenses as Oroden chucks the toy soldiers cheerfully across the carpeted battlefield.

After lunch he returns to the clinic, seeing patients all through the afternoon, Dalinar’s letter burning a hole in his pocket. Syl teases him about being distracted until he tells her what’s in the letter, and then she teases him about being a king, calling him Your Majesty and Your Excellency, making him scowl.

“Excellency is for Emperors,” he says testily, cleaning up the room after the last patient of the day leaves. “At least get it right if you’re going to make fun.”

Syl grins at him. “Yes, your Excellent Majesty Highmarshal Stormface, sir.” 

Kaladin glares at her as she laughs uproariously at her own joke. Which is not funny at all.

By the time they return to Adolin’s apartment he’s managed to work himself into a proper foul mood. He doesn’t want to be a storming king. He’s already a storming lighteyes, something he never once in his life wanted to be, and now they want to make him a king? He wants his brown eyes back, and he wants to live without prejudice or war, and he doesn’t want another storming title. He has enough titles already.

Both Adolin and Shallan are already there when he arrives, irascible and exhausted. Syl walks ahead of him, calling out a warning that Kaladin’s “cranky and broody”, and Adolin stands from where he’d been polishing a throwing knife in one of the armchairs, setting the weapon down on the table and walking toward him.

“You okay?”

Kaladin grunts, brushing by him and into the bedroom. Shallan watches him pass without greeting either of them. He knows he’s being rude but he just needs a minute alone, without Syl teasing him or Shallan and Adolin asking him questions he doesn’t know how to answer. 

He slams the bedroom door behind him, pulling the letter out of the inside pocket before shrugging his jacket off and tossing it on the bed. He sits heavily, unfolding the paper, and stares at the meaningless scribbles again.

Except they’re not meaningless. They’re so far from meaningless. 

He stands, folding the paper again and dropping it to the bed before stepping into the bathroom to wash his face in the water basin. He pats it dry and takes a few deep breaths, his irritation slowly fading away, leaving him feeling mostly just tired and lost.

Sighing, he leaves the bathroom, grabbing the letter as he walks past the bed. He knows he owes Adolin and Shallan an apology, and he needs to discuss this writ with them as well. He opens the door and steps back into the living room, paper in hand. 

Adolin stops pacing, concerned gaze locking on Kaladin. Shallan doesn’t look up from her sketchbook.

“Hello to you, too,” she says pleasantly.

Kaladin sighs, then walks over to stand in front of her. 

“I'm sorry for being an ass,” he says quietly. “I had a… weird day. I know that doesn’t excuse it and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you guys.”

She sniffs, but finally looks up and reaches out to give his hand a squeeze.

“You’ve been so happy lately I wondered if we’d lost our brooding bridgeboy forever. Nice to see he's still in there somewhere,” she says with a small tilt to her lips. Kaladin huffs a laugh and leans down to kiss her hair.

“Nope, still here,” he says, then he stands, moving over to where Adolin is watching them fondly, though he can still see a hint of worry there as well.

“I'm sorry,” Kaladin says, coming to a stop in front of him. Adolin shakes his head, completely dismissing the apology.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it. I just want to know if you’re okay.”

Kaladin leans in and kisses him lightly.

“Yeah. Just a weird day. There’s something we should talk about, though.”

_____

“So… if, hypothetically, you accepted, that would make you…” Shallan trails off. Syl grins.

“Brothers,” Adolin confirms, eyes dancing.

The three of them burst out laughing and even Kaladin can’t help his own small smile at how absolutely absurd it is.

“A lie but not a lie, and that makes it humorous,” Pattern hums happily from the floral stitching of Shallan's blouse. 

Kaladin tries to bring them back to the point. “Is that really the most important thing here?”

“I mean, I think it’s pretty important,” Shallan says, gesturing at his stomach. Syl snickers. Kaladin glares. 

“It would just be on paper,” he grumbles, and Adolin giggles, falling back into the couch cushions, hands cradling his aching stomach.

“I think,” Kaladin says, raising his voice to be heard over their laughter, “that the important part is about them trying to put me on a throne. The throne that you declined,” he says, pointing an accusatory finger at Adolin.

Adolin chuckles, wiping his eyes. “So you can just decline, too,” he says, shrugging.

Kaladin rolls his eyes. “It’s not that simple,” he says. “Your father told me that since you and Renarin already rejected it, after me it’s just the Highprinces left.”

That gives them pause, and they sit up a little straighter, thinking on his words.

“Well,” Shallan says slowly, “I know Sebarial seems like a greedy idiot, but I think he’s actually an okay person.”

“Okay enough to not only run Urithiru, but also be in charge of all the Radiant Orders? In charge of the war against Odium?”

Shallan doesn’t answer. Syl looks troubled. Adolin bites his lip.

“See? Not that simple,” Kaladin says softly, hands held out in a sort of helpless shrug.

“Another thing to think about,” he says after a minute, “is if I do take it — which I don’t want to, let me make that clear — if I do take it, we also have this to consider.”

He looks down at himself, then back up at Adolin and Shallan. “It’s ours, and that means that if either you or I take this throne, then this baby is the heir to all of it.”

A complication that was probably the largest contributor to Kaladin's mood today. 

“I don’t want to give this child a life of war before they’re even born,” Kaladin says softly.

It’s quiet for a moment, and then Shallan pipes up.

“Maybe the war will be over by then,” she says, clearly trying to sound optimistic.

“Maybe,” Adolin agrees. “But that doesn’t negate all the pressures of growing up as royalty. I know we were privileged and didn’t have to suffer the same hardships as most people, but honestly, it’s not a life I’d wish on anyone.”

There's a shadow in his eyes as he speaks and Kaladin thinks of Adolin growing up on the warfront, of Renarin being ostracised for not being what the people wanted or expected in a son of royalty, of Jasnah’s coldness and Elhokar’s disdain, borne from the inability to truly ever be themselves in a world and family that expected more from them.

“Yeah,” Kaladin agrees.

“Well,” Syl says, “he said you have time to think about it.”

“Yeah, which brings me to my next problem,” Kaladin says, looking firmly at Adolin now. “We need to tell your father.”

Adolin opens his mouth to argue but Kaladin cuts him off.

“He’s going to find out eventually, Adolin. This isn’t the first time he’s seeked me out to ask me about something and it won't be the last, whether or not I accept. I'm not going to be able to hide it for much longer.”

Adolin’s lips purse. “I don’t want to.”

Shallan rolls her eyes. “Don’t be childish. He’s going to have a new grandchild, he has to be told at some point. What better time than now?”

“Well, I think we should figure out what to do about the heir thing, first,” Kaladin says, waving the paper lightly. “Then maybe we do it all at once.”

“Like a double whammy! That sounds fun!” Syl says enthusiastically.

“I don't know if that’s the word I'd use,” Adolin says darkly.

“Oh come on, it’ll be fine! Who isn’t happy about a baby?” Syl asks cheerfully.

“You’d be surprised,” Shallan says. Adolin puts a hand on her arm and she smiles at him reassuringly.

“Alright, well, that’s enough of that for the night,” Adolin says, slapping his thighs and standing. “Four-way towers, or strip charades?”

Kaladin groans as Shallan and Syl — and Pattern, for storm’s sake — excitedly cast their votes for option B.

_____

Adolin

Adolin requests a formal meeting with his father and aunt a few days later, just before he’s set to leave on an extended campaign in Thaylenah. Shallan does a Ghostblood thing the day before with her Unseen Court but promises to be back in time for the meeting, so it’s just Adolin and Kaladin the night before, and Adolin honestly can’t tell who’s more nervous.

They have a nice dinner together then curl up on the couch, going over plans for Adolin’s trip south. Kaladin points out a few opportunities to shore up defenses of the city, remembering the battle of Thaylen Field, and together they create an ironclad strategy that focuses heavily on losing the least number of soldiers. It means the campaign will last longer, but to both of them losing less people is more than worth the extra time away.

When the sun shines through the balcony doors the following morning they make love slowly, knowing it will be weeks or maybe even months until they can be together again. Adolin refuses to think the worst, even if a voice whispers in the back of his mind to remember every kiss, bask in every touch, soak in each moment like it could be their last.

Shallan arrives home as they’re showering, shedding her clothes and joining them in the spacious enclosure, and this time it’s all secret smiles and soft, panting breaths, cold stone against his back and warm heat within.

Eventually they’re dressed and ready to face the day. Shallan looks positively regal in one of her more formal havahs, safe hand enclosed in a soft fabric lined with intricate silver buttons, while Kaladin, despite his grumbling, looks absolutely stunning in a dark blue jacket with fine gold trim, one of Adolin’s own designs. 

Adolin himself is wearing his typical Kholin blue military uniform, though he has half a mind to drape his new cloak over his shoulders. Partially to piss his father off and partially because he really likes capes. In the end he decides it’s probably better to save it for when he’s not trying to make some kind of peace.

They arrive at the designated meeting room, not far from Adolin’s apartment in the Kholin wing, and file inside one after the other. Dalinar and Navani stand on the far side of the room looking out a window, turning as they enter. 

They meet in the middle and Adolin kisses his aunt on the cheek, then shakes his father’s hand stiffly.

“Aunt Navani, father,” he says. Shallan hugs them both, and Kaladin nods politely to Navani and salutes Dalinar.

“I’ve told you to quit that,” Dalinar says to him good-naturedly, and Kaladin just smiles slightly, finishing the salute properly. Dalinar claps him on the shoulder and steps past them, leading the way to the small round table in the center of the room.

They all settle into chairs, Dalinar and Navani next to each other on one side, Adolin flanked by Kaladin and Shallan on the other. It feels almost like a diplomatic meeting of two opposing leaders, ready to hash out a formal treaty.

Dalinar clears his throat, looking at the three of them in turn before settling his gaze on Adolin.

“May I ask what this meeting is about, son?”

Adolin nods. “You may,” he says.

His father clearly expects him to continue, but Adolin stays quiet, and he silently cheers when Dalinar grits his teeth.

“What is this meeting about, son?” his father asks, tension threaded through his voice. Navani rests a hand on his arm in an attempt to calm him. Adolin can just make out Kaladin shooting him a glare out of the corner of his eye.

“Two things, father,” Adolin says primly. “First, about your offer to make Kaladin heir to Urithiru.”

“I wasn’t aware you had a say in that,” Navani says, eyeing him shrewdly.

“You already turned down the throne,” Dalinar tells him, voice tight. “You made your decision. This is his choice, not yours.”

“With all due respect, sir, I asked for his thoughts on the matter,” Kaladin intercedes. Dalinar is quiet for a moment before he responds.

“Does this have to do with the second thing you want to tell me?” he asks, looking at Kaladin and then back to Adolin.

“It’s all related,” Adolin says vaguely.

Dalinar closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, visibly gathering his patience. Navani gives Adolin a chastising look and he just shrugs, unrepentant.

“Are you planning on actually sharing any of it with us? Or are we just here for your amusement, Adolin?” She asks, and Adolin feels a sudden wave of shame. She’s right. He can be mad at his father all he wants, but this is important, and he should be treating it with the respect it deserves.

He resolves to push aside his issues with his father for the moment, lock them all away in a box until they’ve dealt with the problems facing them now.

“Sorry, Aunt Navani. You’re right,” he says, nodding in apology. She gives him a small smile and a nod in return. 

“Though,” Adolin says, just now realizing who else should be here, “I did ask that all of you be here today. Where are Renarin and Jasnah?”

“Jasnah is unfortunately unable to attend. She discovered something that she believes requires immediate attention, and as you didn’t specify that this was an urgent matter has absconded to the library.”

No surprise there, Adolin thinks. 

“And Renarin?” He asks.

“He should be along any moment,” Navani says. 

“He had Radiant training this morning, which was scheduled to end half an hour ago,” Dalinar says, looking at Navani’s time-keeping fabrial on his arm. “It seems he’s been delayed.”

Adolin is pretty sure he knows exactly what delayed Renarin, especially if he’d been anywhere near Bridge Four during his training, but he keeps that suspicion to himself, smirking.

“Alright, we don’t need to wait for him. I can always fill him in later,” he says. He’s sure Navani will tell Jasnah everything as well. 

“Okay, well, the first thing – well, the first part of the first thing – is that we–” he waves his hand in a circle encompassing him, Kaladin, and Shallan, “–are in a relationship. The three of us.”

Navani’s eyebrows raise, while Dalinar’s dip into a confused furrow.

“Shallan and I are married, yes, but we consider Kaladin an equal in our relationship, and for all intents and purposes also consider his partnership to both of us a permanent one.”

He watches Dalinar’s face as it clicks, his eyes going wide. Navani’s eyebrows have climbed even higher on her forehead, in danger of disappearing into her hair.

“We’d like to find a way to make it official by law at some point in the near future–” he sees Kaladin jerk in surprise; he and Shallan discussed this part privately so this is his first time hearing about it as well, “–possibly with some help from you, Aunt Navani, and Jasnah, if you’re both willing.”

“Well,” Navani says after a long pause. “This type of… relationship, is not exactly common in either Vorinism or Alethi society, Adolin.”

“And we know how our family follows the teachings of Vorinism so very closely,” Adolin retorts.

“Be that as it may, there is also no precedent that I'm aware of in Alethi law,” Navani responds somewhat coolly.

“Which is why I asked for Jasnah to be here,” Adolin says. “Since she doesn’t seem to mind tearing down outdated laws and customs and creating better ones in their stead.”

Navani sits back, eyes narrowed as she stares at her nephew.

Dalinar clears his throat, interrupting the standoff.

“While I am… surprised, I am not exactly shocked. It makes sense, with how close the three of you are,” he says, looking at all of them with a critical eye. Shallan blushes, and even Kaladin looks slightly mortified, but Adolin just stares back at him, unwilling to be ashamed about this.

“I’m sure you’re not looking for my permission or approval in this, but in case it makes any difference, you have it,” his father says, nodding at them. Adolin almost retorts about how very much he doesn’t need his father’s approval but bites it back. His father seems to be okay with this, an unlikely ally in what may be seen as an unconventional and possibly controversial relationship, so he needs to keep his mouth shut and use that to his advantage.

Adolin nods stiffly. 

“Thank you,” he says. “The, uh. The second part of the first thing…” Adolin trails off, feeling awkward for the first time since the meeting began.

Kaladin puts a hand on his leg under the table and Adolin turns. 

The Windrunner raises a brow at him. Want me to do it? 

Adolin shrugs. Up to you.

“Kaladin’s pregnant,” Shallan blurts out from Adolin’s other side. They both whip their heads toward her, mouths hanging open in shock. 

Shallan’s face is a deep, dark red, blush spreading from the tips of her ears and down her neck, disappearing beneath her havah.

“I’m sorry… What?” Navani asks her. A sudden nervous giggle bursts out of Adolin, remembering how he said the exact same thing in much the same way when he first heard the news.

The hand still on his leg squeezes tightly in warning, and he tries to reign it in.

“Kaladin’s pregnant,” Shallan repeats, voice steady despite her flushed face. “The tower wanted to give him a gift for protecting it during the occupation and so it made him capable of carrying a child. It’s Adolin’s,” she adds, unnecessarily in Adolin’s opinion, but he figures it’s not a bad idea to make it crystal clear.

She looks at them and he smiles at her in thanks. Then he turns to his father and aunt.

Who look absolutely floored.

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen the look currently on his father’s face, a mixture of shock, confusion, and… is that joy? He looks overwhelmed, like maybe he doesn’t believe anything they’re saying, but also like if there’s a chance it’s true he’d be… happy?

Aunt Navani looks shocked as well, and also extremely curious. 

“Sibling,” she asks suddenly, gaze trailing upward, looking in the general direction of the ceiling. “Is this true?”

The Sibling’s voice resonates around them, shocking Adolin. He’s never actually heard them speak before.

Yes.

“Why didn’t you tell me of this?” Navani asks incredulously, even a little frustrated.

It was not for you.

“But you didn’t think this was something I should know?”

You would know when the time was right. The time is right now.

“Sibling–” 

“A grandchild?” Dalinar asks suddenly, cutting her off. She quiets, turning to look at her husband. 

He's looking at Kaladin, eyes wide.

“You’re carrying my grandchild?” 

Kaladin nods. 

“Oh, Almighty,” Dalinar breathes. He grips Navani’s free hand on the table top, knuckles going white. “I was worried, before you were married, and then after the wedding I thought I was ready for it, but…” 

He looks to Shallan, as if afraid she might be upset by his comment, but she smiles at him, shaking her head. 

“You were worrying about the wrong person, I guess,” she says, smiling. “Though I think being unmarried is the least of our worries right now.”

“What do you mean?” Dalinar asks her.

“Well, it’s going to create quite a stir when people start finding out, first of all. Also, he’s a man, so the delivery may be more complicated than we expect,” she says, a hint of worry creeping into her voice.

Dalinar looks to Kaladin at that. “My father has a plan,” Kaladin tells him. “He’s known since the beginning.”

Adolin gives a petty little cheer inside at the hurt that flashes across his father’s face at those words. 

He clears his throat, bringing Dalinar and Navani’s attention back to him. 

“It also adds another layer to the heir situation, which is the second thing we’d like to discuss,” Adolin says. 

“As you know, Adolin has already rejected any claim to either throne,” Kaladin says. “I also want to decline.”

”Kaladin–” Dalinar starts.

“Let him finish,” Adolin interrupts.

“I talked with Shallan and Adolin about it at length and we agree that it wouldn’t leave you with a lot of good options. So we came up with a different idea.”

Dalinar leans forward, releasing his grip on Navani and clasping his hands together on the table in front of him.

“What’s your idea, son?” He asks, and Adolin nearly flinches. Calling Kaladin “son” isn’t a bad thing, per se, especially since he intends to marry Kaladin and that will effectively make it true, but he’s strangely sensitive about it right now regardless. It does help to think that, to Adolin’s knowledge, he’s only ever used the term when speaking to Adolin, Renarin, Elhokar, and now Kaladin. Even if it is a little strange that he called Kaladin “son” long before he knew they were in a relationship. 

“If for some reason both you and Navani can no longer be on the throne, it goes to the three of us, jointly, and we get to choose an heir. It doesn’t automatically get passed down to our children.”

Adolin’s heart skips a beat. Did he just say children? Storms. Adolin’s mind spins, suddenly seeing two little boys running together through the halls of Urithiru, much like he and Renarin did in the palace in Alethkar when they were younger. In this vision there is also a smaller, third child chasing after them, wearing a tiny little havah, long red hair loose and curling at the ends.  

“That’s not how lines of succession work,” Navani says, bringing him back to the present.

“It’s basically what you’re doing now by choosing Kaladin,” Adolin replies.

Dalinar sits back, thinking.

“So you’re asking to rule by committee, and then you want to choose your successor instead of handing it down to your descendents.”

“Yep,” Adolin says, popping the ‘p’. 

“Jasnah will like that,” Dalinar says, “though I think she’d prefer an elected successor to one chosen by the previous leaders.”

“We’re open to that, too,” Shallan says.

It’s quiet for a minute as they all mull over the conversation, then Dalinar speaks again.

“May I ask why you don’t want to pass it down to your children?”

He sounds more curious than anything, no anger or frustration, which Adolin takes as a good sign. 

“Simply being born doesn’t make someone fit to rule,” Kaladin says bluntly. “There’s more to being a leader than blood or eye color.”

“The three of us also agree that we don't want our children–” he glances at Kaladin but the Windrunner doesn’t correct him and his stomach flips, “–to grow up with the pressures of being a royal heir weighing on their shoulders. We want them to have a real childhood, a happy one.”

“Was your childhood not a happy one?” Navani asks him.

Adolin looks right at his father when he answers. “No.”

Dalinar looks away. 

Adolin turns to his aunt. 

“Do you think Elhokar’s was? Or Jasnah's?” It’s definitely a rude question but he thinks it might be the only way to get his point across, and he wants them to understand.

She opens her mouth, maybe to refute him, but then she pauses, really thinking about the question. If she’s truly honest with herself, which she will be because she’s Aunt Navani and his aunt never lies to herself when truth is an option, she knows neither her son nor her daughter were happy children. She could blame it on temperament, but she’s too smart for that.

“No,” she admits quietly. “They weren’t.”

Kaladin breaks the silence by pulling the document Dalinar gave him out of his jacket, sliding it across the table. 

“It’s not a no,” he says, “but it’s not a yes, either. Not until we can find a way to make those things happen.”

Dalinar nods, taking the paper from him and folding it, sliding it into his own pressed coat. 

“We will consider your requests and let you know,” he says.

Adolin stands, and Shallan and Kaladin follow suit. Just before he reaches the door Dalinar stops him.

“Adolin.”

Adolin turns. His father and Navani are both standing as well, holding hands.

“Could you keep us… apprised of the situation?” He asks somewhat awkwardly.

“The situation?” Adolin asks, brows furrowing.

Dalinar nods in Kaladin’s direction then looks back at Adolin. “Our new grandchild. We’d like to be part of this, if you’ll allow it.”

Adolin’s throat closes up. If only his father cared this much about his own sons. He feels Shallan’s small hand twine with his, offering comfort.

“Yes,” Kaladin answers for him. “We'd like that.”

Adolin nods once at them before he turns and walks out.

Chapter Text

Shallan

“Do you think you’ll ever go back to fighting?”

Breakfast on the balcony has become something of a tradition to them, ever since Shallan had officially moved into Adolin’s rooms. They’d spend a blissful, passionate night together then sleep in late the next morning until they couldn’t ignore the glare of the sun through the glass door panes anymore. Adolin would order food from the room attendant and Shallan would lounge lazily in bed until it arrived, then throw on a nightrobe and join Adolin on the balcony for delicate finger foods befitting a prince.

When Kaladin first entered the picture – the bedroom picture, at least – he didn’t stay the night often, but on the rare occasion that he did Adolin would drag him out with them, refusing to let him leave first thing in the morning, and after ten minutes or so the Windrunner would finally loosen up and bless them with his melodic grunts and snarky comments. Adolin, in particular, is a genius at somehow getting the man to actually join in the conversation when he starts out the interaction like he’d rather be anywhere else.

Adolin’s not here today, out somewhere in Emul, or Azir, Shallan honestly can’t keep them straight anymore. She tried, in the beginning, but thinking too much about where he’s fighting makes her think about the battles themselves, and then she’s thinking of all the horrific ways he could die, so she’s kind of just stopped listening to the details. Sometimes it makes her feel like a crem wife, but it keeps her mostly sane, so it’s necessary. 

So this morning it was just the two of them, Adolin having departed before dawn to go Stormfather knows where, leaving Shallan to do the breakfast ordering, which she abhors but if she didn’t do it then they wouldn’t be eating today, because Kaladin flat-out refused, so order she did.

They finished breakfast a while ago and have since turned their chairs facing outward, gazing out at the magnificent snow-capped mountains beyond Urithiru as they take in the warm rays of the late-morning sun. Conversation has been light, the silences in between comfortable, each lost in their own thoughts.

But curiosity eventually wins out for Shallan, and there are some answers she can’t get by Lightweaving her way into revealing others’ secrets.

Kaladin looks at her, and the way his eyes reflect the sunlight, perpetually that light, arresting blue now, is mesmerizing. She knows Adolin misses the brown; he’s told her so in secret, for fear of hurting Kaladin’s feelings, or maybe afraid of reminding him that technically he’s a lighteyes now… There’s no better way to enrage Kaladin Stormblessed than to give him the same label as his oppressors.

The artist in her has to admit that the blue is striking, especially with the sharp features, tanned skin, and long, dark hair. It’s a stunning visual, there’s no doubt about it. But if she’s being truly honest with herself, Shallan misses the brown, too. It reminds her of who he is and what he’s been through. It helps her not forget how she isn’t innocent in her previously poor treatment of darkeyes, how she looked down on them for nearly her entire life, and helps her remember that she wants to be better.

The brown also reminds her of those early days, on the Plains. In the Chasms. There’s something… enchanting, about those days, no matter that magic is all around them now.

She wonders if the brown will ever come back. She hopes so.

“I… don't know,” Kaladin says slowly, responding to her question about fighting again. He looks back to the snowy peaks, that sharp blue gaze far away, farther even than the mountains.

“Because of the baby or because of your mind?” Shallan asks him, pulling her eyes away from his profile and looking out over the landscape herself. The view honestly never gets old.

“Both, I think,” Kaladin says. He sighs. “I… I miss it, sometimes. Not the killing, but the fighting. The spear.”

He doesn’t look at Shallan, as if afraid she’ll judge him for enjoying something so violent, something that’s sole purpose is to take lives. He continues talking.

“The war is far from over, and it kills me to know I could be out there helping, saving lives, protecting. Every time Adolin leaves I feel like I should be going with him to watch his back, and I don’t. I just sit here and let him go alone and hope he comes back.”

Shallan stays quiet because she’s had these exact thoughts herself. About her not going out to help, and also about Kaladin not going. She knows it’s incredibly unfair, understands probably more than most what Kaladin goes through when his mind betrays him, but some small part of her wants to resent him for leaving Adolin unprotected, as much as it wants to resent herself for the very same thing.

She’s gotten better at telling that part to storm off, but it’s an ongoing battle. The larger, more important part of her knows that no one is at fault for the positions they've been shoved into, and that no one has any right to judge them for what they decide is best for themselves. Kaladin’s actually been a great help with that, using some of his fancy mind healing on her without her even realizing it’s happening until after she’s suddenly feeling better. She doesn’t think it’s always intentional; it’s just the way he is, always looking to help and protect others, and sometimes his willingness to just listen and let her talk things out is more helpful than any words could be.

“I thought, before the occupation, that maybe there would be a time I’d be able to return to the fight. I thought that I’d work through some stuff with my group, and some of them would never fight again but some of them would, and I honestly thought I’d be in that second group. In my mind it was just a matter of time until I could get my head right and get back out there, be where I'm needed most.

“But then this happened,” Kaladin says, looking down at the bump she knows is hidden beneath the loose folds of his nightshirt. 

“Sometimes I'm afraid to walk too fast, Shallan, because maybe I’ll trip and fall and hurt them.” He looks at her again, expression trying for self-deprecating, but she can see the fear lurking behind the facade. 

“I can’t even imagine fighting with them in here, and after they’re born… what if I die? What if I abandon them, leave them alone – what if I go off to fight and never come home?”

A lump rises in her throat unexpectedly when she sees his hand drift down to his stomach, touching it gently. He’s never been overly sentimental about it – leaving that to Adolin, mostly – and even now doesn’t seem to realize he’s doing it.

Shallan scoots her chair closer to the other man, then reaches out to take both of his hands in hers. 

“This child will never be alone, Kaladin, no matter what happens to any of us, no matter what you decide to do. This baby is so loved already, by you and me and Adolin, but also by your parents, and Dalinar and Navani and Renarin, and, storms, all of Bridge Four.” 

Kaladin’s hands squeeze hers and she smiles at him, feeling unexpected tears in her eyes. “It’s a war and no one is really ever safe, but, Kaladin, this kid is going to have so many people wrapped around their finger before they’re even born. You can worry about fighting and losing people and hard decisions, but please, don't worry about that. This baby will never be alone.”

Kaladin leans forward and kisses her then, a gentle press of thanks that slowly turns into something deeper as her arms loop around his neck and he pulls her onto his lap. Straddling him like this is the only way she’s ever taller than he is, and she enjoys how he’s forced to tilt his head back, letting her take control of his mouth as his hands run up and down her back gently. 

He pulls back from her lips and stares up at her with those intense blue eyes and she shivers.

“Thank you,” he says softly. “I needed to hear that.”

“It’s true,” she whispers. He leans in and kisses her again, slow and deep, big hands roaming across her thinly clothed body.

She marvels at how far they’ve come, her and Kaladin. She always harbored feelings for him, ever since those early days in the chasms, and she had no objections when Adolin broached the subject of bringing him into their relationship, because she loved and trusted them both, and because, yes, she was attracted to both of them as well. 

She and Kaladin were never as touch-driven as she and Adolin were, or even Adolin and Kaladin, connecting instead on a more emotional level over their shared trauma with occasional physical demonstrations of their feelings for each other. 

But that’s all changed lately. She’s always loved Kaladin, but now she thinks she may be in love with Kaladin, and the thought excites her. She feels like the three of them have ascended to something greater, something even more beautiful, than what they had before.

“Do you have anywhere to be today?” Kaladin asks her, voice husky, and she shakes her head, several tendrils of auburn hair falling around their faces in a curtain. He recaptures her lips, still slow and sticky sweet, tongues touching teasingly before pulling away again. Shallan bites Kaladin’s bottom lip gently, pulling, and he follows, tilting her back a bit on his lap, arms squeezing around her, hands like smoldering brands against her waist through her thin robe.

She finally releases his lip and licks it wetly with the flat of her tongue, making him groan and pull her back in tighter to him, pressing their chests together, and she grinds deliberately into his lap, feeling the heat of his body through only the thin layer of his pants. She lets out a breathy sigh. 

“Shallan,” he murmurs, and she hums, loving the sound of her name in his mouth. She thinks suddenly of Pattern and hopes he’s still distracted with whatever he and Syl had been so excited about this morning, something she discovered yesterday in the library, then dismisses all thoughts of the spren as she feels Kaladin’s hand slip down over her rear, fingers dipping tantalizingly close to the spot between her legs that suddenly throbs with heat.

He’s kissing the side of her neck as his fingers explore, drifting closer and closer to where she wants them with each pass, and she presses down more heavily onto his lap, the feeling of his arousal hard and wanting against her. It’s almost enough, if she angles just right, head tilted back and eyes closed tight… he drags against her and she groans at the feeling, wanting more.

She opens her eyes and looks down at his flushed face, feeling the heat suffusing her own cheeks, and she grins at him as she bites the fingertip of her gloved safehand, pulling the fabric off slowly with her teeth. He exhales a laugh, leaning slightly to press a soft kiss to the newly-exposed fingers of her safehand, before sliding his own hand up to run through her wild hair, pulling her down for another wet kiss. 

She drags her now bare hands down his chest, thin nightshirt bunching under her palms. A small strip of skin above his waistband, fingers trailing through soft hair, and then she blindly unties the knot of his pants, pushing at them impatiently.

Kaladin reaches down to assist, tilting his hips up to pull the pants down and kick them off, leaving him naked from the waist down. Shallan hikes up her robe, lazy knot she tied around the front earlier loosening enough that it gapes open, baring her upper stomach and part of her chest. Kaladin immediately presses his face there and Shallan sighs, holding his head in place as he kisses and licks at the exposed skin.

Shifting her knees a bit on his chair – thank the Heralds Adolin is so posh, the chairs are thoroughly padded – she presses her wet heat directly onto his cock and they both groan at the feeling. 

His hands are on her hips, lifting, and she’s reaching down to adjust the angle just slightly, the head of his cock sliding through her damp folds, and then…

She throws her head back as he slots inside her, filling her perfectly. Kaladin groans again, fingers pressing so hard into her skin they’ll almost certainly leave bruises, but she hardly notices as she rocks her hips forward, shifting that fullness until it presses just so.

“Storms, Shallan,” Kaladin gasps. When she looks down again he’s staring at her face, eyes wide, awespren and passionspren drifting in the air around them. “You’re so beautiful.”

Shallan feels herself blush. She kisses him, half to shut him up and half because she feels like she might combust if she doesn’t. What did she ever do to deserve this? Not just her perfect, handsome, kind, wonderful husband, but Kaladin, too, the embodiment of Honor, the man most deserving of happiness and yet the one who has received so little of it? She’s grateful that she’s been given the opportunity to try to share some of hers with him.

They start moving, Kaladin’s hips thrusting upwards gently while Shallan grinds down at a smooth, lazy pace. Shallan’s robe slips off her shoulders, then down her arms completely, and she lets it drop to the ground, exposing herself completely to the balmy outside air. She wonders distantly if they might be giving a show to some Windrunner squires, but can’t bring herself to care. Hopefully they’re high enough up that it’s a moot point. 

It’s a slow build, bodies slick with sweat, Kaladin pressing open-mouthed kisses to her damp skin as she rocks in his lap, bringing them both steadily closer to the edge. 

Her orgasm takes her by surprise; one second she’s enjoying the build up, toes tingling and stomach tightening as she climbs higher, and then the next she’s falling into blissful release, body throbbing, starbursts radiating from her core with each luscious pulse. When she comes down from her high she finds herself curled over, face pressed into the side of Kaladin’s neck, his arms wrapped tightly around her. He’s still so hard inside of her, and her body squeezes around him, oversensitive and yet somehow wanting more, wanting him to move.

Trembling, she lifts her hips, pulling off his length slightly, before she lowers herself quickly again, sheathing Kaladin once more.

He grunts, hips thrusting upward forcefully, and she gives a strangled moan as sparks shoot through her. She repeats the movement and this time Kaladin meets her on the descent, their skin slapping with a soft, obscene sound. 

The climb is much shorter for her the second time, and within minutes little high-pitched moans escape her every time they come together. She shuts her eyes as the wave crests, stars exploding across her vision, and she shakes, coming apart under Kaladin’s hands, on his cock. He thrusts once more, dragging along her insides in a way that makes her clench down, wanting to trap him inside, and then he’s gone as well, releasing inside her with a desperate, incredibly sexy whine.

They hold each other afterwards, Kaladin’s head pressed to her bare chest as he softens inside her. He shifts carefully, pulling out, and then readjusts her on his lap. She can feel the warm wetness trickle out of her and it makes her shiver.

She meant it when she said she wasn’t ready to bear children, and she also meant it when she said she didn’t know if she ever would be ready to carry one. Luckily, after that admission Kaladin quietly provided her with some herbs that could prevent that from happening until she changed her mind, if that day ever came. 

But the physical feeling of that possibility, the idea of his seed inside of her, and Adolin’s when they make love, still makes her muscles clench with want. It's a primal, visceral part of her that wants to be claimed by them, wants to belong to them. She knows she already does belong to them, and they to her, and that it’s a purely instinctive, physical reaction, so it doesn’t bother her as it once might have. She long ago came to terms with allowing herself to feel more than one way about a single thing.

When they both start to get stiff from the awkward position, Shallan suggests a shower, and Kaladin agrees. She yelps when he stands with her still perched on his lap, and she wraps her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck as he literally carries her into the bathroom, his laugh carefree and delicious in her ear.

_____

Kaladin

This might be the worst idea anyone has ever had in the history of Roshar, including the breaking of the Oathpact.

Kaladin sits at his parents’ wooden dining table, watching as his commander slash father figure slash possibly soon-to-be father-in-law attempts to make polite conversation with his actual father over a dinner of chouta and stewed vegetables.

Dalinar and Navani, after learning of Kaladin’s pregnancy, had reached out to Adolin with the request that they all sit down for a casual dinner, in order to get to know one another better before the baby came.

Adolin wanted to decline, but Kaladin, idiot that he was, said he understood why Adolin’s family might want to get to know Kaladin’s. It made sense if they were all planning to be a part of the baby’s life once they were born.

So they hammered out details (which consisted of Lirin accepting the invitation at his and Hesina’s convenience, never one to cave to the demands of a lighteyes), and now here they are, in Kaladin’s family’s dining room, extra chairs shoved around the small rectangular table so that they can all rub elbows while trying to eat like civilized human beings and make increasingly awkward small talk. 

Lirin sits at the head of the table with Dalinar at the opposite end. On one of the longer sides Hesina, Oroden (in his high chair), and Navani sit closely together, while on the other side are Shallan, Kaladin, and Adolin. Shallan tried to sit in between the two of them when they first entered the dining area, leaving the chair next to Lirin for Kaladin to take, but Adolin snatched at Kaladin and pushed him down into the middle seat instead, forcing Shallan to sit at the end next to Kaladin’s father. 

Shallan and his father are on friendly enough terms, as are Adolin and his parents, so that ends up being fine. Shallan is sitting across from Hesina as well, so they, too, are able to keep up a relatively light conversation. Navani is also on her best behavior, playing sweetly with Oroden, who throws his food around his tray happily.

Lirin and Dalinar, however, are seated at the far ends of the table, and have not thawed, instead looking increasingly stiff as the evening wears on. Questions directed at each other result in one-word answers, to the point that both Navani and Hesina have written them off as a lost cause and are instead focusing on the two-year-old between them.

It’s especially frustrating because Kaladin knows they don’t hate each other; they’ve met before and gotten along just fine. …Well, they managed to be civil and respectful, which is honestly all Kaladin can hope for from his father, with his long, tumultuous history with lighteyes in positions of authority. Of course, this is not just any lighteyes… this is the Blackthorn. 

(The day after the first time Adolin met Lirin in person the three of them met for drinks at the pub, and he said to Kaladin, unprompted, “I understand, now. Where you get it from.” And when Kaladin asked for clarification he just gestured at his face and said, “Your thing with lighteyes,” to which Kaladin huffed and rolled his own light blue eyes and changed the subject.)

Kaladin initially thought Syl would join them, and assumed Pattern would as well, hiding somewhere on Shallan’s person as he usually does, but when they started making the actual plans Syl said she thought it would be good for them to do this “on their own”, like they’re just stubborn children and she’s pushing them into doing something necessary in order for them to grow. He admits that she’s a great buffer, as everyone invited to this dinner basically adores her, and she would definitely have helped keep the peace if things got heated for one reason or another, so he can kind of see her point in abstaining, instead making them do the hard work.

Pattern, of course, opted to join her in whatever new thing they’re doing now. Kaladin is actually growing slightly concerned with the amount of time the two of them spend together. He’s sure he's going to find out that they’ve been getting into all kinds of trouble in the near future.

“How is the clinic, Lirin?” Navani asks, politely inquisitive. After several early attempts by Dalinar to compliment Kaladin’s time in his service and about the training regimens of the new crop of Radiants were met with short, clipped responses, conversation between the two older men stagnated, leaving the women and the younger generation to pick up the threads.

At Navani’s blatantly obvious attempt to bring Lirin back into the conversation, Kaladin sees his father’s posture relax slightly, possibly remembering that the actual purpose of this dinner is to build new relationships, not burn bridges that barely exist.

“It’s going well,” Lirin says. “I feared at first that my occupation as a surgeon would become obsolete with so many healing Radiants appearing in the world, but as of yet that doesn’t seem to be the case.”

Navani nods, agreeing. “Yes, the population of Urithiru is already large and just continues to grow, and many of the Edgedancers have joined the military and are often out on campaign. We do try to leave at least a couple at the Tower usually, barring any large offensives, just in case there is an emergency that requires immediate attention.”

Lirin looks directly at Adolin. “You mean like when young Adolin here nearly died on my table,” he says, voice deceptively light. Kaladin’s stomach lurches at the sudden memory of it, the image of Adolin bloody and unmoving imprinted in his brain. It’s quickly overlayed by the one of him in Shadesmar, bleeding out from a stab wound, eyes wide and pained, asking him for a knife, as Kaladin shakes uncontrollably over him, weeping.

A warm hand grips his thigh, bringing him back, and he clutches at Adolin’s hand gratefully.

“Adolin was on campaign, and in an unfortunate turn of events was separated from the Edgedancers that had been assigned to his company. That had nothing to do with none of them being left behind here at Urithiru,” Dalinar says firmly.

“Did it not? Had at least one healer been left here as you claim is your intent, would it not have been beneficial in this case? Would it not have saved his life, if, perchance, I had not been able to?” Lirin asks pointedly. 

Kaladin’s fingers are starting to go numb with the pressure he’s exerting on Adolin’s hand, but thankfully Adolin doesn’t pull away, thumb stroking the back of his hand soothingly as their fathers practically snarl at one another.

“It would have, yes,” Dalinar says, staring at Lirin with hard eyes. “But there wasn’t one here, so he was brought to you. And you did save his life, which I have already expressed I am eternally grateful for. What is your point here, Lirin? Do you want more Edgedancers here at the tower, or do you want none? Because it seems to me that no matter what answer you give and no matter what I provide, you will be unsatisfied.”

Lirin’s jaw works. Kaladin’s mother glares at him, clearly frustrated with his behavior, and Kaladin sees Navani shift in her chair, likely pushing at Dalinar’s leg under the table in some gesture to apologize.

Before either of them speak, however, Adolin chimes in.

“The fault of that incident lies on no one but myself,” he says seriously. “It was by my request that all Edgedancers be deployed for that campaign, and therefore my own folly when I was injured with no Radiant healer around to patch me up.” 

He turns to Lirin, sincerity oozing from him with every word. “I am in your debt, Lirin and Hesina, for your quick action in saving my life, and as unfortunate and frightening as the incident was, I am grateful to still be here, with more wisdom and knowledge than I had before I was hurt. I’ve made some changes relating to our campaign strategy that should help prevent such an occurrence from happening again, hopefully to anyone.”

Hesina smiles at him gently and Navani nods in agreement. Kaladin sees Dalinar’s eyes widen slightly, finally understanding Adolin's sudden change in tactics. He wonders how Dalinar feels about Adolin bringing his burgeoning family into consideration while making military decisions. Everyone with a brain knows that Adolin would never make any change that would be a detriment to the Coalition’s ultimate goal, but at the same time Kaladin imagines that “family” and “military” have never belonged in the same sentence to Dalinar Kholin, unless of course the subject matter revolved around training a son to become a soldier like himself.

Shallan leans slightly to place her hand on top of their joined ones on Kaladin’s thigh.

“Your competence is very sexy,” she whispers to Adolin, and though her voice is low the room is quiet enough that it carries, and she immediately flushes bright red with mortification. Navani’s eyes go wide and Hesina covers her mouth with a hand, clearly smiling. Both Dalinar and Lirin have gone pink as well, blushing at the impropriety, and Kaladin feels Adolin shaking with suppressed mirth next to him.

“Thank you,” Adolin chokes out in a whisper, and Kaladin finally cracks a smile.

The rest of dinner is much less tense, and Dalinar and Lirin even manage to carry on a slightly stilted conversation about a dish they both loved in their childhood, the recipe originating in rural Alethkar and unfortunately never making it into the bigger cities. They stumble a bit when the subject seems to be heading in the direction of rural Alethkar being overtaken by Gavilar and the Blackthorn, but Hesina manages to steer it toward the city of Kharbranth, which they both visited numerous times in their youth, and they share stories of their travels for the rest of the meal.

After dinner they retire to the sitting room, bringing some of the extra chairs with them so that there are enough seats for everyone to assemble into something resembling a circle. Kaladin, Adolin, and Shallan take the couch, sitting in the same order as at the dining table, sides pressed together, and though Kaladin is feeling mildly claustrophobic he’s also grateful to have them at his sides, too tired to try to wade through the thorny atmosphere between their fathers without help.

Oroden toddles around the rug between them all, showing off his toys to one full-sized human before moving on to the next, babbling barely intelligible nonsense to them. The adults play along, listening intently and nodding along, which seems to satisfy him enough. He goes to Adolin first when he finally makes it around to the couch, grubby little fingers pulling at Adolin’s pristine pants leg, but the blonde just smiles, taking the offered block from Oroden and looking at it with exaggerated wonder. Oroden laughs at the silly face, quickly bending and picking up a toy horse from the rug to shove at Adolin, too. His excitement gets the better of him and he loses his balance, falling to his butt with a soft thump. 

Adolin laughs, bending down and lifting the toddler up and setting him on his leg, handing him the block and the horse, which Oroden takes enthusiastically, turning them over several times before smashing them together, then shoving the horse’s feet directly into his mouth.

“Oroden, honey, not in your mouth,” Hesina says chidingly, smiling at the two of them. Adolin chuckles then pulls gently at the toy, removing it from the toddler’s mouth and extricating it from his slimy fingers, making the horse dance along Oroden’s legs, up his arms, on top of his head. Oroden squeals with laughter.

Kaladin feels Shallan push at him slightly, trying to move him so that she can see as well. He shifts so that she can rest her head on his shoulder, and he smiles as they both watch the absurdly adorable scene in front of them. His eyes flick away for a moment and he suddenly freezes as he realizes all of the adults in the room are staring at them.

Not just at Adolin and Oroden, or at Kaladin and Shallan, but at all of them, sitting together on the couch and enjoying this moment of happiness and peaceful domesticity.

Hesina looks like she might start crying, while next to her Lirin looks strangely constipated, like he’s fighting to hide whatever emotion he feels while watching his youngest child play happily with his oldest child’s partner.

Navani smiles, looking unexpectedly soft, not a look Kaladin is used to seeing on the typically aloof woman. 

And Dalinar… Dalinar stares at his son like he’s never seen him before. 

As Adolin teases Oroden, keeping the dancing horse just out of Oroden’s reach, twisting it gently this way and that in a game of keep away, Dalinar looks at Adolin like he’s one of the ten Heralds themselves. There is so much love and longing in his eyes that Kaladin feels like he should look away, like he’s intruding on something private, something Dalinar never intended anyone to see. 

Kaladin wishes Adolin would see, though. Maybe seeing this soft sort of love could be the first step to mending the well of anger and regret that their relationship has become.

Dalinar suddenly looks away from his son and directly at Kaladin. Kaladin knows Dalinar respects him, maybe even likes him as a person, but something in Dalinar’s gaze suddenly seems to reach out to him, and Kaladin realizes it’s not just his imagination. Dalinar is creating a bond between them, and suddenly Kaladin can see what he’s thinking and feeling, and knows it’s the same for Dalinar, experiencing what’s inside of Kaladin’s head in turn.

He feels like he could pull away if he wanted, like he could snap the tenuous thread linking them. He doesn’t feel locked in, which he appreciates, especially if it was intentional on Dalinar’s part. But he doesn’t break the connection, curious about what Dalinar may be trying to show him. 

There is so much love there in Dalinar’s mind, and so much regret. Regret at what he did to Adolin’s mother, Evi. Regret at missing these moments when Adolin was younger, despite Evi’s pleading for him to be more present in their sons’ lives. Regret at how his relationships with Adolin and Renarin have soured, how he needed to tell the truth of his past but how the telling of those truths led to their fracturing. Regret at how he took his eldest son’s loyalty and selflessness for granted for all those years, before everything that happened on the Shattered Plains. At how he ignored one of the very best things in his life because he was so consumed with bigger, more important problems. How wrong he was, to think that anything was as important as his family. 

Kaladin sees how proud he is of the man Adolin has become, both as a leader and as a person. He feels Dalinar’s pain when he looks at Adolin and sees Evi staring back at him. He experiences Dalinar’s fear of never being able to mend the rift between them, fear of losing his son in battle like he nearly did months ago, feels how angry Dalinar is at himself for brushing that injury aside almost as soon as he’d been healed, for the way he basically scoffed at Adolin’s insistence to change up the strategy in order to keep himself and others as safe as possible.

Kaladin can hear the questions Dalinar asks himself: Why would he begrudge his son that? Since when was it a bad thing for a general to want himself and his men to survive? Since when did Dalinar care more about the victory and the reputation than about the men he led? Kaladin feels Dalinar’s self-hatred when the Bondsmith thinks that maybe he’s always cared more about winning than anything else, and he sympathizes with Dalinar’s hopelessness that if he doesn’t care about the victory first and foremost, who will? Who will do what it takes to save the world from Odium, if not him?

Kaladin wonders vaguely what thoughts he’s projecting to the older man but doesn’t shy away from it, doesn’t cringe from the idea of sharing his innermost feelings; he has nothing to hide. Dalinar knows his prejudices, his fears, has seen him during some of his worst moments, has been the one to literally pull Kaladin out of the highstorm to give him time to find the courage to save his own life.

The moment breaks and Kaladin snaps back into his own mind with a quiet gasp. Shallan lifts her head, looking at him with concern, then follows his gaze to Dalinar, who gives them both a small, sad smile before looking back to his son.

“If I may, I’d just like to state that Navani and I fully support this relationship, and that we are, at the behest of my son, looking into ways to formalize it into a legal union,” Dalinar says into the quiet of the room, his voice a strange mix of melancholy and pride. Kaladin feels a surge of fondness for the man, which is new. He’s always respected and cared for Dalinar, but feeling fond of him?

Maybe it’s because Kaladin can see how much effort Dalinar is putting into his attempt to change. How much he continues to try to be better, for the world and for the people he loves. After all, the past cannot be changed, but the future is unwritten.

Lirin raises his eyebrows at the declaration. “A marriage of three people?” he asks, skeptical. “I doubt the Vorin church would allow it, no matter how much power you hold as Bondsmith.”

“It’s a good thing I don’t answer to the Vorin church anymore,” Dalinar replies mildly. “And neither does the King of Alethkar.”

Jasnah, King of Alethkar in exile, answers to no church, and to no person. 

“We should have a solution within the next few weeks,” Navani adds, and Kaladin’s heart rate spikes. Weeks? He was going to be expected to get married in a few weeks?

Adolin looks up at them, bouncing Orodon on his knee. The boy has finally managed to get his horse back and is currently making said horse prance through Adolin’s mismatched hair.

“Really? Why didn’t you tell me you’d made such progress?” Adolin says, both excited at the news and frustrated at being left out of the proceedings.

“Because we only found out ourselves this morning,” Navani says to him. “We thought it more efficient to tell everyone at once.”

Adolin chews on this for a moment and then perhaps realizes it’s really not something he can be upset about; it’s great news, all things considered, and they only kept it from him for a couple of hours, just until they saw him in person.

“That’s so wonderful!” Shallan says, bouncing in her seat. Kaladin smiles, happy but feeling overwhelmed. Adolin looks at him and must see it in his face because he smiles again at Oroden before finally setting him back on the floor, then he takes Kaladin’s hand, pulling it up to kiss his palm. In front of everyone.

“Adolin,” he hisses, barely keeping himself from yanking his hand back. He doesn’t, because he doesn’t want to embarrass Adolin, and also because he doesn’t want to look as flustered as he feels in front of their parents, but apparently Adolin can read him like a storming glyph because he grins, eyes twinkling with mischief as he lowers Kaladin’s hand again but doesn’t let go. 

He rests them on the cushion in the small space between their bodies, turning to look at the rest of the room again, but Kaladin can only think of their hands, linked together out in the open, Adolin’s thumb rubbing his skin lightly, the same path over and over and over, making Kaladin shiver with oversensitivity, hairs standing up all along his arm.

“Well, I, for one, am ecstatic. Unconventional it may be, but I’ve never seen three people so perfect for one another,” Hesina says kindly.

“Mother,” Kaladin groans. 

“What? It’s true, Kaladin. While it’s clear that– well, that any pairing of you all would work well, I think the real masterpiece is when the three of you come together. You fit together, like pieces to a puzzle. I’m very happy for you,” she says with a misty smile, and Kaladin may drown in embarrassment but there’s also something softer bubbling inside of him, something warm and fuzzy. Something like contentment.

Chapter Text

Adolin

One more day. 

He only has to get through one more day. One more lonely night and one more bright, cold sunrise before he can hand off responsibility of the ground troops he’s been marching with for the past fortnight and return to Urithiru as fast as humanly – Radiantly, if he’s lucky – possible.

They’re a day’s march from Yeddaw, where his army will be meeting up with his father’s contingent, a place for them to rest and recuperate from the last couple months of chaotic fighting.

He feels like he’s been all over the continent over the last year, including the Shadesmar version of Roshar, readying nations for battle against Odium’s forces, lending assistance to besieged cities, recruiting as many to the Coalition as he can. The fighting has been sporadic but fierce, each battle costing the lives of dozens if not hundreds of men, but most of them have been small-scale, moves on both sides vying for control of the best positions for when the final showdown arrives.

No one seems to know when that will be or what it will entail, but they do their best to prepare for it anyway, gathering land and resources and military might.

He’s never been to Yeddaw before but he’s heard of the way the city is cut directly into the stone of the ground, how the people live in homes carved out of the rock face. Apparently the man-made chasms serve as their roads, keeping them protected from highstorms and predators alike, and they farm up above, on the tops of the “plateaus”. 

He always wanted to see it, dreamed of visiting when he was a child, likely in a bid to conquer, as was the Alethi way when being raised as the first son of the Blackthorn. But as he grew that desire to invade, to fight, to take, had fizzled away, leaving behind only the wanderlust. He imagined traveling to see all the wonders Roshar had to offer, from coastal, storm-battered New Natanan to the libraries of Kharbranth; from the mystical chill of the Horneater Peaks to the warm waters of the Purelake; from Rira, the ancestral home of his mother with her spun-gold hair, to Shinovar, a land secret to all but the Shin. 

But now, despite the new, exotic city looming just before him, he finds himself wishing only for home. Because that’s what Urithiru is now. His home. It’s where his family is, where his love finds its own home in the hearts of those he holds most dear. 

Gallant snorts at him, ears flicking, perhaps sensing his master’s melancholy mood, and Adolin leans forward, patting him on the neck reassuringly.

“Soon, boy. We’ll be going back soon, and you’ll have your own stable back, and–” his voice grows slightly louder, “–your own gigantic pile of fruits because you know the Windrunners spoil you outrageously every time they’re down there practicing. They think I don’t know, but I’ve seen them.” He side-eyes Drehy and Skar, riding a couple of standard-sized warhorses next to him, and they turn away, comically avoiding his gaze.

Gallant snorts at him again. “I’m not going to take your treats away from you, don't worry,” Adolin says to him, grinning. “Who would they give all those extra truthberries to then? Can’t let them eat them all, they’d get too heavy and fall right out of the sky.”

“You, Highprince Adolin, are an idiot,” Drehy finally says, rolling his eyes with a fond smile. Adolin laughs. 

“I know your secrets, Windrunner. I know you eat half the berries before they even make it to the market.”

“If we eat half the berries and then we give Gallant such a gigantic pile, how in the world would we have any left for the market at all, princeling?” Skar asks him, one eyebrow raised.

“How am I supposed to know the inner workings of the truthberry black market?” Adolin asks them, shrugging, looking ahead to the endless, flat expanse of rock they continue to trek across at a cremling’s pace.

“Oh ho, it’s a black market now, Skar, better watch out before someone reports us,” Drehy exclaims.

“Unfortunately that someone won’t be me. My horse likes your contraband berries too much.”

The Windrunners snort at him and the ridiculous exchange lightens his mood some. They lapse back into a companionable silence and Adolin’s thoughts drift back to the tower again.

It’s been over two weeks since he’s seen Kaladin or Shallan, since he’s kissed them or held their hands or woken up next to them, skin warm and limbs tangled together. His longing is especially strong on this trip, has been getting worse with each time he has to leave. Lately it’s felt like the three of them are intertwining more and more each day, tying tighter together, the tangled threads of their selves knotting and weaving, pulling taut with every new experience, with every separation from each other and every reunion afterward.

He aches when he thinks of the night before he left this last time, how they whiled away the evening, Shallan sketching what they thought was some new disguise for her Lightweavings but turned out to be a drawing of the two of them, a perfect moment frozen forever in charcoal. Kaladin, eyes closed, sprawled out on the couch with his head in Adolin’s lap, one of Adolin’s hands tangled in Kaladin’s wild tresses and the other resting on the gentle slope of his belly.

Adolin shifts in his saddle, pulling the lacquered drawing out of an inside pocket of his heavy coat. Holding easily to Gallant with his knees, he cradles the drawing with both hands, staring at the intricate details Shallan managed to capture with her incredible skill. The way Kaladin’s lips tilt just so, not quite smiling but obviously content. Adolin’s eyes, shining as he smiles at something Shallan says, posture relaxed as he leans back into the cushions, hands casually possessive on Kaladin’s body. Kaladin’s ankles, just barely exposed as his pants ride up, his bare feet dangling off the end of the couch.

She somehow even drew her own hand drawing them, fingers and pencil sketched onto the corner with such impeccable detail it looks as if he could reach down and tangle his fingers with hers.

Part of him travels back to that perfect moment, Shallan caught up in her sketch, Kaladin warm and lazy on top of him. He remembers how, just seconds after this exact moment, that sense of calm disappeared completely.

He remembers how he laughed at Shallan’s teasing, how Kaladin snorted at her, how she snickered at them both. He remembers how his fingers combed through Kaladin’s dark locks, hair already free of tangles from Adolin’s prior careful ministrations. 

He remembers how his world compressed into one single moment then, as, underneath the hand resting lightly on Kaladin’s stomach, something moved.

He grins stupidly, remembering the loud, dramatic gasp he gave, like he’d just surfaced from being underwater for an extended period of time, starved for air. Kaladin froze under him, because this was his first time feeling the baby move, too, he told Adolin later. Shallan asked them What? Adolin, what?! Until he choked out something resembling words, and she leaped over to join them, her own hand shoving up under Kaladin’s shirt to press against bare skin. 

It moved again, and again. It moved for nearly an hour, little bumps that Kaladin could only guess were kicks, and they all stayed right there on the couch, waiting impatiently for the next movement, eyes lighting up each time.

It’s funny to Adolin how at every step of this experience he’s felt like his world is crashing down and being remade into something new. When they first started this thing between the three of them, he felt like he could fly as high as any Windrunner on just his own happiness. Then, when Kaladin told him he was pregnant, Adolin’s whole view on life shifted, reforming to orbit around the new life they’d created. And on that couch, when he felt physical proof of the life growing inside Kaladin, it became real all over again, and he couldn’t stop his thoughts from jumping forward, to their future, to becoming a family of four, to moments of perfect peace, holding his child, singing to them, and to moments of chaos, crying and screaming and tripping over toys left out in their home.

He craves all of it.

“Well that’s sickeningly cute,” Drehy says, peering over at the drawing in Adolin’s hands.

Adolin grins. “Wanna see? Your stern, brooding bridge leader, reduced to peaceful domesticity. Who’d have thought?”

Drehy smiles as he reaches up to carefully take the proffered drawing.

“Not us, that's for sure,” Skar says, leaning to look at the sketch with Drehy. 

“I’m glad, though. He deserves it,” Drehy says, eyes soft as he takes it in.

“Yeah, no doubt about that,” Skar agrees.

Drehy smiles again, handing the paper back to Adolin, who folds it and tucks it safely back in his jacket. 

“He does,” Adolin agrees, and they ride on, creeping ever closer to their destination. 

One more day.

_____

Shallan

It’s been a slow couple of weeks, Ghostblood-wise, and Shallan’s antsy. 

She can’t figure out why, exactly, can’t put her finger on what’s got her so riled up and anxious that she wishes she had a reason to leave the tower, disappear for a couple of days until everything inside her settles down. 

What makes matters worse is that she’s been taking it out on Kaladin. Not much, not anything especially cruel or egregious, but she’s been tense and snappish with him, which is the opposite of how she wants to be with him. 

Pattern tells her that she’s been lying, keeping secrets from herself, but she hasn’t been able to pin down what, exactly, she’s been hiding.

It’s a shame, because she’s had over two weeks alone with Kaladin. It started off just fine, besides them both being sad over Adolin’s departure, as they usually are. They found comfort in each other’s company, trading friendly jibes back and forth, curling up together at night in their oversized bed, Kaladin wrapping around her like a cocoon of warmth.

But then, as the days wore on, she slowly pulled into herself, shutting Kaladin out. She knows he can tell, also knows that he’s giving her the space she needs to figure it out for herself, to decide if she wants to come to him or not. He’s done nothing wrong, done everything right, even, but still she feels a weight fall over her every time she’s in the same room with him, a sort of dread when she looks at him that has her questioning her sanity.

Because she loves him. She loves his stupid prickly self, his overly dramatic brooding, his clever tongue (in more ways than one). So she can’t figure out why she’s suddenly so opposed to being in the same space as him.

Adolin’s due back tomorrow and she’s counting the hours impatiently, pinning all her hopes on him, hoping this strangeness disappears when he slots back into their lives.

Which, of course, is why it all comes crashing down around her ears now, so close to salvation.

She’s getting ready to climb in bed, picking up a pillow that dropped to the floor at some point last night, probably kicked off while she was tossing and turning, struggling to fall asleep. Kaladin surprises her, coming up behind her and touching her arm gently, and she just about jumps out of her skin, spinning around in a sudden panic at the contact.

Mmm, Pattern hums, and she mentally snaps at him to get lost, which he does reluctantly. She sees his twisting shape travel across the stones of the floor and up the wall, then slip through the doorframe.

Kaladin looks at her silently, jaw tight and face grim. 

“Kaladin,” she says, then stops, unsure what she can even say next.

“Do you not want me here?” He asks, voice and eyes flat.

“What? Kaladin, no– of course I want you here,” she says, but her thoughts are rioting inside her brain, and she’s not sure if that’s actually the truth or not.

His eyes search her face and she can see how he’s trying so hard not to be hurt by her behavior and it tears her up inside. She never wanted to hurt him.

“If you’re rethinking this, the three of us–”

“Kaladin, that’s not it,” she tries to stop him but he keeps going, talking over her.

“–I’d understand. If you want to reconsider my place here, I get it. You’re married, and I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

“Kaladin–”

“We can talk to Adolin when he gets back tomorrow,” Kaladin says, and the hurt finally slips through, painting his words, splashed across his face.

“Kaladin, stop,” she nearly shouts, and he does, stiffening. She sees a muscle working in his cheek and his blue eyes shine. He’s clearly trying to hold back the emotion, trying to be strong as she lets him down gently, and she wants to kick him because she doesn’t want him to go.

She sees that now. She doesn’t want him to go.

She steps closer to him and he takes a matching step back, keeping the space between them. Gritting her teeth she steps forward again quickly and before he can move away she grabs his hands, trapping him in place.

“Please don’t go. I'm– sorry,” she says, staring up at him. She may not understand what she’s sorry for yet but she knows that she really doesn’t want him to leave, despite what her behavior may imply. 

His eyes flick back and forth between hers and she makes a concerted effort not to flinch at the undivided attention, instead tries to project her sincerity, her love for him.

“What’s going on, Shallan?” he asks quietly, brows drawn together.

“I don’t know,” she admits. They don’t move for a moment and then Kaladin’s gently twisting his wrists around so that their hands are clasped together instead. She sighs, grateful that she doesn’t feel like she needs to pull away from this. He lifts her freehand and kisses the back of it with a barely there press of lips and then she’s stepping into him, pressing against his body, and his arms close carefully around her.

“I’m scared,” she whispers, and it’s like a dam breaking. All of the tension and anxiety of the last two weeks comes pouring out as she’s finally able to find a label for it. It’s fear that’s been plaguing her, hounding her, haunting her. Not fear of things changing. Not fear of the future, even.

Fear of herself.

“I'm– so scared I’m going to be a bad mother,” she gasps, tears suddenly tracking hot and fast down her face and into Kaladin’s shirt.

“You won't,” he says quietly, kissing her hair, squeezing her tighter.

“I k-killed my parents, Kaladin. I murdered them.”

Oh, it aches, somewhere deep inside her, behind her heart. She feels like she’s been carved out, dark, seething guts visible for Kaladin to see and judge and find wanting.

“No. That’s not what happened, Shallan,” he says, voice tight. She’s making him emotional, and she hates herself even more for it. 

I’d very much prefer not to, but if you need me to come forward, I will, Radiant tells her.

Shallan shakes her head and stays there, held securely in Kaladin’s arms. This is hers. She needs to face this.

“You protected yourself. You did nothing wrong,” Kaladin says to her, tucking his face into her hair, like he’s trying to get as close as he can, burrowing into her. She needs it, needs his touch as much as she didn’t want it just minutes ago.

“Even if that’s true,” Shallan chokes out, “how could I ever be a good mother? With parents like mine, how could I ever be good for a child?”

She breaks then, sobbing painfully into Kaladin’s chest, and he holds her through it, arms and body an unbreachable fortress around her. She feels safe letting herself crack open here, like he’ll hold her together if she falls apart completely.

When the worst of it passes he shuffles them the few steps to the bed and pulls her to sit with him, keeping her tucked into his chest protectively. 

“When we fell into the chasms together,” Kaladin says, voice low, “back on the Shattered Plains, I remember thinking that your smile was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen in my life, because you knew. You knew, and you understood, what it meant to hurt inside like I did, but somehow you still managed to get up and keep going. You still managed to smile.”

Shallan finds herself frozen, hanging on to his every word like they’re the air she breathes, necessary to live.

“You’ve been through things I can only imagine, but that doesn’t make you worse, Shallan. It makes you better. You’re stronger because of it. You understand things about people, like gray areas and the intricacies of relationships and unintentional consequences better than anyone I know.”

Shallan lets out the breath she’s been holding in her lungs, deflating as all the air leaves her body. She sags into Kaladin, hands still clenched in the fabric of his shirt.

“Going through a traumatic experience does not automatically mean you’ll perpetuate it. If that’s the case then we’re all in more trouble than I think we realize,” he says wryly. It startles a wet laugh out of her and he releases her to cradle her face in his large hands, tilting her head up to look directly into her eyes.

“You will be a wonderful mother, Shallan,” he says softly. “And where you stumble, Adolin and I will be there to catch you. And you and I will do the same for Adolin, and you both will do the same for me.”

His eyes are red around the edges, lashes wet with her shared pain, but his words ring true deep within her, and she feels cleansed of the poison that’s been writhing within her, steadily growing moreand more potent until she finally collapsed. 

But Kaladin caught her, and he promises to catch her next time she falls short, too, and she believes him.

They climb into bed, barely separating to do so, and Shallan, feeling wrung out but relieved beyond measure and cautiously ready to take on the future, falls asleep as soon as her head hits the pillow. 

_____

Adolin

They finally arrive in Yeddaw and Adolin does all the necessary military things, meeting and shaking hands with Dalinar’s officers, discussing logistics and strategies, sharing intel. He hands over the reigns of his troops, who will be staying in the city until their planned offensive into Azir, the date of which is still undecided. His father wants to build their numbers up here first, then march as one large unit once they know more about when the anticipated attack by Odium on the capital city will begin.

After all the necessary niceties have been handled and his Cobalt Guard and personal troupe of Windrunners have gotten a decent night’s rest in bedding more substantial than military-issue bedrolls, thin blankets, and folded jackets that double as pillows, the small group gathers together at the edge of their camp before dawn, ready for their own flight to Azimir.

There are six Windrunners to lash Adolin, Gallant, and the four members of the Cobalt Guard who traveled on the march with him. One person (or horse) each, which works out well, allowing them to move quickly, flying across the distance in a fraction of the time it would take them to travel by foot.

The flight is uneventful, as is the trip through the Oathgate, and by the time they’re stepping onto the platform at Urithiru it’s full morning, sun peeking over the horizon, lighting up the tower with a warm, welcoming glow. So different from the Urithiru they first fled to, cold and empty, a mere shell of the living, thriving city it is now.

Adolin thanks his guard and the Windrunners, setting a time for a debriefing with his father for later in the day before heading to the stables to drop Gallant off. 

That done, he finally, finally makes his way to the place he’s wanted to be since the moment he left two weeks ago.

It’s just past the typical time for breakfast so Adolin expects to find Shallan and Kaladin either eating on the balcony or already dressed and heading off to start their respective days. 

Instead he walks into the apartment to find it sleepy and quiet. The balcony doors are shut, curtains pulled, and when he peeks through the glass it’s empty, no Lightweavers or Windrunners to be found. 

He sets his pack down against the wall outside the bedroom and then, stepping as softly as possible in his heavy traveling boots, he opens the door and enters the bedroom.

They’re both still asleep, curled facing each other in the center of the bed, Shallan’s head tucked under Kaladin’s chin. Their hair tangles together, brilliant red and deep brown twisting into something exotic and striking against the bright white of the pillow they share.

Adolin suddenly wishes he had Shallan’s talent so that he could draw the scene in front of him, keep it with him forever, right next to the other picture in his pocket. 

He toes his boots off, walks quietly to the end of the bed and sits, twisted slightly so he can watch them sleep.

He takes care not to jostle the bed too much but Kaladin is a light sleeper — by nature or by necessity, Adolin doesn’t know — and he wakes, blinking drowsily down at Shallan’s wild hair before he turns his head and sees Adolin.

Adolin watches the grogginess evaporate instantly, but Kaladin doesn’t startle or bolt upright. Instead, considerate of Shallan’s still-sleeping form, he carefully shifts away from her before sitting up, pulling the blanket up higher to keep her warm as she slumbers on.

Kaladin turns, scooting to slide off the side of the bed, and then he pads over to Adolin, who stands to meet him. They embrace tightly, Kaladin's body warm from sleep and the best thing Adolin’s felt since he stepped foot out of the tower.

“Storms, I missed you,” Adolin murmurs, then pulls back to kiss Kaladin gently, morning breath be damned.

Kaladin sighs into it and Adolin smiles, charmed. Who ever would have thought that this strong, intimidating man would melt like putty in Adolin’s hands from just a kiss?

They pull apart and Adolin kisses him on the cheek, then the forehead. 

“Thought you’d be having breakfast by now,” he says with a smile, eyes roving over Kaladin’s face. It’s amazing how just two weeks away can feel like years. He doesn’t know how they managed for months when they went into Shadesmar.

His thoughts try to spiral, thinking of exactly how Kaladin had managed without them during the occupation – by jumping off the top of Urithiru – but he pushes them away, refusing to ruin this peaceful moment with fear and regrets and what ifs.

“We slept in,” Kaladin says unnecessarily. “We had an… emotional night.”

Concern floods through him as he pulls back further to look at Kaladin fully.

“What happened?” He asks, keeping his voice low.

Kaladin glances over at Shallan, still sleeping, then tilts his head in the direction of the living room. Adolin follows him through, pulling the door shut quietly behind himself.

“She’s been acting off since you left,” Kaladin says, lowering himself to sit on the couch. Adolin joins him and Kaladin immediately leans against him, pressing together from shoulder to hip.

“How so?” Adolin asks, worried.

“Standoffish. Moody. Like she didn’t want to be near me but was too afraid of hurting my feelings to say so.”

Adolin can hear the pain in his voice as Kaladin recounts Shallan’s behavior. Storms, how terrible that must have made Kaladin feel, especially after they’ve worked so hard to convince him that they want him here. 

“Did she tell you why?” Adolin asks, because surely she had a reason. He knows that Shallan loves Kaladin as much as he does and would never truly wish him gone, even if maybe she’d been in a weird place emotionally or mentally.

“Yeah,” Kaladin says on a sigh. “Turns out she’s afraid she’ll be a bad mother.”

Adolin’s eyes slip close as his chest aches sharply. 

“She finally told me last night that that was why she's been pushing me away. I told her that’s chullshit, of course, because she’s going to be an amazing mother, and I think she listened to me. I hope she did. She didn’t push me away after, in any case.”

He sounds so sad and exhausted. Adolin opens his eyes again and pulls Kaladin into him, wrapping his arms around him tightly.

“I’m sorry. I wish I’d been here,” he murmurs. He sounds like a broken record, he’s said the same thing so many times before. It hurts.

“It’s alright. It worked out okay, I think. I don’t know if she ever would have admitted it was bothering her if she hadn’t been pushed to her breaking point, unfortunately,” Kaladin mumbles.

“You’re probably right. Still,” Adolin says. 

The door to the bedroom creaks open and they pull apart as Shallan appears. Her eyes light up when she sees Adolin is back. 

“Adolin!” She cries, running over to him and falling heavily into his arms.

“Oof!” 

He hugs her, laughing as she kisses him again and again, hard pecks to his cheeks, his lips, his nose. 

“I’m gonna take a wild guess and say she missed you.” Kaladin says dryly.

“So much,” Shallan says, kissing Adolin on the lips again.

Adolin grabs her face in his hands, holding her still while he kisses her properly, and she gives a breathy moan, melting into his touch.

“Get a room,” Kaladin groans, and Adolin kicks him in the leg, grinning against Shallan’s mouth when the other man curses colorfully.

Eventually they pull apart, Shallan sliding down to squeeze between Adolin and the side of the couch, forcing Kaladin to move over.

Kaladin grumbles but scoots, giving them more space, and nudges Adolin’s knee with his.

“Kaladin tells me you’re having a parenting crisis,” Adolin says when Shallan rests her head on his shoulder.

She shrugs nonchalantly and he kisses the top of her head, her unruly hair tickling his nose. 

“Yeah, I was kind of an ass basically the whole time you were gone, but we eventually figured it out,” she says.

“Kind of?” Kaladin asks her.

“Oh shut up, bridgeboy. You won in the end, don’t gloat.”

“I’m not gloating, I'm just telling it like it is,” Kaladin says. Then, before Shallan can snark back, “And I don’t care about winning. I just care about you.”

There’s silence for a second, and then Adolin speaks.

“Well damn, bridgeboy, I’ve never seen someone go from argumentative to absurdly romantic so quickly in my life.”

Adolin grins and Shallan bursts out laughing as Kaladin blushes a delightful shade of red. 

Chapter Text

Kaladin

Occasionally Kaladin will look back at some of the more high-pressure, high-stress moments in his life and he’ll be impressed with his past self, at his own maturity and rationality, his calm in the face of the storm.

This will not be one of those times. 

Kaladin feels absurdly childish as he stomps down the hall toward their apartment, knowing he’s overreacting but just not caring. 

He’s wound up, frustrated, and one of his favorite things to do when he’s frustrated is exercise. It lets him work out all the tension in a safe, controlled manner. He sweats for an hour or so and comes out the other side feeling cleansed and refreshed.

Unfortunately exercising – or at least what passes for exercise lately – is exactly what’s causing his frustration right now.

Circumstances being what they are he’s had to tone it down a bit, relying more on katas than on actual mock spear fights or sparring. He’s still been working out his body regularly, pushups and other things that keep him at least partially conditioned, and he’s also been practicing alone with various weapons in the training area, smashing hammers and swords and other blunted objects into dummies. 

So imagine his frustration when, as he readied himself for a workout this morning, he was met with resistance from his own men and was ultimately kicked out of the training area completely.

He’d picked up a sword – one of the ones that felt kind of alright when he swung it, less unnatural than some of the others he’d tried, at least – when he was interrupted by some of the members of Bridge Four coming over. He initially thought they were going to offer to spar, which he seriously considered for a second because he’d been so bored, but when he held out a second practice blade Lopen shook his head at him, eyes wide and hands raised as he backed away. 

“Gancho, you gotta be off your rocker if you think we’re gonna smack around a man who’s gonna give birth any day now. The aunties would see it all the way from Herdaz and come running to string me up in the next highstorm,” Lopen said, still shaking his head.

“Should you really still be doing such strenuous activities, sir?” Sigzil asked, eyebrows raised disapprovingly.

“Just take it easy, Cap. Go relax a bit. We’ll spar with you all you want when you don’t look like you’re about to pop,” Drehy coaxed, voice kind.

And when he shook his head to go off and practice on his own anyway Leyton gently pulled him back, glancing down at his round belly before talking to him all soft and concerned. “I think you oughta back off a bit, just until, you know…”

There’s no way the men all decided between two days ago and this morning that he shouldn’t work out anymore, so either his father already told them to cut him off even before their appointment this morning, or Syl flew down here immediately after they left the clinic and told them all he wasn’t allowed and to stop him if he tried. Which is unfair and untrue and extremely aggravating.

Demanding Kaladin stop exercising is not a good way to lower Kaladin’s stress levels. He needs exercise; it keeps him sane, especially since he hasn’t stepped foot outside the tower once since before the occupation.   

He grinds his teeth as he stalks around another corner into the Kholin wing.

His appointment this morning was routine, just a check up to track the progress of the baby, and according to Lirin everything looks perfectly fine, as far as they can tell. Except apparently due to various anatomical (his body’s shape and composition), lifestyle (he wouldn’t exactly call his life low-stress), and unknown (a magic uterus!) factors, Lirin is concerned about accidentally inducing labor prematurely.

Their goal has always been to get to the six-month mark, which for normal pregnancies is considered an early delivery but not dangerously so. But now Lirin’s getting nervous, no matter how hard he tries not to show it. Kaladin knows his father well enough that he can tell when the surgeon is anxious about something, and Lirin all but demanding Kaladin be put on bed-rest tells him how truly concerned his father is about this whole thing. 

Kaladin, of course, is absolutely not going on bed-rest for a month, especially if it’s just because they’re scared something might happen but have no actual evidence of anything being any more high-risk than a standard pregnancy. He’s not going to stop living just because his father wants to be cautious.

“It’s just for a month, Kaladin,” Syl tries, flitting alongside him as he marches down the hallway.

“That’s a long time, Syl! And I can’t believe you did that!” He exclaims, stalking by a pair of Kholin guards. They nod at him as he passes and he barely nods back, incensed.

At least they’ve finally stopped staring. Word got around pretty quickly once they decided they couldn’t keep it quiet anymore, as they knew it would, and the questions came at them from all sides, friends and family and strangers alike. Adolin weathered it all with a smile on his face, genuinely happy to share the news with anyone that would listen. Shallan was more demure about it, answering only what she was asked and volunteering nothing more.

Actually, now that he thinks about it, demure might be the wrong word. Smug and secretive are probably more accurate.

Kaladin himself has not been dealing with the extra attention well, and now he’s basically lost one of his only tried and true stress outlets. It’s the proverbial highstorm that breaks the windblade.

The door to their rooms bangs against the inside wall as he throws it open before it bounces back. He kicks it closed angrily then storms across the room and into the bedroom, throwing himself awkwardly onto the bed with a frustrated groan.

“I’m sorry, Kaladin, but I knew you weren’t going to listen to him,” Syl says, as if that’s an acceptable reason to betray him. 

“Because he’s being ridiculous!” Kaladin shouts at the ceiling.

“He’s trying to keep you and the baby safe,” Syl retorts.

He growls, eyes closed as he tries to talk himself down. He tells himself it’s just the hormones making him so on edge, and the discomfort he’s been feeling more and more lately as he gets steadily bigger, and how he seems to be sweating all the time now and how his feet keep swelling up when he sits down for more than five minutes at a time. He’s recently taken to using Towerlight to lessen his own weight just to get around because his lower back aches so much and his feet hurt when he stands for any extended period. He hates that he’s come to rely on it this way, using the Light as a crutch.

“It’s an unnecessary precaution,” he huffs, defeat bleeding through as his frustration slowly ebbs. 

“It’s not for long,” Syl reiterates, more gently this time. Kaladin grunts, closing his eyes.

“Are you alright?” she asks him quietly. He gives a huge sigh and levers himself up, sitting on the edge of the bed and rubbing his hands vigorously over his face.

“Sorry, Syl. I'm just tired. And frustrated.”

“...Do you want me to go find Adolin?”

“No,” Kaladin says, standing and crossing to the bathroom. Another wonderful side effect of having his organs shoved around to make room for a tiny human: having to pee every ten minutes.

Business taken care of, he washes his hands in the basin and stares at himself in the mirror.

“You can still do katas,” Syl says hesitantly. She hovers near his shoulder, small and worried. Kaladin sighs.

“Yeah,” he says. She’s right. He can, and he does, nearly every day. But he can only do so many katas before he begins itching for something more substantial. Plus, his belly gets in the way of a lot of the positions and his balance has been getting progressively worse, causing him to struggle on even some of the more basic moves, which just adds to his frustration.

He stares at himself in the mirror, noting how tired he looks, skin pale and wan, undereyes puffy and dark. He hasn’t been sleeping well, another reason why he’s dreading the next month. He can barely fall asleep as it is, exhausted or not, how difficult is it going to be now that he’s no longer able to burn off the stress and excess energy?

He’s still staring blankly when the door to the apartment opens and closes, the sound of booted feet on stone carrying in from the living room. 

“Kal? You here?”

Clack, clack, clack, getting closer, passing through the bedroom, and then Adolin’s head is peeking around the doorframe.

“Hey,” he says with a grin when he sees Kaladin is indeed home. Then his smile slips into concern as he takes in the look on Kaladin’s face. He steps inside the bathroom, placing a gentle hand on Kaladin’s arm, whose muscles are surprisingly tense from his grip on the sides of the basin.

“What’s wrong?”

Kaladin concentrates on relaxing his fingers one by one, peeling them slowly off the stone. He looks away from his own blank gaze with effort, finding Adolin’s worried eyes in the mirror.

“Kal?”

The hand on his arm tugs slightly, pulling Kaladin around to face him. 

“Are you okay? Is everything alright with Rockbud?”

Kaladin cracks a smile at the stupid nickname.

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” he says, shaking his head as if to clear the fog in his brain. He doesn’t know what’s going on with him, why he’s feeling so out of sorts about this.

He sighs and relays the details of the appointment and subsequent visit to the training grounds to Adolin as they exit the bathroom, Adolin pulling Kaladin along behind him by the hand, and they settle onto the couch side by side.

“I’m sorry, I know that’s going to be difficult for you,” Adolin says, and he really does look sorry. Kaladin shrugs. It does suck and it is going to be difficult, but Kaladin’s done harder things before. He’ll get through this one, too.

Adolin gazes absently down at their joined hands and chews on his lip before looking back up at Kaladin. “Still worth it?” He asks tentatively.

Kaladin’s eyebrows immediately scrunch together with distress.

“Of course, Adolin. Storms, I'm sorry, of course it is,” Kaladin says, squeezing his hand.

Adolin lets out a relieved huff of laughter, bumping his shoulder into Kaladin’s. “I just hate that you’re so miserable,” he says honestly.

“I'm not miserable,” Kaladin argues. Adolin raises a skeptical eyebrow.

“I’m not! I'm… readjusting. This whole thing has just been a lot of readjustments.”

Adolin sighs, then gives Kaladin a small peck on the lips before leaning into him more fully, head resting on the Windrunner’s shoulder.

“So weapons practice is off the table, and katas are doing more harm than good…” Adolin ticks them off one by one.

“What about sex?”

Kaladin rolls his eyes but the effect is mostly negated by the flush on his face. “Sex is fine, Adolin. As long as it’s not too… athletic.”

Adolin bursts out laughing. “Oh my god, is that what your father told you? ‘No more athletic sex, son’?”

“Storms,” Kaladin says, burying his face in his hands. 

Adolin’s laughing hysterically now, clearly imagining the awkward conversation Kaladin had with his father about their bedroom activities. Well, storm him anyway, if he wants to be immature about it perhaps he doesn’t need sex for the next month after all, athletic or not.

“I can’t imagine… Lirin… oh my god, he probably got all stiff and formal and I can just see how red your face must have been…”

Kaladin stands, stalking back into the bedroom to leave Adolin to his hysterics.

“Oh, come on Kal, I'm just teasing!” Adolin calls after him. Kaladin ignores him, violently throwing back the covers and climbing into the far side of the bed, then pulling the blanket up over his head completely.

He hears Adolin follow shortly after, laughter apparently having finally died out, and the bed dips as the other man sits in the small space between Kaladin and the edge of the bed. He rests a heavy hand on Kaladin’s shoulder, then tugs the blanket down just enough to slide his hand into Kaladin’s hair, petting gently.

“I’m sorry, that was shitty of me,” Adolin says softly, though he’s still smiling. When Kaladin doesn't respond his smile falls off completely and he sighs, fingers combing through the Windrunner’s messy strands. “I can see how much this is all weighing on you, all the changes and the unknowns and the limitations. I’m sorry for teasing you. I should be more considerate and supportive and act less like a giant pile of chull dung.”

Kaladin grabs the hand still in his hair and scoots back toward the middle of the bed, pulling Adolin with him, forcing the other man to scramble slightly, quickly toeing his shoes off before maneuvering himself under the covers to cuddle up to Kaladin. Adolin flips the end of the blanket over both of their heads, creating a little cave of soft creams and muted light. It’s strangely soothing, Kaladin’s breath coming easier than it has since visiting his father earlier this morning, a sense of calm covering him like the blanket they hide beneath.

Adolin smiles softly but doesn’t speak again, and Kaladin is secretly glad; he doesn’t want anything to interrupt this strange moment, the most at peace he’s felt in months.

____

His weird mood is mostly gone by the time Shallan gets home late that evening. They’ve already eaten dinner, so she just orders some finger foods and munches as she regales them with the tale of her latest near-death adventure. Kaladin hates hearing these stories but doesn’t dare tell her to stop; he needs to know everything, so that he’s able to help if one day she needs him to.

Conversation shifts to the appointment earlier and Adolin shares the news of Lirin’s limitations regarding intimacy with admirable maturity. Shallan takes it in stride, listing off many things they can still get up to that don’t fall under the “athletic” category, causing Kaladin to blush a bright red and Adolin to nearly combust with repressed laughter, valiantly trying to remain serious for Kaladin’s sake. 

Eventually Shallan quits with her recitation of the encyclopedia of sexual positions, finally letting Adolin breathe properly again.

“So he said all is good, though?” She asks Kaladin eagerly.

“Pretty much. He’s just being overly cautious about everything because he’s expecting them to come early, which we already knew,” he responds. He realizes he’s rubbing at his stomach and stops, pulling his hand away to rest on the cushion beside him. Shallan catches the movement and smirks at him, and he sticks his tongue out at her.

“Ooh, can we pick a name tonight?” Adolin asks, bouncing excitedly in his chair. Kaladin groans dramatically.

“This again?” He asks, feeling very put-upon. Their last discussion about names had devolved into more and more ridiculous suggestions like ‘Stormy’ and ‘Grumple’ and ‘Bridgit’ pretty quickly. He does think ‘Bridgit’ is rather clever, but he’ll never admit it out loud, not to these two. 

“I really did like Maritt,” Adolin says. “It makes me think of ancient royalty, like way back in the Heralds’ time.”

“You want a royal name?” Kaladin asks him, eyebrows raised.

Adolin thinks about it for a second then shakes his head. “Not really, no. Scratch that one, then.”

“What about actual Heralds? Are you opposed to the Heraldic traditions?” Shallan asks. 

“Not necessarily,” Kaladin shrugs. “I'm named after one.”

“Same,” Shallan says, smiling.

“Well now I feel like the odd one out,” Adolin says with a pout.

“Oh stop, Mr. Born-Unto-Light,” Shallan teases. Adolin preens.

The name fits him, Kaladin thinks fondly. 

There’s a lull, and then Kaladin sees Adolin share a look with Shallan. He tenses, hackles raising, sensing they’re about to ambush him with something they’ve discussed privately. 

They notice his narrowed gaze and Adolin sighs; apparently he’s the one they’ve chosen today to sacrifice to whatever this is.

“Kal,” he says hesitantly. “I know we said you could have all the time you needed, and you can, but… Well, I guess we just wanted to know if you’ve given any more thought to what Navani spoke to us about last week.”

Oh. That.

The legal document stating that, in the eyes of Alethi law, the three of them could be married. 

Apparently Jasnah, expert historian that she is, had found precedents. Very few in Alethi or other Vorin cultures, but some in the distant past and several in more recent Azish society. She’d quickly drafted a proposed change to marriage law in Alethkar, and, after a thorough look-over by some of the (more liberal) Highprinces and Wit (it’s still strange to Kaladin how Wit had suddenly become a person of such importance so quickly), the amendment was signed into law by the King herself with the Bondsmiths serving as witnesses.

So long as all parties involved consent and are willing to abide by the socially and traditionally accepted values of legally wed partners, marriage may include (but is not necessarily limited to) three persons. Any land, property, or other ownership will be shared between the partners equally, regardless of social standing or sex, unless otherwise recorded in writing and approved by the necessary and required legal means. 

"I…” Kal trails off. 

He doesn't doubt his commitment or his love for either of them. Far from it. He’s just overwhelmed sometimes by the depths of his feelings, and that niggling doubt will start to creep in, whispering how broken he’ll be when they finally decide they don’t need him anymore, how he’ll never be able to come back from it.

The rational part of him knows that’s not the truth of it, but that doesn’t stop the fear. The mere idea of being left alone again crushes him, but it’s nothing compared to the thought that if they tie themselves to him, they could never leave even if they wanted to. Being in a relationship with someone – or multiple someones – who resent him would hurt him more than being rejected ever could.

“What’s holding you back, Kal?” Adolin asks quietly. “Do you doubt our feelings for you?”

“No!” Kaladin says quickly, trying to ease the hurt on both of their faces. Storms, this is such a mess. On the one hand, it’s everything he’s ever wanted, a future for the three of them, together. On the other, though, is that worry, that fear.

“It’s…” he flounders, trying to find a way to express his thoughts on the matter without hurting anyone’s feelings. “I know you… love me.” He cringes internally at the stilted way he says it, sees the concern in their expressions. He pushes on.

“I don’t doubt that. I just worry about you tying yourselves to me for the rest of your lives.”

“You think this is temporary for us?” Shallan asks, looking slightly offended. Adolin, on the other hand, looks crushed.

“No, not– not necessarily. I just… wonder, if at some point it’ll be too much. I’ll be too much, and then you won’t be able to… leave, if you wanted to.” 

This time his cringe is visible for all to see.

“There’s such a thing as annulment, Kaladin,” Shallan says, unimpressed.

“I don’t believe in that,” Kaladin responds, finally on firm ground about something. Call him old-fashioned, but marriage is for life in his book, through thick and thin, highstorm and weeping.

“Good,” Adolin snaps, and Kaladin reels back, shocked at the sudden outburst. 

“I do,” Adolin says hotly. “Believe in annulment, that is, because in my opinion people change and shouldn’t be held prisoner to a piece of paper if they grow out of something. But good, that you don’t believe in it, because now that we know that it means forever if we marry you, then maybe you’ll see how fucking serious we are when we tell you we want to do it anyway!”

Kaladin’s eyes are wide. 

“I love you, Kaladin. Shallan loves you. We're not in this temporarily, or for fun. We’re not going to run at the first sign of difficulty or danger. We want to be with you, in all the ways that matter and in all the ways that– honestly don't really matter that much but that tell the rest of the world you’re ours anyway. I don’t understand what we have to do to make you believe–”

He cuts off, voice cracking, and looks away, fists clenched. Kaladin stares at him, at his red face and heaving chest, and something aches deep within him. He does believe them, he does. He just doesn’t know if he can trust them not to hurt him, or if he can trust himself not to ruin it, exactly like he’s doing now. He’s a coward.

“Kaladin,” Shallan says, voice calm but firm. “We’re not going anywhere. Even if you decide you don’t want to put it on paper, we’re not going anywhere. We want to be bound to you. And it’s not just because of Rockbud.” She gives him the barest hint of a smile at the nickname. “We love you, brooding self-flagellation and all.”

Kaladin’s throat closes and his gaze falls to his lap, eyes blurring with tears. A fat drop lands on his twisting hands, and then another, as he battles to get his emotions under control.

There’s rustling, the sound of movement, but Kaladin doesn’t look up to see who it is, too busy with the way his insides are twisting into knots. And then Adolin’s kneeling in front of him, dipping his head down to force eye contact. Kaladin’s vision still swims, but he’s easily able to make out the sincerity in Adolin’s shining blue eyes.

Shallan is there too, lowering herself to the couch beside Kaladin, wrapping a warm arm around his shoulders. 

“Marry us, Kal,” Adolin says softly. “Please.”

Shallan kisses him tenderly on the cheek. “We’re not going anywhere,” she whispers.

Kaladin closes his eyes, throat aching, and, nodding slowly, decides to trust. 

_____

They are officially married the following afternoon, and, just to tie up loose ends, they sign the paperwork adding themselves to the line of succession for the throne of Urithiru. Another adaptation of existing laws that they should probably thank Jasnah for. 

All three of them have reservations about ruling, each for their own reasons, but they figure that there’s got to be enough parts of them that are willing to do it that add up to at least one full person, so they’ll cross that bridge when they come to it.

Kaladin scribbles his name glyph on the official declaration, followed by Shallan’s graceful script, and then Adolin signs his own glyph with a dramatic flourish, and then they’re done, grinning nervously at each other as the paper is whisked away to be stored somewhere safe, hopefully never to be needed.

They leave the meeting room, accepting congratulations and passing around hugs and handshakes on their way out, and then hightail it back to their apartment, where they file in, Adolin shutting the door behind him and leaning against it like someone might attempt to follow them through.

They stare at each other and suddenly the tension ratchets up, air thick enough to cut with a knife. 

Shallan pulls at Kaladin’s arm and he turns, and then she’s kissing him hungrily, tongue demanding entrance to his mouth, and he opens to her with a groan, reaching down to grab her hips. He pulls her to him, pressing her lithe body against his swollen stomach, and she curves to accommodate him, safehand tucked against his jaw, holding him in place, while her freehand rubs up his chest, down his arm. Passionspren rain down around them in drifting white flakes.

Sudden heat behind him, Adolin’s hard body pressing up against his back, and he gives a soft moan at the feeling. His hair is swept aside, hot kisses trailing down the back of his neck, around the side, sucking over his pulse.

“Husband,” Adolin whispers in his ear and he shivers. Adolin smiles against the sensitive skin just below his ear, kisses it gently, and then he reaches around with both hands to deftly pop open the buttons of Kaladin’s coat, sliding it off his arms. 

Shallan, apparently fed up with her safehand’s lack of dexterity, pulls away from Kaladin’s mouth and takes off her formal havah with one move, yanking it up from the skirt and over her head, letting it fall unceremoniously to the floor behind her. Finally divested of her sleeve Shallan dives back in, using both freehand and bare safehand to unbutton Kaladin’s shirt.

Adolin steps back and Kaladin immediately misses his warmth, but he’s just pulling Kaladin’s shirt down his arms, tossing it to the side, and then he’s back, the fabric of his own clothing rough against Kaladin’s skin.

Shallan is in only her underclothes now, delicate lace bra and panties on display, and Kaladin drags his hands over her small breasts, marveling at the way she arches into him, moaning softly.

Her eyes are hazy with lust as she looks past Kaladin to Adolin, whose mouth is still latched firmly to Kaladin’s neck, hands roaming over his bare chest from behind. She smirks suddenly, and then she’s pulling one of Kaladin’s hands down, to the damp warmth between her legs, forcing him to bend slightly. As he does, she leans into him, lips pressing to the ear opposite Adolin, and she whispers.

“Husband.”

Molten heat shoots through him. He’s overwhelmed in the best way, feels like he's spiraling down into pleasure-induced madness, losing the ability to think about anything other than the feel of the bodies pressed against him, the skin beneath his own trembling hands. 

Adolin moves away again, presumably to rid himself of his own shirt, and Kaladin’s just started to wonder why he hasn’t returned when Adolin grabs one of his hands and one of Shallan's, tugging at them gently. 

Kaladin tears his mouth away from Shallan, panting. Once he’s got their attention Adolin lets them go and turns, leading the way to the bedroom, and Kaladin catches Shallan's hand in his own before it falls, kissing it before moving with her to follow.

Adolin wastes no time, toeing his shoes off and untying his belt, pants slipping down around his ankles to be kicked across the room and out of the way. He grins at Kaladin shamelessly, gorgeous body fully on display, and Kaladin grins back, face flushed. Then he turns and climbs up onto the bed, perfectly round ass swaying as he crawls on his hands and knees up to the headboard.

“Stormfather,” Kaladin nearly chokes, and Shallan laughs, delighted.

“Like the view?” She asks, eyes twinkling.

“Darling, is that even a fair question? Who doesn’t like looking at my ass?” Adolin asks, lounging against the pillows with his arms up, hands behind his head, looking utterly at ease. His hair is mussed, skin shining golden in the low light. The muscles of his chest stand out with the way his arms are raised, sparse mismatched hairs on his chest trailing between pink nipples, abdominal muscles tight. His cock lies stiff on his lower stomach but he ignores it, smiling at them.

“So humble,” Kaladin says, but he doesn’t stop staring, taking in all of the glorious skin before him. Thick, hairy thighs, strong calves, surprisingly delicate feet. He wants to touch all of it at once. 

Adolin shrugs. “I work hard for it. It’s only fair I get to show it off.”

Storms, even when he’s conceited he’s charming.

Kaladin’s brought back to his senses when he feels Shallan’s hands at his own belt, undoing the ties for him. He’s at the point where he can’t see past his belly, so the help is appreciated, if somewhat humiliating. 

Shoes, then pants, then underwear, and then he’s climbing on the bed too, retracing Adolin’s path, crawling up the bed until he straddles the other man, knees on either side of his hips, arms holding him suspended over Adolin’s face.

“I have to admit, yours isn’t too bad either. From this angle, at least,” Shallan says from behind him.

Adolin bursts out laughing and Kaladin looks back over his shoulder with a mock glare. Shallan grins at him unrepentantly, then hops onto the bed and joins them, flopping down on her side next to Adolin, pulling his face to hers.

Kaladin lets out a slow breath at the sight. They’re so beautiful together, his black and blonde to her red, his smooth, tanned skin to her pale freckles. Their kiss is slow and deep, and Kaladin feels a sudden wonder at the fact that he doesn’t feel like he’s intruding on their moment.

He smiles, sitting back slightly onto Adolin’s lap, which forces a small moan out of the blonde. Kaladin can feel his hard cock nestled between his cheeks, and his stomach clenches deliciously. Time for that later though, he thinks, and he reaches out to trail the fingers of one hand down his wife’s side, leaving goosebumps in his wake, while his other hand cups his husband’s chest, thumb brushing lightly across a nipple.

Adolin pulls away from Shallan and gasps, “Kaladin, you’re going to kill me.”

Shallan grins up at Kaladin and dives down to suck Adolin’s other nipple into her mouth and Adolin makes an obscene mewling sound, back arching off the bed to press his chest further into their touch. It also presses his cock harder against Kaladin’s ass, and Kaladin pushes down against it instinctively, grinding down into him.

“Oh my–” Adolin chokes. 

Kaladin does it again, eliciting a high-pitched whine that makes his stomach flip, and then he dips his left hand into Shallan’s underwear, sliding a finger down, down, and then slipping it inside of her.

She gasps as Kaladin pumps his finger slowly in and out, an easy slide with how wet she is already, and then her hips start to move in time with his hand, shifting back when he pulls out most of the way, rocking forward as he pushes back in.

Adolin’s giving little thrusts himself, shoving his cock into the crease of Kaladin’s ass, and Kaladin feels like he may combust with the sheer amount of arousal flooding his veins. He has no idea how he’s managing to multitask the way he is and fears it won’t last much longer, his thoughts gradually growing slower, more syrupy.

“I want…” Adolin gasps beneath him, and Kaladin nods. “No,” Adolin says, shaking his head. “No. I want– you inside me.”

Kaladin’s breath catches. He assumed, mostly because of their position, that Adolin would want to fuck him, but he’s open to flipping the table, too. The thought of being inside Adolin sends streaks of heat through him, and apparently Shallan agrees, because she moans wantonly, thrusting harder into Kaladin’s hand. 

Kaladin slows his movements before stilling his hand and sliding it out carefully. He ceases his grinding motions and then carefully swings a leg over Adolin’s, pushing a muscular thigh to the side to make space for his own knee on the bed. He does the same with the other side, spreading Adolin’s legs obscenely, and whips a hand up just in time to catch the small bottle of oil Shallan, who is now completely naked, tosses his way. 

“Thanks,” he says, and she winks at him before taking his place on top of Adolin, giving Kaladin a lovely view of her from behind, all smooth, pale skin and long, red hair, legs splayed wide to frame Adolin’s thick body, freckles trailing down from her shoulders to her narrow waist.

Adolin sighs as Shallan shifts forward and back, rubbing her heat against him, and Kaladin has to force himself to look away so that he can open the bottle of oil, pouring some onto his hand.

He doesn’t rush when he opens Adolin up, but he doesn’t exactly take his time, either. It’s only a couple of thrusts with one finger before he adds another, and then, not too long after, Adolin whimpering and pleading more, more, please, Kaladin slips in a third, stretching the tight rim of muscle.

Adolin whines high in his throat and Kaladin freezes, thinking for a moment that he's going to come just from his fingers, but Shallan must sense how close he is because she stops moving too, lifting herself slightly, removing the pressure from Adolin’s cock, and he gulps in several deep breaths, bringing himself back from the edge.

Kaladin resumes stretching him, slower this time, dragging in and out, scissoring to spread Adolin open as much as possible.

“Okay, okay, Kal, I'm good. I'm good,” Adolin pants, lifting his head to peek around Shallan, who also looks back at Kaladin.

“Ladies first,” Kaladin says generously, pulling his fingers out and wiping them on the bedsheet, and Shallan smiles and gives a demure little nod like he’s just held the door open for her at a brunch gathering.

“If you insist,” she says sweetly, and then she reaches down and guides Adolin inside her body, taking him all the way down in one slow slide.

Adolin throws his head back, tendons in his neck straining, as Shallan settles flat on his hips, unmoving. 

Kaladin peers around her body and his breath catches when he sees Adolin’s eyes open again.

He looks wild. His eyes are bright, pupils dilated so far Kaladin can barely make out the ring of blue. His face is flushed, hair an absolute disaster, and there’s a sheen of sweat across his body, making it shimmer ethereally. 

He’s stunning. 

Kaladin needs to be inside him.

He pours more oil onto his hand and smears it onto his cock. Then he scoots forward on his knees, lifting Adolin’s legs over his thighs, so they wrap around him. Adolin crosses his ankles at the small of Kaladin’s back and pulls him in even further, and Kaladin’s cock nudges at Adolin’s opening.

Adolin gasps as Kaladin pushes forward a little, his hole slowly spreading open around the head of Kaladin’s cock. The Windrunner pulls back so that they’re barely touching, Adolin’s hole winking closed again as he does, and Adolin whines with the loss. 

He pushes forward again, a little bit more this time, and the head of his cock slips partway in before he stops again, pulling out. 

“Kaladin,” Adolin groans breathlessly, frustrated. 

He doesn’t mean to tease, exactly. He just really enjoys the way Adolin’s body gives to him, opens up for him like it wants him exactly there. It’s heady, and it makes his pulse thrum.

The third time he pushes in he doesn't stop, moving slowly but inexorably, pushing through the tightness as Adolin’s body attempts to clench around the intrusion. The head pops in suddenly and Kaladin’s chin drops to his chest, his fingers digging into the meat of Adolin’s thighs. He keeps going, pushing further, deeper, and Adolin’s body swallows him up, wraps around him like a sheathe around a sword, all the way to the hilt. By the time he stops they’re both gasping for air, Shallan petting Adolin’s chest and face gently.

Kaladin shifts his hands to Shallan’s hips and lifts slightly, and she follows his lead, raising up and then lowering again in one smooth motion. She keeps the rhythm, Kaladin’s hands guiding her, squeezing at the skin of her hips and ass as she rides Adolin’s cock.

Adolin slides his hands up Shallan’s thighs, then up to her waist, then back down to her hips, where they twine with Kaladin’s, both men holding onto her with possessive wonder.

And then Kaladin, still buried as deep as he can go inside Adolin’s body, can’t stay still any longer. He barely pulls out at all before he pushes forward again, more a grind than a true thrust, but Adolin moans at the feeling of being filled, of that deep stretch that doesn’t relent, just presses in, in, in. He does it again, and again, little movements, trying to get deeper with every push, and Adolin’s body is so tight around him, so perfect.

Shallan twists around, grinding down onto Adolin, and pulls Kaladin in with an arm behind his head, kissing him filthy and wet. He holds her face, soft hair spilling over his hands, and licks into her mouth, swallowing her groans, still rocking into Adolin steadily.

They part for air and Shallan turns back, falling forward to kiss Adolin deeply, pressing her chest to his. Kaladin pushes up straighter, holding the back of Adolin’s knees, as he pulls almost all the way out before slamming home again. Adolin keens and Kaladin does it again and again, Shallan matching his rhythm, Adolin’s cock lodged inside her.

Shallan’s oh, oh, ohs starts to go higher, her legs trembling, motions becoming jerky. She tucks her face into Adolin’s neck as Kaladin moves faster, hips pistoning relentlessly, feeling the heat start to coil low in his gut. Adolin looks wrecked, hair damp with sweat, eyes shining and glazed, little grunts falling out of his open mouth every time Kaladin bottoms out. 

“Oh– Oh, yes–” Shallan gasps, and then she’s breaking apart, crying out as she grinds down desperately, body shuddering. 

“Storms, Shallan,” Kaladin says, out of breath, pausing to let her recover. He leans forward and rests his head on her back, his belly pressing lightly up against her backside, kissing whatever damp skin he can reach. 

“Mmm,” she hums, and wiggles a little, and Adolin gasps. 

“Don’t worry gemheart, I'm not going anywhere,” she says to him, lifting her chin to kiss at the underside of his jaw. 

Adolin’s hips give a little hitch, then another, shifting Kaladin inside of him. Kaladin gives a long, slow thrust and they both groan, and then they’re all moving again, Shallan sitting up straight to roll her hips in circles, Kaladin continuing to press deep. Adolin still has a desperate hold on Shallan’s hips and Kaladin’s holding the underside of Adolin’s legs, so Shallan drops a hand between her legs herself, moaning at the press of her fingers.

Suddenly Adolin’s hips begin to rabbit, thrusting up into Shallan and then back onto Kaladin over and over, and Kaladin slows his own movements to let Adolin take what he wants. There’s a low constant whine coming from Adolin’s throat, getting louder by the second, and then he shouts, body tensing and twitching, muscles squeezing around Kaladin like a vice as he comes.

Shallan’s hand speeds up and she follows almost immediately, and the sudden thought of Adolin’s spend inside of her pushes Kaladin over the edge as well, his release flooding into the pulsing body beneath him.

Stormfather, Kaladin thinks, mind foggy and slow as he pulls out carefully. Adolin whimpers, eyes closed, and Shallan shushes him, petting his hair. Kaladin knees his way awkwardly to the side table to grab the towel strategically left there and tosses it to Shallan, who gently lifts herself off Adolin’s lap and wipes herself and Adolin down. She hands the towel back to Kaladin and then collapses onto the bed next to Adolin.

Kaladin shuffles back down the bed and wipes carefully between Adolin’s legs, then his own, and then tosses the soiled towel to the floor. Crawling back up to Adolin’s other side, he snatches the blanket from where it's been kicked near the end of the bed and pulls it up over the three of them. 

Throwing a heavy arm over Adolin and grasping blindly until Shallan’s small hand finds his, he snuggles down into the pillows with his face pressed into the side of his husband’s neck, his wife’s fingers tangled with his own, and sleeps. 

Chapter Text

Kaladin

The days are getting longer and the weeks shorter in the countdown to Rockbud’s arrival. Kaladin’s body is so foreign to him now that he feels almost disconnected from it. His balance is completely off, forcing him to constantly grab on to walls and the like, and his reliance on Towerlight to get around has increased to the point where he’s using it nearly constantly, though he’s still doing his best to walk as much as possible instead of just floating from place to place. From the moment he wakes up to when he’s finally shucking his (too small) boots off and climbing into bed, he feels like he’s living someone else’s life, in someone else's body. 

His parents do what they can to take his mind off of his discomfort and bring him out of his strange funk, but their understanding is limited. His father can pat him on the back all he likes but he’s never experienced anything like this, and while his mother certainly understands what it's like to have your body change without your input, in Alethi society carrying children is something that women are raised to expect and even look forward to. So she gets the difficulty the changes present, but she doesn’t quite understand Kaladin’s internal struggles with it. 

He’s been in control of his body his entire life. From what he ate, to how he trained, to injuries and sleep and hygiene. Looking back he realizes he took all of those things for granted. Now he has cravings (for sweets, mostly), and mood swings, and he’s been barred from using training as an outlet. His hair is oilier than it normally is and he is always hot, and even finding a comfortable position to sleep in is difficult. 

His anxiety is also clawing for a foothold inside him, rearing its frustratingly stubborn head over every little thing. The baby’s arrival, looming ever nearer. The baby’s health, his health. His men, Adolin’s campaigns, Adolin and Dalinar’s relationship, the throne of Urithiru. Shallan getting herself in over her head and Kaladin not being able to help extract her, Adolin and Shallan putting their relationship on the back burner because of his own more immediate needs.

Most of those things he can’t do anything about, but some of them he can.

He decides one afternoon that he’s going to set up a date night for Adolin and Shallan, to give them some alone time without him interfering and for his appreciation for all they’ve done for him. 

His mother actually likes his idea and helps him set the whole thing up. A private reading in one of the wealthier sections of the Breakaway, and then a candlelit dinner in one of Adolin’s favorite restaurants. Kaladin plans to make himself scarce for the rest of the evening, telling them he’s working late with his father in the clinic on a delicate case and won’t be home until the following morning.

It goes off without a hitch, and even though Kaladin feels a twinge of sadness that he’s missing out on such a romantic evening with his spouses he’s also extremely pleased that everything works out as planned. 

He does end up working late in the clinic, sorting through a teetering stack of patient files that he and his parents have avoided looking at for the past few weeks in the hopes that they’d somehow magically sort themselves. Syl keeps him company, which he appreciates, doubly so since he ends up being miserable company in return. He feels bad he’s been such a grump lately but he thinks Syl understands, hopes she does; it seems like she’s berating him less for his gloomy face tonight, anyway.

He works until his lower back aches too much to continue, and then he closes up the clinic, making his way back to his parents’ apartment and the dinner his mother promised would be waiting for him when he finished. 

_____

When he returns to their apartment the following morning Shallan greets him, pushing up onto her toes to press a kiss to his cheek.

“You didn’t have to do that, but thank you,” she says, smiling softly.

He smiles back and any lingering anxiety about whether he'd done the right thing or not dissipates. 

“So it went well?” He asks, as she pulls him to the small kitchen area where a spread of jams, bread, and fruit is laid out across the countertop.

“It did,” she says happily. 

“It took so much planning!” Syl says happily, sitting next to one of the bowls of fruit, attempting to poke a simberry and managing to make it wobble slightly. 

“Well, we appreciate it,” Shallan says, and the two women share a smile.

“Is that Kal?” Adolin calls from the bedroom, and then he appears, grinning widely as he catches sight of Kaladin.

“Who else would it be, darling?” Shallan asks, spreading a dark purple jam on a thin slice of bread, then handing it to Kaladin, who murmurs his thanks.

“I don’t know,” Adolin replies, running a hand through his damp hair to comb it away from his face. “Maybe you’d invited the room attendant in for breakfast,” he suggests.

Shallan rolls her eyes. “I’m not the one who makes friends with every single person I so much as walk past, Adolin.”

“Afraid she’s got you there,” Kaladin says with a shrug.

Adolin laughs good-naturedly and strides over to them, kissing Shallan and then Kaladin, lingering for a long second.

“Thank you for last night, bridgeboy,” he says softly as he pulls back.

Kaladin presses another kiss to his lips in acknowledgement and then pulls away to take another bite of his bread. 

“No problem,” he says, mouth full, and Shallan gasps at his terrible table manners while Adolin grins, eyes crinkling at the edges. 

“Good morning, Syl,” the blonde says as he catches sight of Syl swinging her feet off the edge of the counter cheerfully. “Thanks for keeping our bridgeboy company last night.”

“Hi Adolin! It was my pleasure, even if he was extra grumpy,” Syl replies with a perfect imitation of Shallan’s eye roll earlier.

“Extra grumpy? Kaladin? Never,” Adolin says with mock affront.

“Ha, ha,” Kaladin grumbles, though he hides a smile in his cup of water when Adolin kisses him again on the cheek

They laze the morning away, and then the afternoon, Kaladin taking the day off from the clinic after his long hours yesterday. Shallan disappears at some point after lunch to meet with one of her Lightweavers, but she’s only gone for an hour or two before she returns with a tray of sweet finger foods, which Adolin politely eats a couple of before refusing any more, but which Kaladin, to his shame, devours.

They all go to bed early, content to just hold each other and take turns resting their heads on Kaladin’s bump, feeling the baby kick. They’ve been moving a lot lately, especially after he eats, and he’s found himself talking to them sometimes, just random things, whatever’s on his mind at the time. Syl’s caught him at it but she surprisingly doesn’t make fun of him for it. Apparently she thinks it’s “sweet”. 

Adolin leaves the next morning for a joint campaign with Dalinar, meeting back up with the armies they previously left in Yeddaw on their march north to Azimir. Odium finally made his move earlier in the week, sending a small force of Fused to capture the city, which they did easily; the Azish troops did not resist, already knowing the Coalition would come to their aid once the enemy felt secure in their place and let their guard down. 

The Coalition generals predict it will be at least a few days’ march capital, and then a few more to rout the enemy from their tenuous hold of the city, but Adolin tells Kaladin and Shallan that he plans for it to be his last extended absence for a while. He doesn’t want to risk not being here when Rockbud finally decides to make their entrance.

So while the campaign is supposed to be on the shorter end, duration-wise, it’s one that requires a fairly large number of troops. Most of them were already positioned in Tashikk, but the Radiants all waited here at Urithiru, and they travel now with Adolin and Dalinar when they pass through the Oathgates.

True to his word Dalinar leaves behind several Edgedancers, though he takes every bonded Windrunner and most of their squires. They want as many Radiant fighters as possible to deal with the Fused waiting in Azimir, and the Sibling has assured them that there will be no repeat of the tower occupation now that she’s fully awake again, so leaving a contingent here would be unnecessary. 

Kaladin and Shallan see them off, Kaladin in an overlarge jacket that only kind of hides his heavily-pregnant figure, but it prevents at least some stares and he feels like less of a side-show attraction when he wears it, so it’s his go-to for anything requiring a public appearance now.

Adolin communicates with them via spanreed every evening, Shallan re-enacting his words in overly dramatic fashion while Kaladin rolls his eyes and pretends not to laugh. One night he tells them they probably won’t hear from him for a few days because he and Dalinar have arrived at Azimir and the assault will begin the next day, leaving little time for scribing letters back home. 

Their sign off is like any other night, wishing luck and fortune and sharing their love, though a heavy ball of anxiety settles low in Kaladin’s stomach the moment the ruby dims.

Two days pass before they hear anything at all, two days of constant worrying and trying to keep himself distracted by any means available.

Kaladin is with Syl in the library, picking out books seemingly at random that Syl wants to attempt to read to him, when Shallan nearly skids around the corner of the aisle, eyes wide and scared, face pale.

“Kaladin–” she says, and Kaladin’s heart leaps into his throat. Adrenaline surges through his system, his mouth going dry, and he sways on his feet, hand flying out to grip the bookshelf for support.

“Kaladin!” Syl says, worried, shrinking to hover in front of his face. He blinks at her, breathing suddenly difficult.

Shallan runs over and grabs his hand, pulling him along while she speaks. He stumbles but manages to stay on his feet, thankfully. It takes a second for the words to cut through the cloud of panic.

“–ave to let them know, but there’s nobody left to send!” She says frantically, dragging him out of the double doors of the library while Syl flits around them anxiously.

“What?” Kaladin asks nonsensically. Is Adolin–?

“We need to get that message to them, Kaladin. It’s a matter of life and death.”

They’re moving down the hallway at an awkward run, Kaladin almost tripping over his clumsy feet as he tries to keep up with Shallan’s hurried pace.

“Wait. Shallan, stop. Just for a second, please.” He pulls at the hand she’s still got clutched in her grip and she stops with him, turning.

“Kal, we don’t have time for–”

“Is he alive?” Kaladin asks desperately, anxietyspren twisting all around his feet.

“What?” Shallan says, finally pausing for a moment in her shock. “Is who alive?”

“Adolin.”

Shallan’s mouth falls open and then she suddenly pulls Kaladin to her, enveloping him in a fierce hug. She pulls back, hands tight around his upper arms.

“Storms. Yes, he’s fine. I'm so sorry for scaring you, Kaladin, I should have led with that. I’m sorry.”

Kaladin closes his eyes as a wave of relief floods through him and he lets out a shaky breath. 

“But listen, Kaladin,” Shallan continues, not as frantic as before but still urgent. Kaladin opens his eyes again and takes in her pale face, her obvious fear. “If we don’t get this message to them somehow, he won’t be for long. None of them will.”

“What’s the message?” Kaladin asks, and he’s grateful that Shallan doesn’t chastise him for not listening more closely to her earlier, instead just repeating everything he missed while he was having a minor panic attack.

“Ishnah has been undercover in Kholinar for the last couple of months and she just came across some intel we have to get to Adolin and Dalinar. There’s a surprise force headed their way through Shadesmar, and apparently the Oathgate spren have agreed to let them pass through into Azimir for some reason we haven’t been able to figure out. They're going to be pinned between the army they’re already fighting and this new one.”

“Stormfather,” Kaladin curses. 

“They’re not answering the spanreeds. Either the scribes have been pulled away or the messages are being blocked somehow.”

And they took all the Windrunners with them days ago.

“Storms.” Kaladin grabs her hand and turns the direction they’d been heading, to the Kholin wing, and uses Towerlight to fly them the rest of the way there. 

They’re at Dalinar’s apartment in minutes and Navani answers the door with a smile that drops the moment she sees their pale faces. She ushers them inside. Jasnah is there, as is Renarin, and they stand, immediately asking what’s going on.

Shallan fills them all in.

“There’s no way I would be able to travel to them in time, not without Elsegates, which I still haven’t mastered,” Jasnah says with no small amount of frustration. 

“And the Windrunners are gone?” Navani asks. Renarin nods, fiddling with a small square object, turning it over and over in his hands anxiously.

“They left five days ago with Adolin and father, including all of Bridge Four.”

Navani curses and begins pacing. Jasnah hurries over to the desk in the corner of the room by the hearth, rifling through papers, looking for something that will help. Unfortunately the only thing that could help them right now is a messenger. 

“...Not all of them,” Kaladin says quietly to Renarin.

They all stop and look at him, expressions hopeful, and then one by one their faces fall as they understand his meaning. The looks being directed at him now vary from considering to angry to fearful.

“Absolutely not,” Navani snaps. “We are not sending a heavily pregnant person into an active war zone. We will find another way.”

“There is no other way,” Kaladin says, voice firm.

Jasnah is quiet and Kaladin knows she agrees with him. As much as he doesn’t like her, he can count on her to be rational at all times and consistently do what’s necessary for the greater good. Unfortunately, getting this message to Dalinar and Adolin is more important than the safety of one Windrunner, pregnant or not.

“Kaladin,” Syl says quietly from her spot near his shoulder, “are you sure this is a good idea?”

He ignores her.

“Sir,” Renarin says, and Kaladin shoots him a mild glare at the title. He corrects himself. “Kaladin, Adolin wouldn’t want you to do this.”

“That’s too bad, because Adolin’s not here to decide,” Kaladin says. He turns to Shallan.

“What do you think?” He asks her. If there’s anyone he can trust to tell him when he’s being too noble and self-sacrificing, it’s Shallan. 

Her eyes flit around the room, looking at each of them and the opinions they wear clearly on their faces, and then her gaze locks back onto him. He knows what she’s going to say the second her jaw clenches in determination.

“I think we have to go.”

“I will not allow it–” Navani is saying, but Kaladin doesn’t pay her any attention. Because–

“We?” He asks, and Shallan raises an eyebrow at him.

“There’s no way in damnation I'm letting you go alone, bridgeboy. Adolin would have my head. Plus, someone has to watch your back.”

“Neither of you are going!” Navani practically shouts. Kaladin turns to her, face set.

“Try and stop us,” he says, and then he’s striding for the door, Shallan and Syl right behind him, leaving the Kholins scrambling in their wake.

“Highmarshal, please reconsider,” Navani calls desperately after him.

“Not a Highmarshal,” Kaladin says over his shoulder. They breeze by a pair of guards, receiving a deferential nod as they make way for the group of Radiants, and approach the oversized balcony at the end of the hall. 

Kaladin throws the doors open, then pauses as something occurs to him.  

“Sibling, are you there?” He asks loudly. Shallan stops as well, watching him, eyebrows pinched together.

I am always here, the Sibling replies, and Kaladin can tell they’ve made their voice audible to the entire group. Jasnah didn’t follow them, but Navani and Renarin caught up and have joined them on the balcony, watching and listening.

“Can I leave the tower? Will the baby be okay?” He asks. 

While he hasn’t left Urithiru since becoming pregnant, he hasn’t even considered that he might not be able to. If their baby depends on Towerlight somehow…

The child is yours. Your body is yours. It does not require Towerlight to function.

Kaladin breathes a small sigh of relief.

“Thanks,” he says, and then he steps up to the edge of the railing, Syl flying up next to him, looking outward. Shallan stands next to him and grabs his hand.

“Sir!” Renarin says, and Kaladin looks back at him. He tosses Kaladin something and, with reflexes he’s been worried might abandon him after such an extended period of disuse, Kaladin catches the small cloth bag with his free hand.

Spheres. Infused with Stormlight, from the pull he can feel in his blood.

“Stay safe, sir,” Renarin says with a Bridge Four salute.

Kaladin nods. 

“Thanks,” he says, tucking the spheres away and climbing onto the railing carefully. Shallan does the same next to him, and then he lashes them both into the sky, toward Azimir.

_____

Adolin

The battle is over.

It was the most violent and bloody battle he’s been a part of since the one that had nearly taken his life on the Shattered Plains months ago, and they lost more men than they anticipated, mainly due to the surprise force that materialized from the Oathgate in the center of the city.

Luckily they’d received advance warning and Adolin and his father had just enough time to plan, and they actually ended up surprising the Fused when the Coalition’s armies met them head on, already expecting their arrival. 

Adolin has to admit that it at least partially worked out in their favor; while their casualties were high, the surprise attack forced them to activate all of their forces at once, resulting in an all-out, decisive battle, instead of turning the campaign into an extended siege like they predicted it would be. Had they lost it would have been disastrous, but, thank the Heralds, they didn’t lose. They won the day and they won the city, and now they can rest. 

As soon as the victory was confirmed he went to his tent, removed his Shardplate and wiped a wet cloth over his face, and then made his way to the medical area to thank the injured for their efforts and to give them encouragement. He’s just ducking out of the tent when Dalinar finds him, a small army of scribes and assistants trailing him. 

“Good work, son,” Dalinar says, clapping a fatherly hand on his shoulder. “Your quick thinking saved a lot of lives today.”

Adolin’s perpetually simmering anger at his father dims somewhat in the face of his obvious pride.

“Thank you, father,” he says. “Though the scribes are the real heroes. The way they got the spanreeds working again in time to receive the warning was pivotal to our success.”

The two scribes with his father blush, which Adolin takes for embarrassment at being singled out in front of two high-ranking military leaders. But then one of them steps forward, drawing both his and his father’s gaze.

“Sir, that’s–” she stutters nervously. “That’s very kind of you. But– we didn’t fix the spanreeds. They’re still not working. Sir.”

“Then how did the message come through?” Dalinar asks, confused.

“It was delivered by hand, sir,” she replies.

“...From Urithiru?” Dalinar’s eyebrows climb high on his forehead.

“Yes, sir,” she says, looking straight forward. Adolin narrows his eyes. She’s hiding something.

“How, exactly, was it delivered, Parla?” he asks carefully.

“...A Windrunner, sir,” she says, definitely avoiding his eyes now.

Adolin’s blood goes cold.

“All of the Windrunners were already with us,” Dalinar says. “Are you saying one bonded a spren in our absence?"

“No, sir,” Parla says, voice small.

“Explain,” Dalinar snaps, finally reaching the end of his patience, and she jumps nervously.

“Radiant Stormblessed delivered it, sir,” she says quickly. “He asked me not to tell either of you until the battle was over, sir. I'm– sorry, sir,” she says, and then she turns and scurries away, dragging her fellow scribe with her.

Adolin’s pulse pounds in his ears. “I'm going to kill him,” he growls. 

“He saved our lives, and the lives of our men,” Dalinar says.

“He could have been killed!” Adolin explodes. “They could have seen him and sent Heavenly Ones after him! They could have forced him to engage, knocked him out of the storming sky!”

“Adolin, be rational,” Dalinar says chidingly, and Adolin snarls.

“Fuck being rational. He could have been hurt, or killed, or captured. In fact, we don’t even know if he did get into a fight, just that he made it here.” Adolin spins on his heel suddenly, running for the scribes tent. 

“Adolin!” Dalinar shouts after him. Adolin ducks past the flaps but the tent’s empty except for one lonely scribe still working on a non-responsive spanreed in the corner.

“Where’s Stormblessed?” Adolin asks him.

“Sir?” the man asks him, startled.

“Kaladin Stormblessed! Where is he?” Adolin yells. 

The man shakes his head frantically. “I– I don’t know, sir. I heard he was here but I didn’t see him.”

“Did he leave?” Adolin asks, and the man shrugs.

“I don't know.”

Adolin makes a frustrated noise and ducks back out of the tent only for his father to grab him by the arms. Adolin struggles out of the hold, ripping his hands off and shoving him away.

“Don’t touch me!”

“Adolin, son. Calm down,” Dalinar says, voice low. He looks concerned more than angry, hands held up in front of his body.

“I have to find him,” Adolin tells him, looking around frantically as if Kaladin will suddenly appear in front of him.

“We will. We will find him, I promise. Just take a breath,” Dalinar says, and Adolin does, inhaling a huge lungful of air before letting it out in a gust.

He deflates, and Dalinar takes a cautious step closer, blocking Adolin from view of the couple of onlookers who are close enough to witness his panic.

“What if he’s hurt? What if he made it here okay but they got him on the way back?” Adolin asks, voice breaking.

Dalinar puts a hand on his arm and Adolin leans into him, shaking. He feels weak with fear, like he can’t function if he doesn’t know that Kaladin’s okay.

Dalinar carefully wraps his other arm around his shoulders, holding Adolin steady against his large frame.

“Don’t worry about that yet, not until we know what’s true.” Dalinar looks up at the scribe's tent, then dismisses it. They won't find any answers there. 

Then he pulls Adolin toward the city. “Let’s go find a Windrunner.”

_____

His father comes back with him, leaving Colot and Teleb in charge in their absence. They shouldn’t be missed too much; the armies are focused on healing now, and as important as it is for leaders to have their faces seen by the men after a battle, they’ll all be celebrating with drink and catching up on sleep for the rest of the night. 

They have enough time to find out what’s going on. If Kaladin made it back or if he’s still out there, somewhere…

It takes hours but Skar and Drehy lash them all as fast as they can stand, and the sky is dark except for the light of the second moon when they arrive. They head straight to the Kholin wing and split up there, Dalinar to his and Navani’s apartment and Adolin to his own.

He bursts through the door at a near run, panic having slowly clawed its way back up his throat the closer he got, convinced he’d walk in to find Kaladin missing, that Shallan would tell him the Windrunner disappeared hours ago and hasn’t returned yet.

Kaladin and Shallan are both there, standing in surprise as he barrels inside. There’s a spanreed on the table in front of them, ruby dark.

“Oh, stormfather,” Adolin gasps. He stops where he is, shoving the heels of his hands into his eye sockets, trying to breathe, breathe. He’s alright. Just breathe.

“You–” he says, suddenly livid with anger, angerspren boiling around his feet, “You– fucking–”

"Adolin,” Kaladin says softly, and Adolin lets out a furious whine, teeth gritted, and shoves his hands harder into his dry, burning eyes.

“We had to,” Kaladin continues, and Adolin looks up at that, mind nearly whiting out.

“We?” He shouts. His eyes fly to Shallan, who looks somewhere between ashamed and righteous, like she believes she actually did the right thing. Like she believes the two of them flying into an active warzone was the right thing.

“I certainly wasn’t going to let him go alone,” she says. He’s so angry he’s speechless, mouth opening and closing silently. He’s shaking, hands trembling, body vibrating in strange, violent pulses, like his anger and terror has its own dark heartbeat.

Shallan is still talking. “I made him wear his armor, and I hid us with Lightweavings the whole way. No one saw us, Adolin.”

“We didn’t have a choice,” Kaladin says. 

“Oh, you didn’t have a choice? How storming convenient,” Adolin snarls as another shudder rips through him.  

Kaladin glares at him, meeting Adolin’s rage with a fire of his own. “Fine. We did have a choice. We had to choose between this and letting your entire army get slaughtered.”

Adolin lets out a furious shout, clenches his fists and has to turn away. He can’t look at them, can't see their faces right now, staring at him like he’s wrong to be upset, like he's overreacting, like what they did was okay. He sucks in a lungful of air in an attempt to slow his breathing. It shakes wildly as he blows it back out.

He turns back around and stalks over to them, boiling red pools trailing behind, coming to a stop inches away. 

"Never do something like that again,” he growls.

“Adolin…” Shallan starts.

“I’ll do whatever I need to do,” Kaladin says back, low and dangerous, “to keep you safe.”

Adolin barks out a laugh, takes a few steps back.

“Including kill yourself, right Kaladin?” Another full-body shudder.

“Adolin!” Shallan snaps, and he knows he’s gone too far, but they don’t understand. They don’t understand that he doesn’t want that, doesn’t need it. He doesn’t want either of them sacrificing themselves for him. That’s not… He’s not…

When his eyes focus on them again Shallan looks appalled, despairing. Kaladin looks… devastated. 

Upside-down faces paint the floor around Kaladin’s feet and all of Adolin’s anger evaporates, leaving him a cold, shivering mess.

“I could have lost you, Kal,” he says, and his voice is trembling now, too, breaking all over the place. “I could have lost you both.”

Oh, god.

He barely gets the next words out.

“I could have lost all three of you at the same time.”

His own army of agonyspren, painspren, and fearspren surround him and Shallan steps away from Kaladin’s side, reaching for him. He flinches back and she drops her hand, hurt.

Adolin shakes his head. 

“I can’t. Not right now. I just–”

Shallan nods tightly, then turns and walks into the bedroom, shutting the door behind her with a snap.

“I'm not going to apologize,” Kaladin says, eyes hard and yet so, so soft. Adolin shakes his head again, his throat tightening.

“Even if you did, Kal,” he says in a low voice, “I don’t know if I could forgive you.”

He turns and walks away on suddenly weak legs, pulling open the door to the hallway. He can’t help himself; just before he steps out he looks back, watching as Kaladin lowers himself to the couch, dropping his head into his hands. 

And then he’s gone.

Chapter Text

Kaladin

Kaladin sleeps on the couch that night.

After Shallan went into the bedroom and shut the door, after Adolin left him alone, Kaladin sat for hours, unmoving, head in his hands, painspren in the shape of spindly orange hands crawling up his legs, going over everything again and again, wondering what he could have done differently. 

There’s nothing. He did what he had to do. It was the only choice.

They were smart about it, quick and stealthy, and it only took them a few hours to get there and back with the surplus of Stormlight from Renarin and Kaladin’s enhanced ability to lessen the air drag, allowing them to move faster than a Windrunner of a lower ideal could.

They landed, warned the armies, and, as hard as it was to leave Adolin there facing a daunting enemy without Kaladin to watch his back, they left. They checked in with Navani as soon as they returned, and that was the end of it. 

Of course he knew that Adolin wouldn't exactly be happy about it when he found out, but Kaladin didn’t realize how truly angry he’d be, either. He wasn’t prepared for the anguish, nor the guilt he felt after he saw Adolin’s haggard face, heard his cracking voice. 

And then Shallan disappeared to lick her wounds in private, and though a part of him still thinks he should have followed her and offered comfort, a larger part of him feels like neither of them deserves it. Like he doesn’t deserve it. 

He also can’t imagine holding Shallan in his arms right now without Adolin there. They do it all the time when he’s away, but this is different. This time, Adolin’s not here by choice. Feeling that missing piece, knowing it’s not there by intent, would break his already trembling heart.

Kaladin’s sleep is broken, filled with dreams he can’t remember but that leave him shaken, staring at the dark ceiling, trying to calm his racing heart. He tosses and turns, trying in vain to find a comfortable position, while Syl stands guard, unable to solve his problems or ease his dreams but resolved to watch over him nonetheless, battling away the hordes of spren he draws with his overwrought emotions.

He considers going to his parents, asking if he can sleep in the bed they keep for him there, and he knows they’d let him, no questions asked – well, no questions until tomorrow, at least. But while he may feel like he isn’t allowed to hold Shallan right now, there’s no part of him that wants to leave her alone, either. 

Rockbud starts to kick furiously, apparently deciding that sleep is a lost cause. 

Kaladin places a hand over the distended skin of his stomach, poking gently where tiny feet push at him from the inside. Rockbud kicks back. 

“I know, Bud,” Kaladin whispers, his voice breaking.

It’s still hours before dawn when Kaladin, eyes gritty with lack of sleep and chest aching like there’s a hollow, scraped-out pit where his heart used to be, hears the front door open. 

His heart rabbits in his chest and he sucks in a little Towerlight on the off chance that it’s actually an intruder stupid enough to break into the apartment of two Knights Radiant and the best duellist on Roshar. 

It’s not an intruder, of course.

Kaladin can tell it’s Adolin by the rhythm of his steps, the clack of his expensive boots on stone. His gut clenches but Adolin passes right by him, unable to see him with the way the couch faces away from the door, heading directly to the bedroom. 

The door swings closed quietly behind him and Kaladin closes his eyes, trying to calm himself. He can’t hear anything through the thick wood, wonders if Adolin’s talking to Shallan or if he just climbed into the bed, seeing only one of them sleeping there and assuming Kaladin left for the night. 

He’s just managed to fall into an exhausted half-sleep when he hears the bedroom door creak open again. He’s too tired to move, feels drugged with exhaustion, unable to fully wake himself as soft footsteps approach– no boots now, just bare feet on stone. A hand brushes his hair back from his face, then cups his cheek. Soft lips press to his forehead. 

And then, like those lips were the permission his body has been waiting for all night, he finally slips into the enveloping darkness of true sleep. 

_____

Kaladin wakes up overheated.

There’s a thick blanket on top of him, trapping heat like a furnace. He groans, groggily throwing off the heavy fabric. It lands on the floor with a soft thump. 

He rubs his tired eyes, then blinks them open to the muted semi-darkness of heavy curtains pulled closed over sunlit windows. It must be late morning judging by the brightness of the light peeking in around the edges.

He levers himself up to sitting, then scrubs his hands over his face vigorously, trying to force away the lingering drowsiness. Looks up when he hears a rustle of movement. Freezes. 

Adolin is sitting in the chair across from him, bent forward with his elbows on his knees, watching him.

Kaladin straightens slowly, thoughts stuck in a loop of Adolin, and I'm not sorry, and I love you.

Adolin stands and closes the distance between them, then kneels at his feet. Kaladin has a visceral flashback to the night not so long ago when he did the exact same thing, when he asked Kaladin to marry him. He feels thrown, off-balance.

“I'm sorry,” Adolin says quietly, the blue frilled blossom of a sincerityspren opening gently behind him. His eyes are red and bloodshot but his gaze is bright, holding Kaladin captive. “You’re right, you shouldn’t have to apologize, because you did nothing wrong. I would have done the exact same thing if it was the other way around.”

Kaladin opens his mouth but Adolin shakes his head. 

“Please, let me finish.”

Kaladin nods slowly and Adolin gives him a small, grateful smile. 

“I’ve always known what kind of person you are, Kaladin. You’re honorable, and selfless, and determined. I love those parts of you and wouldn’t change them for the world. But that doesn’t make it any easier when you inevitably end up putting yourself in danger.” 

Adolin takes a deep breath, letting it out in a gust. He keeps his gaze fixed on Kaladin, and Kaladin is unable to look away, heart in his throat. 

“I’m sorry I dealt with it so poorly. What I said to you was out of line,” Adolin says quietly. “I was… I was scared, Kal. I know that doesn’t excuse it, but I was just… so storming scared that I was going to lose you. I can’t lose you, not now.

“And it’s not– It’s not even about Rockbud,” he continues, words practically spilling out of him now, eyes wide and earnest. “I mean, I'm not saying I don't care about the baby, because I do. I really, really do. What I'm trying to say is… Even– even if the baby wasn’t in the picture, Kal, even if none of this had ever happened… I can’t lose you. I can’t. I just…”

His eyes close as he gathers himself, taking a slow breath, then they open again and lock onto Kaladin, blue burning bright. “...I can’t.”

Kaladin slides to the floor in the narrow space left between Adolin’s knees and the couch and pulls the other man into a hug. Adolin wraps his arms around him, tucks his face into Kaladin’s neck, breathing deeply. 

“I'm sorry for scaring you,” Kaladin murmurs, kissing the top of his head. Adolin shakes his head, clinging to Kaladin like a lifeline. “I understand. I can’t lose you either.”

“I’ll promise not to leave you if you promise not to leave me,” Adolin says into his skin, voice thick.

“Deal,” Kaladin whispers.

_____

Eventually nature calls, and, both of their knees aching, Adolin helps Kaladin up from the floor, leading him by the hand into the bedroom. After using the toilet, Kaladin hovers indecisively until Adolin murmurs please come to bed, Kal, I’ll send someone, from where he’s already burrowed under the covers, curled up with Shallan, and Kaladin quickly makes the executive decision that he’ll just be a liability in the clinic today anyway with how tired he still feels. He climbs into bed with them and schooches as close as possible into the bubble of warmth they’ve created.

He feels safe there, safer than he’s ever felt anywhere else in his life, even though he knows it could be ripped away from him at any moment. Right now Kaladin is less active in the war, but he doesn’t think that will last for too much longer, official military leave or not. It’s been weighing on him more and more how hard everyone around him is working, fighting for their freedom and their world, and though he knows he’s doing good work here in the clinic and with the veterans, he also knows he could be doing more. 

Adolin and Shallan are already doing more, and Kaladin fears for them every time they leave his sight, but that’s the nature of war. It takes and takes and gives nothing in return. All he can do now is hope that whatever gods have a hand in this one will look at him and say, he’s already lost enough. At least until he can get back out there to watch their backs.

Things calm down after their disagreement, for the most part. Both Odium’s troops and the Coalition’s seem to be recovering from the Azimir battle, which creates a much-needed lull in the fighting, and everyone is grateful for the break.

Word gets around about Kaladin and Shallan’s dashing rescue. Bridge Four knows immediately, since Skar and Drehy were the ones to fly Adolin and Dalinar back to the tower. Kaladin avoids the training areas, which he rarely visits now anyway, afraid of getting an earful from them for being reckless.

Surprisingly, they seem to understand. A couple of them come up to visit the clinic and actually thank him for saving them once again. He brushes it off uncomfortably, feeling guilty about the whole thing, though he still believes that what he did was right. They do seem regretful that he was forced to have to make such a choice and they hate that he put himself in danger in his condition, but in the end they’re all still alive because of him and Shallan, and they know it.

The men leave with a few squeezes on his shoulder and advice to be more careful and go hug your prince echoing in his ears.

His parents, on the other hand, take it a bit harder. 

His mother cries when she finds out.

“Why, Kaladin? Why can’t you care about yourself?” 

She calms down some once Kaladin explains how they had no other options, that it was that or let everyone die, but she still weeps at the idea of her son having to take such a risk in order to protect others when they all should be the ones protecting him.

Lirin doesn’t say much about it at all, lips pressing together tightly and eyebrows furrowing as he watches Kaladin comfort Hesina. Kaladin hopes it’s because his father knows it was necessary despite the danger. Hopes he doesn’t hate Kaladin for it, for putting their grandchild in harm’s way.

When Kaladin gives them their goodbye hugs his mother holds him just a little bit longer than normal, and his father rests a hand on his back and tells him gruffly, “I’m glad you’re safe, son. I love you.” 

He supposes it could have gone much worse.

Kaladin’s scheduled due date ticks ever closer. He’s having checkups with his father every few days at this point, Lirin worrying more and more about an early delivery as the baby grows larger. They have a game plan for the surgery already, though Lirin is waffling once again about the date they picked. They want to wait long enough that the baby is fully developed and will have no issues surviving in the outside world on its own, but not so long that Kaladin goes into actual labor, unsure of what that would look like or if it’s even possible for him. There’s just so many unknowns.

They’re about two weeks out from the chosen date when Adolin is sent on another trip to Azimir, though thankfully not to fight this time. The Azish have some questions regarding the Coalition’s intentions and plans moving forward, and are unfortunately less than fond of the Blackthorn, still not quite trusting anything he tells them, no matter how many times he tries to convince them he’s speaking only truths, that he’s a different man than the merciless tyrant he used to be. The Blackthorn’s eldest son, however, is a different story.

They love Adolin. Everyone loves Adolin, of course, but he apparently won over the Azish several weeks ago at the battle of Azimir, with Prime Aqasix Yanagawn taking a special liking to him. They requested him specifically for diplomatic negotiations, and after much reassurance from Kaladin that he’s been feeling nothing out of the ordinary Adolin goes, with the promise to see them again in a few days.

Unfortunately a skirmish breaks out the second day he’s there, mid-negotiation, and then another the following day. From the Azish perspective, if they were going to be attacked, the timing couldn't have been better than this, because Adolin is a brilliant and well-loved commander and has fought with the Azish in this exact location very recently. 

The Coalition’s leadership believes Odium’s intention is to put a strain on their partnerships, interrupting important negotiations but not actually trying to win back the city or anything else large-scale, which helps ease some of the anxiety of finding themselves fighting again so soon. There are few losses, the skirmishes quick and mainly focusing more on testing Azimir’s defenses, but they do end up requesting Adolin stay until the fighting has stopped, in case there’s something bigger coming.

Kaladin and Shallan worry about the unexpected delay, but there’s nothing they can do, and they still have time. They could even push the surgery back a few days if needed since he’s not even technically considered full-term yet, though Lirin gets visibly anxious when Kaladin mentions the possibility.

All of this means that of course, in the early morning of the sixth day Adolin is gone, Kaladin wakes up to pain in his midsection. Shallan bolts up in bed next to him as he tries to curl into a ball, panicked.

“Kaladin! Are you alright?” Her hands flutter all around him, unsure what to do, until one finally settles on his shoulder.

Kaladin groans, eyes squeezed shut as his stomach clenches so tightly it feels like there’s a shardplate fist inside of him, constricting even his lungs, making it hard to breathe. Painspren crawl up his legs and arms but he feels Shallan brush them aside.

“Kaladin!” Syl’s voice in his ear. “Kaladin, can you hear me?”

My… father, he thinks in between surges of pain.

“I'm going to get Lirin!” Syl says, presumably to Shallan, and then Shallan stays with him, petting his hair and murmuring comforting nonsense until the pain finally starts to ebb, the severity lessening with each pulse that radiates through his gut.

Soon it disappears entirely and he lays there, drenched in sweat, afraid to move for fear that it will begin again. Eventually Shallan coaxes him into sitting and hands him a glass of water. Her eyes are wide and frightened and she stays close, hovering near as he drinks, grip shaky. Purple globs of fearspren circle the bed and he doesn’t know if they’re hers or his or a combination of both.

Lirin arrives with Hesina in tow, both of them puffing from the exertion of running several floors to get to him so quickly. Lirin makes him lay back again, then pushes firmly into the skin of his belly, making Kaladin wince. 

“The baby’s turned. He’s going into labor,” Lirin says grimly.

“Does it normally hurt this much?” Kaladin asks with a grimace.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Hesina says, smiling gently as she helps him sit again, turning him so his legs hang off the side of the bed. “We need to get you to the surgery room. Can you walk?” Hesina asks.

“I think so,” Kaladin says. “As long as it doesn’t happen again when we’re halfway there.”

“No guarantees,” Hesina replies, helping him stand, his father on his other side. 

“Fly there,” Shallan says. “It’ll be faster.”

Kaladin nods, then takes a breath, feet lifting off the stone as he applies a partial lashing to himself. 

Syl flies around him anxiously, silent, but he can feel the nervousness radiating off of her small form.

“I’m fine, Syl,” he says out loud. “Apparently it’s normal.”

“Human reproduction is horrible,” she says, distraught.

“You don't even know how spren reproduction works,” Kaladin says.

“I don't need to compare them, Kaladin. It’s still horrible.”

She does have a point. Why should something so necessary be so traumatizing? It doesn’t make much sense.

They make it to the clinic without further incident, Shallan trailing behind as his mother and father hold lightly to his arms while he floats along, just in case he drops. They set him up in the same surgery Adolin was in so many months ago, the day he almost died. Kaladin pushes the memories away with effort as he settles onto the cot. Shallan pulls the thin blanket over him, then grasps his hand in a tight grip, anticipationspren and fearspren crowding around the small bed.

“Shallan, darling, we’re going to get started soon. We think it’s best if you perhaps not be here for the surgery itself,” Hesina says kindly.

Kaladin feels a sudden surge of panic. 

“No! We have to wait for Adolin,” he says.

“Kaladin, honey–” his mother starts, but Kaladin cuts her off.

“Isn’t there something you can do to slow it down? We have to wait,” he pleads, and Shallan looks just as desperate as he feels, eyes wide and scared.

“Kal–”

Lirin’s voice cuts Hesina off mid-reply. “We can’t wait, son. Labor pains mean the baby is moving, and your baby has nowhere to go. We’ve talked about this.”

“Father–”

And then Syl comes flying in, straight through the surgery door. Kaladin hadn’t even noticed her disappearance, though now that he thinks about it he doesn’t remember seeing her since leaving their rooms.

He’s about to ask where she went when the door opens wide, admitting Dalinar Kholin.

“Bondsmith Kholin, you shouldn’t be in here,” Lirin says, trying to regain control of the situation.

Dalinar ignores him, taking long strides over to Kaladin and Shallan. He puts a heavy hand on Kaladin’s shoulder.

“Is it time, son?” He asks, and Kaladin nods.

“Can you– have you been able to reach Adolin?” Shallan asks hopefully.

Dalinar shakes his head regretfully. “We are still unable to use the Oathgate, I’m afraid. The only other option would be to send Windrunners, but that would take several hours.”

Kaladin closes his eyes in despair. “We don’t have hours,” he says.

“No, we don’t,” Lirin confirms. “We need to begin as soon as possible to ensure the health of all parties involved.”

Dalinar looks to him, taking in his words, then looks back to Kaladin. Something in his face changes, suddenly looking determined.

“Can you wait thirty minutes, Surgeon Stormblessed?” He asks, and Kaladin sees his father start to shake his head, then stop at the pleading look on Kaladin’s face.

“I will give you twenty,” Lirin says slowly. “If Kaladin or the baby seems to be in distress before then I will move forward immediately.”

Dalinar nods and he squeezes Kaladin’s shoulder once, taking a step back. 

“Twenty minutes,” he says, and then he turns on his heel and he’s gone.

Kaladin and Shallan look at each other, confused but hopeful.

Hesina bustles around, preparing Kaladin for surgery, removing his clothing and setting out various medical instruments. Lirin goes to prep himself, washing his hands thoroughly in the basin on the far side of the room and donning a white apron.

Without warning the contractions return and Kaladin whines high in his throat, instinctively trying to curl forward.

“Breathe, Kaladin,” his mother says in his ear, rubbing his back. “Don’t push.”

He breathes, and he doesn’t push, despite the way his body is begging him to flex his muscles, to bear down. He can’t push, there’s nowhere to push the baby to. He has to hold out, just until Adolin gets here. 

Air hisses through his teeth as he waits for the pain to pass. It seems worse than last time, like each painful cramp is lasting longer, until finally it slows, then stops altogether, leaving him panting and shaky.

The remaining ten minutes pass too quickly, and when the time is up Hesina quietly asks if Shallan would please go sit in the waiting room, telling her she will bring her back in as soon as the surgery is finished. Shallan declines, stating that she’s seen far worse than a little blood and she’s not going to leave Kaladin alone for this.

And then suddenly the pain starts again. His mother and father are speaking rapidly but he can only partially concentrate on what they’re saying, focusing instead on breathing and not pushing.

“–wait any longer–”

“–contractions are too close together–”

“–so early–”

“–start immediately–”

Shallan’s hand slips out of his own and he’s being pushed back onto the cot.

“As soon as this one’s over we’re going to start, okay, Kal?”

He nods, eyes squeezed closed, and then he hears the door bang open.

“Kaladin!”

Adolin. 

And then he’s there, hands on Kaladin’s face, and the smell of him is divine, soap and sweat and that damned cologne Kaladin hates to admit he loves. He turns his head into Adolin’s chest, breathing deep through the pain until finally, finally, it passes.

“Adolin,” he murmurs, opening watering eyes.

“Kal,” Adolin whispers, pulling back to see his face. He looks frazzled, hair a mess and uniform wrinkled, but he’s here. He’s here.

“Alright, Kaladin, we need to start now,” Lirin tells him. Kaladin is still staring at Adolin so he sees the panic set in clear as day at the words. 

"Wait, now?” Adolin asks frantically, looking over at Lirin.

“Yes, we’ve already delayed too long,” his father says. “We have to start now, between contractions.”

“But– Kal–”

“It’ll be okay,” Kaladin says to him, smiling. He pulls Adolin in by the arm to kiss him, then gestures for Shallan, who is hovering nearby, to come closer. She does and he kisses her, too.

“I love you both. Go wait outside. My parents will take care of me,” he says.

They look like they want to argue but Kaladin murmurs “Go,” again, and they back away, hand in hand. Right before they walk out the door they both turn to look at him one last time, and he smiles at them reassuringly, and then the door swings shut behind them and he’s alone with his parents and Syl. 

“Syl, you too,” Kaladin says to her as his mother pulls over a lamp that shines spherelight on Kaladin from above. Syl puts her hands on her hips in defiance. 

“Absolutely not. You know there is no way I’m missing this kind of surgery!”

He does feel slightly bad kicking her out because he knows how interested she’s been in medicine lately, but it’s for the best. 

“It’s different when it’s someone you care about,” Kal says to her quietly, and Syl looks stricken. “It’ll be okay, just go with Adolin and Shallan.”

Syl flies close and attempts to hug him, small arms squeezing his cheek. He can barely feel it but he smiles anyway. 

“I’ll see you soon,” he tells her and she zips away, tears in her eyes. 

Lirin approaches, white cloth in hand. Kaladin takes it from him, folding it into a thick square as his father’s hand drops to squeeze his shoulder.

Hesina leans around Lirin and kisses Kaladin on the cheek. “Everything will be fine. We’ll get the baby out and then the rest of it, and then you’ll heal yourself right up. We have extra Stormlight here–” she lifts a small pouch of spheres, “–just in case there are any complications with the Towerlight, though there shouldn’t be.”

“Thanks,” Kaladin says. Then to Lirin: “Just remember, you have to work fast.”

Lirin nods. “I will,” he says.

“See you soon, honey. We love you,” Hesina says, and then Kal lifts the cloth to his mouth and nose and takes a deep breath in, the sharp, bitter scent flooding his nose.

His vision spins immediately, darkening around the edges, and his hand absently falls away from his mouth before someone grasps it gently and pushes it back toward his face. He breathes in deep again, feeling his lungs expand with it, and then the blackness covers his sight and swallows him up.

_____

Adolin

The baby has Adolin’s hair, Kaladin’s eyes, and Shallan’s smile. 

Adolin holds his infant son in his arms and weeps. Shallan sits pressed up against him on the waiting room couch, cooing at the sleepy baby, and tears track down his face as Adolin stares at the precious gift he’s been given. 

Fuzzy tufts of black and blonde hair stick up wildly on the newborn’s head, and his soft brown eyes focus vaguely on Adolin’s face. He knows the baby can’t see far enough yet to make out any details, but he’s enraptured by the gaze anyway, unable to look away. The baby makes little grunting sounds, smacking his tiny lips, and smiles, though Shallan tells him newborns can’t smile yet so it’s probably gas.

That smile, though, gas or not, is not Adolin's. He and Shallan decide together that since they’ve never seen anything remotely like it on Kaladin’s face – smiles are few and far between for their bridgeboy, and they've never seen one on him as soft or as sweet as this – it must be Shallan’s.

Hesina enters from the back hall with a bottle of milk, wading through the veritable flood of spren surrounding the couple, and hands it to Shallan, who presses it gently against the baby’s mouth. 

“It might take him a few tries,” Hesina says with a smile. “I remember Kaladin didn’t eat for an entire day. Too stubborn. Until he decided he didn’t want to starve to death, anyway.”

The newborn does indeed reject the bottle the first couple of times they offer it to him, instead opting to close his eyes and nap. Adolin carefully hands him over to Shallan, making sure to support the head in the transfer. 

“How’s Kaladin?” he asks, wiping his eyes.

“He’s fine,” Hesina says. “Completely healed up; he wasn’t kidding when he told us we’d have to move fast, that’s for sure. But he’s just recovering now. Lirin is sitting with him until he wakes up.”

“Can we go see him?” Adolin asks.

“Sure,” she says, tilting her head to the side to indicate they should follow her. Adolin stands, then turns to help Shallan to her feet. She moves slowly, as if afraid of dropping the baby, and Adolin keeps his hands near hers just in case. 

He knows he’s being overly cautious but it’s scary, holding such a tiny human in his arms. They're so dependent, so vulnerable.

Hesina slowly leads them to the room adjacent to the surgery and pushes the door open quietly, peeking her head in. Then she pushes the door open wider and waves them inside.

Kaladin’s fast asleep on a clean cot in the corner. He looks exhausted, rings under his eyes, hair still slightly damp with sweat, but he looks peaceful. And thin.

It startles Adolin for a second, seeing Kaladin back in his normal body. He’s become so used to the bump and it makes him choke up slightly to see it gone, though he knows the cause of said bump is right next to him in his wife’s arms, small and sweet and precious.

Adolin clears his throat and steps up to Kaladin’s side, brushing his hair back, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Shallan follows more slowly, bouncing her steps a little and making soft hushing noises at the bundle in her arms.

Adolin feels like he might melt into a blubbering, sentimental mess of a man. But in a good way.

“I'm not sure how long it will take for him to wake up,” Lirin tells them, standing hand in hand with Hesina against the far wall. “He healed up almost immediately but from what we’ve seen it can take the mind some time to catch up to the body after healing with Light. He’s also probably very tired.”

Adolin nods, and then Shallan asks Kaladin’s parents if they want to hold the baby. They agree enthusiastically, taking the child with an ease that leaves Adolin envious. 

Kaladin wakes not too long after, and when his mother walks over and hands him his son, he too weeps, his shoulders shaking but his hold strong and safe around the tiny human in his arms.

Chapter Text

Adolin

Adolin’s life has been turned completely upside down overnight and he is thriving.

He loves waking up in the middle of the night to feed Ev, those quiet moments with just the two of them, his son’s big eyes staring up at him with innocent curiosity. He loves holding him, rocking him as he walks in circles around the apartment, talking to him, jabbering about anything and everything even though he knows Ev doesn’t understand a word of it. He loves sitting cross-legged on the bed, watching the baby wave his tiny hands in the air, legs kicking wildly. 

He’s smaller than most newborns since he arrived so early, but he has done well eating in the past week and he’s catching up quickly. Adolin’s very proud.

It’s over a week after Ev is born that Dalinar finally arrives back from handling the Azimir situation, and Adolin, for the first time in literal years, steps forward and pulls his father into a hug.

“Thank you.”

Dalinar, shocked, takes a moment to react, then wraps his arms around Adolin, hugging him back.

Unbeknownst to any of them, Dalinar, Navini, and Jasnah have been working diligently on a project over the last several weeks, one that explores new methods of instantaneous travel. They began after the whole fiasco with the spanreed failure and the inability to use the Azimir Oathgate forced Kaladin and Shallan to take drastic measures.

Taking into account how Shallan’s and Dalinar’s powers combined into something no one had ever seen before back when they’d first started creating those interactive war maps, and knowing that Light and the powers of surgebinding have started behaving in unpredictable and unfamiliar ways, they designed an experiment that let them combine Dalinar’s and Jasnah’s powers, a Bondsmith and an Elsecaller, to see the ways they could manipulate them into something new.

Jasnah is still unable to create an Elsegate on her own, but using Dalinar’s ability to open Honor’s Perpendicularity they managed to create something similar. As Aunt Navani explains it, Honor’s Perpendicularity usually appears where the Bondsmith who opens it is physically located, but when they combined that ability with Jasnah’s surge of transportation, not only did the Perpendicularity connect them to the other Realms, but in this version Dalinar could also pinpoint where he wanted it to let him out and in which realm, similar to how the Oathgates at Urithiru work but with much more flexibility. 

Of course, it requires an Elsecaller of at least the Fourth Ideal (of which there is only one that they know of) and a Bondsmith that has the ability to open Honor’s Perpendicularity (of which there are only two, one being an insane Herald), so the new skill is extremely limited as far as availability. It is also apparently very temperamental, supremely exhausting on Dalinar’s part, and requires much more testing.

The actual science of it is beyond Adolin’s ability to fully comprehend, but he understands enough to know that his family somehow found a way around the corrupted Oathgate spren at Azimir, creating their own kind of Elsegate, and that Dalinar used that very new, very taxing ability to get him back here in time for the birth of his son.

He knows they didn’t originally design the experiment just for him, that there are more practical reasons for discovering a new, quicker way to travel in emergencies, but he also doesn’t know if he will ever be able to thank them enough.

Adolin cries when he hands Everin to his father to hold. It’s surreal, because he was so sure he’d never again be able to see his father as anything other than the man who murdered his mother, his son’s namesake, and while that still stings, will probably never not hurt, there’s something about seeing this brutal, indomitable warrior holding Adolin’s son so gently, eyes impossibly tender as he takes in the features of his new grandson, that makes Adolin believe in his redemption and the possibility of reconciliation.

Renarin is over the moon at meeting his nephew, all heart-eyes and awkward hands, and Jasnah is… Jasnah. Practical and polite, but Adolin can see her eyes soften, so he knows she’s more affected than she shows. Navani, of course, dotes on the boy as much as she does Gavinor, offering to babysit every time they see her. 

One evening after Dalinar’s return Syl appears in their apartment with Pattern in tow, full-sized and carrying a thick piece of artist’s paper. Actually carrying it with her, walking up to where Kaladin sits with Adolin on the couch, a shy smile on her face as Pattern hums happily from the cushions near Adolin’s head.

“We made this for you. Well, for Everin,” she says proudly, holding it out to Kaladin. Adolin looks down as he takes it, curious, and Shallan stands from her own chair to come over and see what it is.

It’s a drawing. It’s nowhere near Shallan’s talent, of course, more reminiscent of a colorful collection of stick figures, but each of them is distinctive and recognizable. 

“Did you draw this?” Adolin asks Syl, shocked, and she nods, twisting from side to side happily.

“I’ve been practicing. Pattern helped me with my technique.”

In the picture, a figure that is clearly Shallan stands on one end in a flowing blue havah, scribbles of bright red hair reaching down to her waist. Kaladin is next, tall and regal in a Kholin blue uniform, holding what looks like a bundle of blankets in his stick arms with little lines of black and yellow poking from the top that surely represent Ev’s hair. Then Adolin, with a broad cartoon smile on his face, wearing his military uniform with the added touch of a flowing golden cape.

Next to Adolin is Maya as she appears in Shadesmar, criss-crossing green vines easily discernable on her figure, and then Syl herself, colored bright blue and wearing her own Kholin uniform. Then both Pattern and Testament, also in full-form, symbol-like faces bold and dark, standing tall with hands joined between them.

They all know Syl’s been practicing being more solid in the physical realm, experimenting with how she can interact with objects and people, but apparently she’s been holding back on how much progress she’s actually made over the last five months. She tells them now about those times she and Pattern would disappear, how they would go to their favorite hiding place, a sheltered little nook in the back corner of the library, and they’d practice her writing skills and eventually her drawing, which she says she mostly learned by watching Shallan sketch and from Pattern’s helpful instruction. 

Kaladin wipes his eyes before offering the picture to Adolin. He takes it, his own eyes wet as he stares at his stick figure family, floored by the care and effort so clearly put into this simple piece of art. 

Kaladin stands and tries to hug Syl despite her still being mostly incorporeal. He thanks her for the beautiful gift and she gives him a kiss on the cheek. Adolin follows suit, and her lips on his cheek feel like a gentle, affectionate breeze.

Shallan gives her own tearful thanks and offers to lacquer the drawing, which Syl and Pattern immediately take her up on. The spren observe the process excitedly as Shallan walks them through the steps, and Adolin pulls Kaladin into his side on the couch as they watch, the Windrunner’s head dropping to rest on his shoulder.

The first time Kaladin brings the baby down to the Bridge Four barracks he nearly incites a riot.

The men and women practically fall over themselves to see the new Prince (and oh, the face Kaladin makes the first time someone calls Ev a Prince is something Adolin will never forget). Adolin grins proudly, gloryspren flying around him in a loose halo, as Kaladin passes their son over to his old crew, and Shallan takes mental picture after mental picture, determined to remember and record every single person’s expression when they get to hold their captain’s newborn child. Maybe she will give the finished sketches to each person as a memento, or maybe she and Kaladin and Adolin will keep them, memories of how loved their child is even in his first days.

Several of the men are unsure about holding Ev at first but Kaladin shows them how, guiding their hands into the correct position to support the baby’s head, cool and confident, just like he taught them to handle a spear, so long ago. All of them are unbearably gentle, tough men and strong women now with their sharp corners softened by tenderness. A few of them even get emotional, Drehy and Leyton and Lyn and Skar’s eyes shining suspiciously, Sigzil excusing himself after his turn holding Ev to go wipe his face off in the corner, and Lopen breaking into loud, unabashed tears as he rocks the tiny human, grinning happily and telling him how excited his “Uncle Lopen” is to teach him all kinds of jokes and fun tricks while everyone else groans at the Herdazian’s proclamation, laughterspren and joyspren swirling around them despite all the grumbling.

The first month is a period of recovery. It feels to Adolin like his entire world exists right here in this tower, like nothing else outside of it matters anymore. He knows the war is still going on, knows that his father and his men and others are still fighting, still working hard to win some kind of peace for humankind, but right now he can’t see past the beautiful little family he’s somehow a part of.

Once again he finds himself grateful to his father, who has, without being asked, placed Adolin on temporary leave of duty, making sure his men are taken care of and that they have the leadership they need in his absence.

Shallan remains at the tower as well, and seeing the way she’s taken to baby Ev, standing in front of the balcony windows every morning with him in her arms, rocking from side to side and singing Veden lullabies with a swirling audience of joyspren, Adolin falls in love with her all over again. Her happiness shows in the way she carries herself, the lightness of her step, the quickness of her smile. Seeing her embrace motherhood is breathtaking.

Kaladin has good days and bad days, as he always has. They were told to expect it with the sudden absence of hormones, everything still left in his body tapering off back to pre-pregnancy levels. It’s like a kind of withdrawal, which makes sense. 

Lirin also told the three of them that a large percentage of mothers experience an extended period of depression after giving birth. The supposed reasons vary, from feeling useless to the sudden strangeness of being alone in their body again to exhaustion and general malaise. Regardless of the reasons, Lirin wanted to be very clear with them that there was a distinct possibility of this happening with Kaladin, and, of course, he was correct.

Adolin will sometimes come in from another room to find Kaladin just sitting in a chair, silent and unmoving, staring out the window with glazed eyes. Adolin, heart hurting, will wrap the Windrunner in his arms and they’ll watch the sun set, and then he’ll coax Kaladin into bed, where he can press himself against the other man more fully. Shallan will feed the baby and rock him to sleep in the bassinet they keep by the side of the bed, and then she’ll cuddle up with them, the two of them holding Kaladin tight in their arms until he finally gives in to sleep. 

It’s not every day, and Kaladin is often able to push through it and function normally, but Adolin can see how much he’s struggling and it breaks his heart. Lirin tells him there’s not much he can do and that usually it passes with time and support, but that Kaladin has always been somewhat of a special case when it comes to sadness.

They have one particularly hard evening where Kaladin is nearly unresponsive, worrying them both so much that Adolin actually reaches out to Lirin and Hesina. They come immediately, though there isn’t much more they can do for Kaladin than what Adolin and Shallan have already tried. They end up leaving an hour later with a promise to check in the following morning, making sure to tell Adolin on their way out, eyes full of worry, to not leave Kaladin alone tonight. 

He doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. He and Shallan stay near Kaladin for the rest of the night, showering him with patience and love and physical touch, the latter of which Adolin thinks is at least partially for their own benefit. He stays awake through the night and into the morning, unable to sleep, staring at Kaladin’s strong profile in slumber, chest tight and aching.

Kaladin seems better the next day, still down but less catatonic, and Adolin’s worry eases some as he watches Kaladin and Shallan share a bowl of fruit during breakfast on the balcony.

Throughout the day Adolin wracks his exhausted brain for some way to help Kaladin, and eventually he comes up with an idea he thinks might work to improve the other man’s mood. 

Exercise is something Kaladin missed sorely during his pregnancy, especially in those last few months, and by all accounts he’s completely cleared to resume whatever kind of training he wants to do, though he hasn’t, mostly because of a combination of not wanting to miss out on even a second with baby Ev and him just not feeling up to it. But working out his body might be a good way to help clear his mind and reset. It always helps Adolin feel rejuvenated, so hopefully with Kaladin the effects will be similar.

He asks Kaladin that evening after dinner, as they’re all relaxing in the living area. 

Adolin is laying on his stomach facing Ev, who is wiggling around miserably on his belly on the rug in front of him. He seems to hate the position, despite how necessary both Hesina and Navani insist it is for a baby’s development, and he makes small, angry noises every time he attempts to lift his head up and fails.

Adolin takes pity on him and rolls him over onto his back and Ev coos happily at the change of view. He’s started to smile recently, real smiles, not just gas, and Adolin practically melts every time he is able to draw one out.

“Do you want to spar with me tomorrow?” He asks as he tickles one of Ev’s soft little feet with a finger. Ev kicks at him and Adolin smiles.

“Spar?” Kaladin asks distractedly. 

He’s sitting next to Shallan on the couch, head tilted back onto the cushion while he watches her sketch a portrait of Ev sleeping in his bassinet.  

Adolin boops Ev on the nose and chuckles as the baby tries to grab at his finger, reactions jerky and slow.

“Yeah, spar. Go down to the training area and move around a bit, work some muscles that haven’t been used in a while.”

Kaladin shrugs, gaze still on Shallan’s drawing.

“Sure,” he says, and Adolin takes it as a win. Hopefully getting his blood moving will help some with the listlessness. Maybe reintroduce old hobbies.

So the next morning he and Kaladin head down to the training ground after breakfast, and when they get there Adolin insists they start with a kata to stretch out neglected muscles and find their center. Kaladin rolls his eyes but agrees, and they begin with one that Kaladin has also done before, the one Zahel taught Adolin so many years ago.

Halfway through he’s already begun to see a change in the Windrunner. Kaladin stands taller, his eyes brighter, focus sharper as he holds one pose and moves to the next. The Windrunner seems to notice the change in himself, too, catching Adolin’s eyes and giving him a wry smile, and Adolin grins, happy to have helped even just this little bit.

Kaladin enjoys the kata so much that when they finish he asks Adolin if he can do a spear kata as well before they start sparring, and Adolin immediately tosses him a spear from the weapons rack, Kaladin catching it neatly and twirling it once before twisting it into position and lunging at the air, quick and deadly and beautiful.

It takes Adolin’s breath away. 

He’s heard the story of the Chasm Kata from various members of Bridge Four, but hearing it is not the same as seeing it. He’s seen Kaladin do enough katas that he’s lost count, spear and sword alike, but he doesn’t think he’s ever seen him lose himself in it the way he does now. Scratch that, he knows he's never seen it. This must be what that first kata was like, down in the chasms, back when he was still a bridgeman, fighting every day just to survive and somehow inspiring an entire crew of men to follow him just by being himself. 

He moves like the wind, smooth and flowing and graceful. Long limbs dance in and out of stances both practical and not, muscles pulling taut under the strain and releasing. The spear cuts through the air gracefully, and Kaladin spins it in his hands so quickly it’s just a blur, Adolin losing track of which end is which until it suddenly snaps into place again, perfectly balanced. 

Kaladin’s movements eventually slow into something more akin to Zahel’s sword kata, more of a meditative stretch, and then he halts completely, face flushed and eyes bright.

“You doing okay there, princeling?” He asks with a smirk, eyeing the awespren circling around Adolin’s head. 

Adolin’s face burns at being caught basically drooling over the man, but he grins, pushing the embarrassment away. This is his husband, he’s allowed to look.

“A little hot, a little bothered, but nothing a good, sweaty spar can’t fix,” he says, chipper. 

And Kaladin throws back his head and laughs, exposing his neck, sweat beading in shining droplets on his tan skin.

Well. If Adolin wasn’t drooling before he absolutely is now. 

“Actually, you know what,” he says, striding up to Kaladin and yanking the spear from his hands before tossing it to the side. “Let’s take a rain check on the sparring.” 

Kaladin’s eyes glitter as Adolin tugs him down into a heated kiss. 

_____

Kaladin

Sometimes Kaladin looks at his life and feels like an imposter. Like he somehow tricked Shallan and Adolin into loving him, like he dreamed up the whole pregnancy and it was actually Shallan who carried Ev instead, and he’s still just the third wheel, waiting to be cut loose the moment they decide they’ve had enough. 

And then there will be a moment, something simple and quaint, that somehow has the same effect as a shardhammer, just smashing into him with incredible force that this is real, this is his, and it’s not going anywhere. 

This is real. This is his. It’s not going anywhere. 

He’s living one of those moments now. Everin is in the basin in the bathroom as they wash the remnants of dinner from his face, his hair, his storming feet, and they’re all crowded together, he and Adolin and Shallan and Syl, just laughing at the fact that they’re having to wash the food out from between Ev’s toes.

His laughter fades but his happiness does not, and he watches as Adolin tries to get a hold of Ev’s foot as the little cremling keeps kicking and splashing water everywhere, squealing happily. He watches Shallan, who tries to help and just ends up getting wet in the process, and Syl, who is the cause of all the kicking, making more and more outrageous faces at the baby, making him shriek and giggle with joy. 

He never could have predicted this is where his life would take him. Never could have guessed he’d have the love of not one, but two of the best, strongest people he’s ever known, and the friendship, the partnership, of a piece of divinity that for some insane reason believes he’s deserving of her. 

He loves them all so much and the thought of losing them still terrifies him enough that sometimes it freezes him in his tracks, but he’s at a place now where he’s determined to trust people, especially those close to him, when they tell him they love him and want him around, that they’re not going to leave. It’s hard, because he knows better than anyone how life can change in a second, especially now, when war is so close to them. But he tries to believe it anyway, because living in fear has never worked for him, and he wants to be better now, has to be better.

Because he has a son. He has Ev, the most perfect little human he’s ever seen, with his wild hair and his big brown eyes, his perfect smile and contagious laugh. He wants to be better for him, every single day. His mind still fights him sometimes, but he thinks he’s winning. Hopes he is.

Kaladin scoops the now freshly-clean baby out of the basin and wraps him in a towel, then takes him out to the living area while Shallan and Adolin change out of their sopping wet clothes. Laying Ev gently on the couch, he wraps a clean cloth diaper around him, then lifts him back into his arms so Kaladin can turn and settle himself into the soft cushions.

He props Ev up on his thighs, the four-month old’s chubby legs attempting and failing to hold his own weight, knees buckling, but Ev’s not discouraged at all. He laughs and lurches forward, trying to grab at Kaladin’s hair with tiny fingers shiny with saliva. He’s successful, latching onto a dark lock, and Kaladin winces, attempting to free himself with one hand as Ev screams with delight and tries to eat his hair.

“Why is it always the hair, Bud?” Kaladin asks woefully as Ev babbles happily, waving his spit-sticky fists in the air and pulling at Kaladin’s scalp sharply.

“Your hair must be pretty tasty,” Syl comments, sitting down next to him. He swears he can feel the couch dip slightly as she does.

“I highly doubt that,” Kaladin says, gently tugging at the strand until it slips free. It’s damp, which is gross, but he just tucks it behind his ear and smiles at Ev, who tries to headbutt him.

“Whoa there,” he says, and Ev giggles.

“He looks like you,” Syl says, not for the first time, leaning to put her face right next to Kaladin’s. Ev reaches for her and she sticks her tongue out, earning another laugh and several laughterspren, which draw Ev’s attention immediately.

“That’s a compliment,” Adolin says, leaning over the couch to kiss Kaladin on the cheek. Kaladin raises his eyebrows comically at Ev, who is once again going for Kaladin’s hair. The baby giggles, making Kaladin smile.

“Aunt Navani asked if we can do dinner tomorrow night,” Adolin calls as he walks back into the bedroom, presumably to put on socks; Adolin always complains that his toes get cold on the stone. Kaladin, on the other hand, thinks the coolness feels nice on his feet and prefers to walk barefoot around the apartment.

“Just us?” Kaladin asks, craning his neck to look at the bedroom door where Adolin disappeared.

“No, Renarin and Rlain will be there, and she asked if your parents wanted to join, too. She said they’re welcome to bring Oroden.”

Kaladin turns and smiles at Ev. “She wants to have a playdate, Rockbud,” he tells him. Ev babbles and Kaladin nods seriously, eyes wide. “Mhm. You and Oroden and Gav. You remember Gav?”

Ev sees Oroden all the time, since Kaladin has started working in the clinic again and he’ll often bring Ev with him at his mother’s request. She says he keeps her entertained when she gets bored doing paperwork. It’s a silly excuse, because she could just bring her own toddler to work if she really needed the distraction, but Kaladin knows this is obviously just a special thing between her and her grandson, so he lets her get away with it. 

Usually on those days he’ll go back to his parents’ for dinner, and Ev and Oroden will pal around on the rug, Ev significantly less mobile but no less enthusiastic. The amount of drool he’s had to wipe off those toy horses is shocking.

They haven’t seen Gav in a few weeks, though, so it stands to reason that Ev has completely forgotten about his cousin, as young children will do if something is out of sight for more than thirty seconds.

Ev seems perfectly happy with the idea of a playdate so Kaladin nods at Adolin when he reenters the room with fuzzy blue socks on his feet. Shallan follows, her own feet slippered, and comes over to steal Ev away from Kaladin, lifting him up into the air to his great delight.

Adolin circles the couch, blocking Kaladin’s view. Before Kaladin can push him aside, though, Adolin reaches out and tilts his chin up with two fingers, leaning down to give him a soft kiss.

Adolin pulls away with a besotted smile, eyes stunningly blue, and murmurs, “I love you.”

Kaladin leans up just enough to capture his lips again, pressing them gently together for a long moment before separating.

“I love you too,” he says. He smiles.

This is real. This is his. 

It’s not going anywhere.