There was never a better bridge crew
Chowing down on Horneater stew
Come laugh 'round the fire and rest
Saved from despair by Stormblessed
Contrary to popular opinion among the many, many brightlords and masters he served in his short twenty-three years, Lopen was not a stupid man. Foolishly talkative and impulsively friendly, weeeelllllllll, yes, he could admit to those traits. But he was not stupid.
Six years ago, he'd just been a low-ranking servant whose family got dragged out to the plains with Sebarial's caravan. His mother always worried, but he was lighthearted and likeable enough that the trouble he got into usually never came back to pinch him. Usually. They called his optimism naïve, said that he'd suffocate himself by joking so much. He'd lost track of the number of times lighteyes had cuffed him on the ear and scolded to join the "real world."
He rejected that. Only a great man could laugh off a blow, instead of staying down and getting angry all the time. Being a good sport was the only way to survive. He'd laughed off the taunts and stares as a boy, preferring to make up heroic stories of his heroism in battle. Ironic now. He laughed bitterly at the war, too, and smiled at stiff masters who needed some fun to drag them out of their moods, even if they didn't know it yet. No matter how bad it got, amusement existed any situation, like searching for treasure in the wreckage of a highstorm.
He had to admit that laughing looked bleak now. Gaz stomped down the lumber yard, assessing the poor sods who'd just arrived for their first day of bridge duty. One indignant jibe in response to a long string of abuse was all it took to send him here for good. Never thought old Lamaril would go through on all the threats.
Damnation. He'd really done himself in this time.
Well. If he talked his way into this mess, he was bound and determined to talk his way out. Even if that meant arguing with the Almighty himself to get a good job in the Tranquiline Halls.
After meeting Bridge Four, he half wondered if arguing with the Almighty would be easier. He'd been in the war camps long enough to take pity on the bridgemen, and now here he was. Never in his life had he met such a sour set of slops. And that was saying something! He'd shared a room with cousin Issiah for an entire week once! No use in dwelling on the troubles when there was work to be done. He wasn't afraid of death. He'd mastered the old "life before death" saying. First, being sick as a baby. Then losing his arm in that shop accident when he was four. Then… well. He and Death went waaaay back. Invite him over for dinner, then sent him packing on his way before dessert, but he'd like to avoid the encounter if possible.
He picked Kaladin out as different from the moment he'd approached Gaz. The unique side carry stunt of the first bridge run only minutes after that only confirmed his expectations. Lopen saw the entire thing without the blindfold of the bridge struts in front of his face. He hung back with the water litter and the moolie, horrified at the approach. The lines fell apart, other bridge crews toppled, and it was too late to warn the others. He screamed a warning, but it drowned in the noise and chaos of the battle. They made it to the cavern before anyone else and got out alive, but at a steep cost. When they made their way back to an outcropping of rock, he hurried to meet them. Their leader now realized what happened, and the haunted look on his face gave Lopen chills. The others hung back, elated at their survival, terrified for their new fate, anticipating Kaladin's next decision. He silently passed around the water skins. What else could he do?
Everything happened so fast after that. Kal's beating, his punishment in the highstorm, their Lamaril's execution–there was no time to process everything, so Lopen did the only thing he could do. He offered water, and a smile, and a helping hand. In the days of the captain's recovery, he attempted to learn everyone's names and stories, and kept them distracted from their worry with a constant stream of chatter. Even though he'd barely met their leader before the disaster, he still felt the anxiety of the others who considered him their savior. He shared the elation when Gon finally woke up.
Bridge-man life fell into a predictable pattern after that, and he found himself oddly content to be a part of it. The food stunk, the clothes itched, the lodging wasn't much better than sleeping flat on the rock itself. Cavern duty was exhausting; the pay was practically useless, and the practice frustrating at best since he couldn't participate. A near-death experience every couple of days, be it from the bridge runs or the chasms, that was just business as usual. And for the first time in he-didn't-know-how-long, he had friends he could trust. Bridge Four differed from any other community he'd been a part of. Most of his cousins humored him out of begrudging familial ties, and the fickle loyalties of old friends only lasted as long as convenience. Soldiers lived together out of necessity and shared respect for each other, but he'd never seen a squad that worked as close or grieved together as much as they did.
For not being able to carry a bridge, he belonged here as much as the rest of them. He belonged with Dabbid hauling water and keeping quick pace with the runners. He belonged by Rock's elbow, spooning out the stew every night and inspecting it for bits of shell. He belonged with Kaladin and Teft, privy to all the planning and providing resources from his connections in camp. He belonged with Hobber, acting as a human crutch, and commiserating over the loss of a limb. He belonged with Sigzil, swapping stories and seeing if the worldsinger caught his exaggerations. He belonged when he teased Moash. He belonged to the off-key choir that sang boisterous ballads around the campfire and driving work songs when they marched to battle. And he belonged when they all mourned over a fallen friend.
Lopen was not a stupid man. He knew the end would come for them all, violently or not, as well as the rest of them. But he also knew how to live first.
Four hours / Carryin' our load
Four hours / Sloggin' in the rain
Four hours / No, we won't be bowed
Then, four hours / 'til it starts again