Shallan
Shallan loathed Lieutenant Kaladin. Not the sort of loathing one would feel for a truly despicable person, nor the complicated mix of fear and love and hate she had felt toward her father. Merely exhausted anger directed at the man who made her run until she threw up and then started weapons training. On her first day at the warcamps. She knew it was necessary. She knew she would die without better training. And she knew he knew it. But for now, she latched onto the anger because it was the only thing keeping her from collapsing.
She reached for the spheres in her pocket, but Pattern buzzed a warning, just like she had instructed him to. "Your prediction of your own weakness is shockingly accurate," he remarked, "Now I'm to remind you that you need to save some Stormlight for your illusions, just in case. There's supposed to be a highstorm tonight. Just a few more hours," Pattern told her soothingly.
They'd arrived at the warcamps late last night and camped just outside. Getting the soldiers split up into their assigned units, not to mention unpacking and getting them settled, took time, so the caravan commander opted to wait until morning.
The bugle sounded at sunrise and the army efficiently packed up camp. For all that they were the worst soldiers Vedenar had to offer, at least they had learned some discipline on their long march. Shallan herself was finally becoming accustomed to the early mornings. Well, mostly. She hadn't lost her temper before breakfast in nearly a week.
Shallan had served as an aide to the caravan commander during the march to the Shattered Plains and had quickly become a favorite because of her aptitude with the maps. He would be returning to Vedenar with the next merchant caravan to leave the camps, so Shallan made sure to take a moment to wish him well before the morning got too hectic. He was an old man, so involved in army life that he had never married, so he tended to treat his aides like the grandsons he'd never had. And sure enough, he ruffled her short hair fondly and told her, "Jushu, you're a good lad. Stay out of trouble."
"Yes sir, I'll try," she grinned, "Though I make no promises. As you know, trouble has a way of finding me."
After packing up camp, the soldiers were split up. Each of the Alethi Highprinces had their own army, so a tenth of the Veden reinforcements went to each one. Shallan was assigned to Sadeas. Every Veden child, no matter how sheltered, had heard tales of the unification of Alethkar and burned prayers to the Almighty that Sadeas and the Blackthorn would never turn their attention to Jah Kheved. The servants' children had insisted that Sadeas ate axehound puppies for breakfast and babies for dessert. As an adult, she knew logically that such tales were nonsense, but that didn't stop the racing of her heart as she marched with the others toward the Sadeas warcamp. It didn't help that the Alethi were so tall and intimidating.
Thankfully, they were met by a pompous, portly man in a bright purple coat and green takama. Shallan would have felt underdressed in her drab traveling clothes, had the colors been less... intense. As it was, he looked ridiculous, which calmed Shallan's nerves a bit. He announced, "I am Captain Jeral Mavarien. I'm in charge of Company Three in the darkeyed infantry battallion, serving under Battalionlord Saal Ralashin. Now, I've had your reports read to me and the only logical conclusion I can draw is that Vedenar has sent us nothing but crem. I wouldn't want you on guard duty, let alone protecting my flank in battle. Fortunately for you, we already have all the canon fodder we need, and fortunately for me, we've just formed a new training platoon, so I don't have to deal with your incompetence for some time. Together with the men due to arrive from Alethkar next week, you'll serve under Lieutenant Kaladin here."
Mavarien gestured to a man in a worn green uniform, who looked as stereotypically Alethi as Shallan looked Veden. He was at least ten centimeters taller than the Captain, deeply tanned, with dark hair which was pulled back from his face in a tight knot. Even though his uniform was poorly tailored, Shallan could tell that he was lean and muscular. And the scowl on his face completed the 'competent and terrifying soldier' look.
Mavarien continued giving instructions, then eventually dismissed the darkeyed spearmen. They marched off the parade ground, leaving Shallan standing alone.
Mavarien called, "Halt," to the spearmen he had just dismissed. Sneering at Shallan, he said, "We've got a straggler. What are you waiting for, boy?"
"Excuse me?" Shallan asked, once she realized he was talking to her.
"Why don't you go with the rest of your lot?" countered the Captain.
"The rest? Oh, the foot soldiers. There must be some mistake, I'm Ensign Jushu Davar. Is there some sort of officer's training or -" she trailed off under the pressure of Mavarien's intense glare. But honestly, what was she supposed to say? This whole experience had taken a mortifying turn rather quickly.
Mavarien asked the scribe to find Jushu's name in the training camp report and read it aloud. It was... not exactly flattering, but did the scribe really have to sound so smug about it?
"In short, the boy is earnest and eager to please, but lacks the coordination to be an effective infantry soldier and the experience to be a good officer. " she concluded haughtily.
"Wonderful," drawled Mavarien sarcastically. He considered for a moment, and his grimace morphed into a cold smile. "The answer seems simple enough. You're in obvious need of further training, so you'll be in Platoon Fifteen with the rest of the new arrivals."
"Now just a minute," said the sullen platoon leader, "You can't just lump a lighteyed officer - even an Ensign - with the darkeyes like this."
"Of course not, Stormblessed," Mavarien replied, "He's to be your second-in-command."
The lieutenant snorted, "That's not funny, commander."
"It's not a joke."
Then, turning to Shallan, Mavarien asked, "What is your father's rank, boy?"
"F-fourth dahn," Shallan replied.
Lieutenant Kaladin sputtered, "Fourth dahn! You don't seriously expect him to listen to me? Even if the boy was a tenner, this would be unprecedented, but fourth dahn..."
"I'm the youngest son, of four," Shallan supplied, wanting nothing more than for this confrontation to be over.
"It doesn't matter if you've got a hundred older brothers, you're not going to take orders from a darkeyes!" Lieutenant Kaladin shouted.
Oh. He had such a defiant, almost regal, bearing that Shallan hadn't even looked at his eyes. And he was an officer. How was she supposed to know the Alethi let darkeyes rise so far in the ranks? Well, at least he wasn't objecting to Shallan - Jushu - personally.
Kaladin turned to Mavarien, "This will cause major disruptions in the chain of command. I don't think -"
"Oh now you care about the chain of command," Mavarien countered.
Great. Shallan had somehow managed to get herself caught in the middle of a battle of egos on her first day in camp.
Mavarien continued, "Look, he's too high ranking for infantry, too clumsy for cavalry and all the aide positions are filled. I want to keep him as far from the battlefield as possible and right now, that's you."
Then, directing a glare at Shallan, Mavarien continued, "Listen boy, as far as you're concerned, Lieutenant Kaladin is a storming Highprince. If I hear you're being insubordinate, I'll put you on the front lines before you can send so much as think about sending word to your father."
Shallan replied, "Yes, sir," and fell in line behind the lieutenant but in front of the darkeyed troops as they marched to the barracks.
Lieutenant Kaladin showed the men around the camp - detouring past the medical facilities, quartermaster's post, and mess tents. He pointed out the strategic headquarters and more reputable sections of the marketplace.
Then he gave them fifteen minutes to get settled in the barracks before he took them outside the war camp and led them in running laps around the wall.
Shallan knew she should probably be grateful that her commanding officer wasn't one to sit and watch his men do all the work, and that he was physically in good condition. Logically, that boded well for their unit's success on the battlefield. But she sat on the ground, utterly exhausted, and he looked barely winded as he passed out practice staffs to the men. Then he demonstrated a spear kata so perfectly it looked more like dancing than fighting and she couldn't help but hate him, just a little bit.