Reviews:
Thatonesuperwholockedgirl: Thanks! Yeah, I kinda realized after the chapter my mistake in that regard.
Wolfboy98: Will do! Thank you!
FirstThaumaturgy: That's what I'm aiming for! Thank you very much!
KSdees: Yeah, I caught that after the chapter was published. Unfortunately, since I can't copy and paste, don't have the chapters on my doc manager anymore, and don't have the patience to write out the previous chapters, I won't be able to fix those. You shouldn't see a problem with that anymore though!
Kaladin stormed into the armory and ripped off his helmet, throwing it on the ground hard enough to chip the stonework and scratch the paint on his visor. The armor bearers and quartermasters' eyes shot up as he swept towards the back of the room, a torch on the wall whipping in the breeze of his stride. He found the nearest armor stand, and began to unlatch his shoulder guard.
"Bright lord?" One of the servants asked. "Do... do you nee-"
"I'm fine" Kaladin said back.
The servant bowed as Kaladin continued looking into nothingness, his hands working at the plate lock on his shoulder. In the back of his mind, he noted that the servant had laid his helmet on a nearby table. He didn't care. He finally managed to get the storming shoulder-piece off, yanking it, and bringing the thing into eye view. He held it in front of him, noting the intricate swirling patters in the metalwork. He wanted to throw it. He settled for a half hearted toss on the floor.
Kaladin sat back on a nearby chair, his sigh accompanied by the groan of the wood seat. He swept his hair back, drops of sweat on his brow mingling with the rough dirt that had snuck through his gauntlets and onto his hand. He looked over to the table, spotting his helmet. The scratch on the paint almost looked like the mark of an unsuccessful blade. Almost, but it wasn't. And why would it be? He didn't go into battle. He didn't say a word while those bridgemen were getting slaughtered. He sat and watched like everyone else.
His mind kept replaying the scene of that one boy, trampled by the rest of the men, dying on the rocky floor of the plateau. It had only happened a short couple of hours ago, and yet for the life of him he couldn't remember the boy's face. No, instead Tien's face was there looking up at the sky with a blank expression. Tien was the one who's lungs had been popped by his shattered ribs, his body trampled by panicked, half dead slaves.
And Kaladin wasn't rushing forward to help. He was watching. All those dark eyes were dying, and Kaladin was just watching. Tien was dying, and Kaladin was just storming watching! Kaladin the surgeon, unable to save a single life! Kaladin the soldier, unable to protect a single man! Kaladin the bright eyes... sitting on his horse, in his gleaming shardplate. Kaladin the bright eyes, sitting on a throne of dark eyed corpses.
The irony of that. The one occupation that he didn't want seemed the one he was best at.
Kaladin looked behind him, seeing Pashil undoing the latches on his plate. The man looked down at him, before calling some servants over. They approached hesitantly, looking to Kaladin with anticipation. Kaladin gave a tired nod at them. Pashil stood back, gently dusting his hands as the armorers took his place. Kaladin stood, letting them work.
"We have another party today, in celebration of Sadeas' victory". Pashil said. Kaladin was silent. "I've ordered your dress wear from you quarters. We're expected to be down there in an hour". Kaladin was still silent.
"You seem angry, Kaladin" Pashil said.
"And what gave that away?" Now it was Pashil's turn to be silent "...Sorry... I didn't mean to snap...".
"It's alright. I understand. It's frustrating, I know. You'll see battle soon though, and then you can prove your worth to Sadeas" Kaladin sighed.
"That's the least of my worries right now".
"What then?"
"I didn't do anything to help the dark eyes down there. I didn't do anything to stop the bridgemen from being killed"
"Kaladin, you're not all powerful. You can't possibly blame yourself for what happens in a battle. Did you come to camp expecting to charge into the Parshendi like a champion, saving everyone from the horrors of war and winning the peoples adoration?"
"I'm not talking about-" Kaladin sighed, rubbing his eyes. "...I'm expected to be different. The soldiers look at Sadeas, look at the king, all of the shardbearers, and they have amazement in their eyes. They have wonder in their expression. They look at me with the plate on, and... there's not that disconnect. There's admiration, pride. They still look at me like I'm one of them..."
"What are you saying?"
"I'm-..." Kaladin sighed. "I'm worried that I'm starting to become what I hate... I'm worried about ruining all of this... I'm worried about what this storming plate is doing to me..."
"Kaladin, they can't just erase your entire upbringing, your life in a manner of days. You are still a dark eyes, even if they say otherwise"
"And how did I prove that today? By sitting on a horse in my perfect set of armor, watching as dark eyed servants suffered and died while our army reaped the benefits? Watching those under me scramble to save their lives as I patiently wait for them to set the bridge so I can rush into glory, only to sit back anyway, throwing away their lives for nothing? How exactly is that not the behavior of a light-eyes, Pashil?" Kaladin noticed that the servants behind him had stopped working. Pashil sent them a glance, and they hesitantly continued.
Pashil remained silent, watching him. Kaladin sat down as the last of his armor was disassembled.
"I wanted to help carry their bridge back after the assault, but... I couldn't bring myself to do it..." Kaladin said. Pashil simply nodded at him, sitting down at the table. Kaladin continued. "I saw some of the other soldiers being ordered to help carry the bridges, and... I wished they'd have asked me to help carry with them. But they didn't. I..."
"I understand" Pashil said. The two simply sat in silence as Kaladin looked down at the grain of the table.
"Kaladin... you have to know your not at fault. You can't blame yourself like this. What could you have done? Charged in and gotten yourself killed? Give the Parshendi another set of plate, that would cause the death of even more people? Lose the chance to show everyone that dark eyes can do exactly what you've done? You're not invincible, Kaladin. You're just a man."
"You're just a man..." Kaladin thought.
Kaladin leaned against the stone pillar, tugging at the itchy, ornate cloth that clung to his skin like a rash. He looked over to the open balcony, wind blowing into the room from the cold night outside. Past it was the approaching storm-wall in the distance, wisps of lightning pulsing behind the mask of dark grey clouds. Or perhaps they were spren, glowing and zooming around like fireflies. He couldn't tell at this distance. He didn't particularly care, either.
"A drink, my lord?"
Kaladin turned to the servant, spotting a trey on his shoulder holding goblets of fine rich drink, a gleam on his polished shoes, and lack of stain or blemish on his white shirt. The servant was smiling a wide, fake servant's smile. His oak-brown eyes turned from pleasant, to questioning as Kaladin let the offer hang in the air. The servant began to look back and forth a bit.
"Um... you are, umm... Bright Lord Kaladin, correct, sir?". Kaladin closed his eyes at the name, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose.
"...Yes, I am. Sorry, I was lost in thought".
"Oh, no worries, my lord! My apologies for any offense!".
"You didn't even-" Kaladin sighed, rubbed his eyes, blunted the edge on his words, and continued. "Of course. No harm done. No thank you- on the drink, that is". The servant bowed.
"Have a pleasant night, my lord. And enjoy the high storm!".
"Same to you..." Kaladin mumbled. He looked over to the party. The expensive white tablecloths were trimmed with red linen, Sadeas' symbol dotting along their edges. Three garish, crystal chandlers hung from the ceiling, the middle being a twice as large as the other two. Mirrors sat along the walls, reflecting the multiple groups of rich aristocrats, nobles, and generals, each wearing fine clothes with fine boots and fine shoes on their feet, with fine drinks in their hands and fine words on their lips.
"My, myyy stormblessed! Why, you almost finally look the part of a light eyes in that dress wear! I never thought I'd see the day!". Kaladin sighed, looking up at the man before him.
"What are you doing here, Remen? If I remembered right, the invitations to this party were for fifth dahn and up?"
"Oh, come now! What will you do? Send someone to escort me out? Have em' take care of your problems for you, instead of manning up and doing them yourself? From what I heard from the other officers, you're pretty good at that". Before Kaladin could even respond, a voice spoke up for him.
"What my officers-" Laskal said, approaching up behind him "are or aren't good at are none of your concern, young man. Might I ask what you're doing at an event in which you have no place being?" Laskal gave Kaladin a smirk and a look, both of which said "oh, look how right I am!".
"Simply found myself needing a place to hunker down for the approaching storm, general! The guards seemed okay with it! And there was no way I'd be hiding out in those drab barracks nearby. You wouldn't have the mind to force me back out with the storm so close, would you general?"
"Of course not. Simply do not overstay your welcome, nor bother the guests" Remen gave an over-exaggerated bow.
"As you wish, general" He said, giving Kaladin a jaunty wave as he left.
"Little kremling probably bribed his way in" Laskal said with a sigh. He leaned against the pillar, alongside his soldier. Kaladin looked down, him mind replaying the grim, resigned look the man had on the battlefield yesterday as he watched the bridgemen die. Laskal paused for a moment, looking at his lieutenant's expression.
"I suppose" Laskal said "by that look on your face that you feel rather out of your element right now, with all this-" He made a gesture towards everything around him. Kaladin didn't move to correct the man. " Whad'ya say you were before the army? A doctor?"
"Surgeon" Kaladin said, noting that the man spoke much more informally outside the battlefield.
"Mmm. Precise, then. Good with your tools. You like your problems to always have an answer, I'm guessing? Preferably one answer? I'm sure the army didn't help push that down".
"Something like that" Kaladin said, mumbling.
"I guess you could say I'm the same". He said with a sigh, looking up at the ceiling. "Never was one for all this. Hate it, even. I prefer the battlefield. If I lose there, I know why I lost. I can understand reasons for why things happen. Here, there's so many details and hidden meanings that all just go over my head".
"Why even be here, then?" Kaladin asked. "At least you have the power to refuse". Laskal gave a single, gruff chuckle at this.
"It's a necessary evil. Court politics in Alethkar attributes to winning this war as much as the battlefield does".
"I find that hard to believe"
"Same here. But it's true. The High Princes like being in these people's good graces, which means we need to be in these people's good graces. If we don't show up, they go and get all offended, then the High Prince looses support bit by bit, then he get's mad at us, and then-"
"I understand" Kaladin said, not wanting to understand in the least bit.
"Don't worry about it, son. I hate it as well".
"Then why not change it?" Kaladin said. "Why not tell Sadeas that this is the storming army, and things like politics and wealth shouldn't be more important than winning the war?" Laskal chuckled at this.
"Had the same attitude, a few decades back. But it just doesn't work that way. You can't just go change hundreds of years of culture in a single lifetime".
Kaladin looked at the man, and pointed at his eyes.
"You're an exception to the rule, Lieutenant. Not the rule itself. Don't worry about it too much" He said, patting Kaladin's shoulder "You'll acclimate to it. It'll just take time".
"You'll acclimate..." Kaladin thought. He looked over to the man. There was desire in his eyes, an intensity in his pupils that told Kaladin the man did want to see everything around him change. But those same eyes were slanted, with bags underneath them. In front of that desire was... acceptance. Resignation. It was the same resignation he had when he looked at those bridgemen. Like it was some kind of necessary evil, instead of just outright evil.
"I don't want to acclimate to this..." Kaladin thought, as the door's to the outside closed, and the storm slammed in to the delight of the aristocrats. "I don't want to be like you..."
Kaladin looked down at his hands as he slowly wrapped the bandages around his wrists. He wasn't used to his hands being this clean. In fact, it took him a while to remember when they last were. That was... back to the days in his father's shop, when hourly hand washing was mandatory. His hands were slimmer then, less calloused. Since his time in the army, he grew used to seeing black dirt in his fingernails and smudges on his palms.
"...just recently placed our request in, so the king's blades and sheath should make it's way to us in perhaps a week..."
He tied off the bandage, tucking it underneath it's own wrapping, before turning his hands back and forth. When had he cleaned them last? He didn't remember doing so last night before the party, or even before then. How were they still untouched? Kaladin realized with a start that he had washed them yesterday afternoon, before going into battle, just in case he needed to contribute his medical talents to the army. Still, that long, and they weren't...
"...of course, the Kholins are higher up on the list, but nonetheless, training will continue. Now, let's..."
Kaladin realized that he hadn't done any "grunt work" for a bit of time now. He hadn't done anything that would get his hands dirty. That was... unnatural to him. He was used to marches with a spear in his hands, digging posts for camp, simply rubbing his hands in the dirt so he could rid himself of the sweat on his palms. Dirty hands was a sign of a day of work well spent. How had he spent his days until now? Feasts, he realized. And armor fittings, and talks with ardents. He'd done nothing that was...
...He'd done nothing a dark eyes would do... No. That's alright. At the very least, he could change that now. Some time in the practice ring would do him well.
"Bright Lord?"
"Yes?" Kaladin said, looking up at Yamithar. Kaladin's eyes scrunched up a little, and he felt a twang go off inside him as he realized he had just answered the title "bright lord" instinctively, without even thinking. He forced the feeling down.
"My apologies. I thought you might not be listening".
"Sorry. I got a bit lost in thought... you were talking about renting the high king's blade?". Yamithar coughed a bit, and continued.
"Yes, we'll be able to practice within a weeks time. Now-" Yamithar looked up, as Pashil stepped onto the training grounds, holding some parchment. He looked at Yamithar, and purposefully glanced at Kaladin. "Do you need to step aside?" Yamithar asked. Kaladin stood, hoisting up a practice staff, used to simulate a shardblade.
"No, whatever it is, he can tell me about it while I practice form" Yamithar glanced at him, then Pashil, then back to him. He shrugged, and held up his own practice staff, as Kaladin stepped into stance.
"The collectors of your holding wrote you multiple times asking what tax rate you would like to set for your lands" Pashil said.
"Tax rate?" Kaladin asked, pausing for a brief moment, before continuing his form work, the oak of his staff slapping and clacking against Yamithar's. "Oh, that. I thought I sent them a letter saying set it at zero".
"Well, that's the thing, Kaladin. They thought you were joking".
"Well" Kaladin said, grunting as he swung the staff up. "Tell them I wasn't. Isn't taxes supposed to be Sadeas' problem, anyways?"
"A mandatory tenth is taken for Sadeas, but further taxation is under your jurisdiction".
"Alright then, set it at zero for my portion. I don't exactly need the wealth, and the farmers could certainly use it more than me".
"Well... you can't exactly do that". Kaladin sighed, turning.
"And why can't I?" He said.
"Well, if you do, it'll increase dangerously increase the land value".
"Dangerously increas- ah!" Kaladin yelped as Yamithar's staff smacked into his thigh.
"Pay attention, Kaladin! Keep your guard low! The length of your blade will accommodate for guarding your upper section" Yamithar said. Normally, Kaladin would be far more tempered and patient with training. Better a bruise now than a missing limb on the battlefield. But with the last few days, he couldn't help but toss a glare at the man.
"Alright..." Kaladin said. "What's exactly 'dangerous' about increasing land value?"
"Your lands rest on the border between Sadeas' domain and High prince Vamah. Your land is under Amaram's fiefdom, and with him off defending the west border, he wouldn't be able to defend the territory, should a dispute arise. With current border tensions, Vamah's soldiers might potentially choose to loot your land since the peasantry would be richer"
"And why..." Kaladin said, twirling his staff up to parry "wouldn't Sadeas just decide to bring the issue to the high king? Isn't military disputes between High princes outlawed during times of war?"
"Full blown military actions? Yes. A minor border dispute is something the High Princes shouldn't be wasting their time with during a time of war. You could almost say that with their diverted attention, the blind eye of the High Princes encourages border raids".
"So you're saying that I can't even keep my land tax low? I actually have to enforce taxes on them"
"I know it seems harsh, Kaladin, but it's the wisest-"
Crack!
The top half of Kaladin's practice staff dangled from where it had snapped. Kaladin blinked. Yamithar was on one knee. He hadn't struck him, thank the Stormfather, but the blow Kaladin brought down on the man's guard was enough to force him down.
"Mmph" Yamithar said, rubbing his shoulder. "Staff must have been low quality. They aren't supposed to break like that".
"I'm so sorry-" Kaladin said, gingering helping the man up "I didn't mean to..."
"That's alright lad. That's the kind of thing I'm wanting to see with wind stance. Quick feet, quick hands, and precise, hard blows at the right time. Why don't you take a break for a moment? I'll go fetch another staff". He handed Kaladin a rag. Despite his attempts to hide it, Kaladin could hear the man's hurt leak through his voice. He felt shame start to well up in him as the man left.
"Just like you to loose control like that, huh Kal?" he thought to himself, sitting on the nearby bench and wiping the sweat from his face "Just like a petty little light eyes to beat up on his ardents to make him feel better".
"Kaladin?" Pashil sat next to him, looking concerned. Kaladin hated that look. "What's the matter?"
"Nothing".
"Something is. I can see it on your face, if it wasn't already evident from that little outburst".
"Pashil, it's not any of your bui-!"
"And there you go bottling it up!" A voice in Kaladin told him. " Letting all that bitterness well up, just like Roshone did! Look at you, trying so hard to not be like them, and failing at every step! The dark eyes around you not good enough for you to let them be friends with you? To know your personal life, oh high and noble light eyes?"
"Sorry" Pashil said. "I'll... leave you to your thoughts" He got up to leave. Kaladin almost wanted to let him go. Almost.
"No" Kaladin said. "It's okay. Sorry". Pashil looked back at him, "Really. I didn't mean that. Please, sit"
"If you don't want to talk about it, Kaladin, you don't have to" Pashil said, while sitting next to him.
"No, its..." Kaladin took a breath, and continued. "I... I grew up in a village with my father. He was the town surgeon. It wasn't an easy living, people didn't trust us very much, but it was good. He wanted me to follow that path, and... I'm getting off track. Our town's Brightlord, Roshone, he was always bitter. Angry. He hated everyone around him, out of stupid jealousy and pride. When he came to the town, he did everything he could to make our lives hell. One of them was raising taxes in all the village. He made everyone suffer, just to get at me and my father. When you said that I had to tax them... it just made me think of those days. And him. That, and some things I've been thinking about this week all kind of just boiled up. I think it all kind of came to a head just now... You know, it's funny, I..." Kaladin let the words go, as he felt an awful sense of guilt crawl out of his belly and up his spine.
"What?" Pashil said
"His hands..." Kaladin said, "I used to look at them as a boy... and wonder how they were always clean...".
Kaladin's saddle swayed back and forth, the hooves of his horse clopping on the stone of the plateau. He was anxious. Storms, he was anxious. It was bubbling in the pit of his stomach, grabbing his mind and shoving it towards frantic thought after frantic thought. Stormfather almighty, why in the world was he so anxious? The battle had just ended in a victory, and Kaladin didn't have to participate. Yet, even as he watched the Alethi ranks slowly push the Parshendi back, a gut-wrenching feeling slowly swirled and swirled in him, rising up more and more and...
His eyes fell on the bridgemen.
They were being yelled at some eye-patched soldier, as they got up off the ground. The army was nearly done crossing back over the ravine, which meant they were nearly done from their reprieve before it was back to more grueling work. He could see the hopelessness in their eyes, the shaking in their still-exhausted muscles, the sweat lines in the dirt marring their faces.
Kaladin rode passed them. He felt ashamed to be on this bridge. But why? There wasn't anything wrong with him. He wasn't doing anything wrong. He was doing exactly what he was supposed to. Taking his time. Training. Being what he could be now, so he could be what he should be later. There was nothing to blame himself for. So why was he keeping his head down as he crossed? Why wasn't he meeting any of their exhausted brown eyes? Why...
"-ight eyes..."
"What?" Kaladin said. He stopped his horse, turning to face the crew. The infantry crossing with him stopped as well, looking up at him in confusion. Some of the bridge crew, noticing the stop, looked over at him. They seemed confused as well.
"Who said that?" Kaladin asked, turning his horse and trotting back to them. All the bridge men were silent, glancing at each other. The eye patched soldier fumbled a bit at his sudden presence.
"Oh, um, bright lord. I-"
"Hush" Kaladin said, another jolt of dread and anxiety shooting through him at the words "bright lord". He continued. "Did one of you say something?" All the bridge crew looked up at him in confusion.
"Uh, I'm not one to defend them, bright lord, but I was watching them, and I don't think any had the energy to-" Kaladin glanced down at the man, mentally begging him to shut up. The thought hit him that the men must think he was angry about an insult. The thought of it, of him being like some petty light eyes waiting to punish a slave for nothing filled him with dread. And as if he was reading his mind, the eye-patched soldier continued.
"Of course, if you think one of them talked down to you, sir, we can certainly arrange some puni-"
"SHUT UP!" Kaladin screamed at the man. He immediately cowered. Kaladin blinked, looking at him, then the bridgemen. All of them were cowering as well. The way they looked at him... it wasn't with pride. It wasn't with the admiration he'd seen so many dark eyed soldiers look at him with. In fact, the dark eyed soldiers had the same look on them as well. It was detachment. He was something higher than them. And he was bringing down his wrath.
In their eyes, his irises were blue as could be.
Kaladin felt emptiness well up in him, as he reared his horse, and crossed back over the bridge, his head low with shame.
Wow. Been gone a while. Forgot I'd even wrote this. But, decided to dig up this old thing from my folders, blow the dust off, and see if I could make something out of this. Hope y'all liked the chapter!