[Crumble Underneath the Weight] Kaladin-centric fanfiction

[Izzi she/her]

Set between Oathbringer and Rhythm of War, this ficlet focuses on Kaladin, his declining mental state, and his relationship with Adolin. I wrote it in about 3 hours over the span of 2 days after a depressive episode and that whole time, I was also reading Rhythm of War, so it probably has some parallels on accident.

It's only shipping if you squint. (Unrequited love my beloved.)

Title from "Jumpsuit" by twenty øne piløts. Will eventually be posted on my AO3, bones_baubles.

Massive spoiler alert with major character death and also some other stuff.

The font is Adobe Denvanagari from MS Word! It's similar to the one that the Sanderson website uses, I think.

Spoiler

Kaladin was falling. At this point, it had become a common feeling, even a comfortable one: the wind rushing through his loose hair like grasping fingers, trying to catch him.

Failing to catch him. Failing the way that he'd failed Elkohar and-- storms. He half-Lashed himself upward, stopping his fall with a jerk. Syl, who had been playing with a few windspren, darted down to where he hovered with a worried look on her small face.

"Kaladin? Are you alright?" She floated in front of his face, eyes narrowed.

He shook his head slowly. No, he wasn't alright. For a while, he was getting better. He still had nightmares, but the darkness wasn't so constant. Recently, though, he realized that he was getting worse again.

He slept less; he jumped at the slightest sound. Sometimes he would close his eyes and see the scene in the palace, Moash standing above Elkohar and ramming the Blade down. The little prince Gavinor curled up and crying. Kaladin himself, screaming. He got lost in the memories that slid into each other, the palace becoming the Honor Chasm and the chasm becoming a slave wagon, blending into colors and colors and screaming and crying and dying.

Storms, he needed to stop. Syl was still hovering around him, worried, and he'd somehow made it to a terrace without falling out of the sky. He hadn't even realized that he was moving. He inhaled some Stormlight, not much, but enough to invigorate him, to keep him moving forward. It thrummed inside of him, and he could almost forget the creeping darkness. Almost.

                He headed deeper into the tower, toward one of the lifts. Occasionally, someone would bow with a respectful mutter of "Radiant," or “Brightlord,” but he mostly had to shoulder through the crowds like everyone else. Eventually, he reached the lift, which carried him to the level where the Windrunner rooms were. Feet like lead, he set off for his room.

He ignored Lopen's overenthusiastic greeting.

He ignored Syl, flitting around him nervously.

He ignored the bloody images that flashed when he blinked.

                He slammed the door.

Storms. Kelek's breath. Damnation itself, he was so, so tired. For all his physical strength, Kaladin was a weak man. He hadn't always been. He had killed the child in him, then watched the soldier die in slavery, then rise again, and there was a period of time where he was so sure of himself. He was sure that he could escape the darkness, find his place, and be normal again.

Every time, it came back like a highstorm. Days like this, where he wanted to stop flying and start falling, these were the stormwall. He knew in his heart that they would pass, if painfully, and so would the storm, leaving him in the riddens and sunlight. But it still hurt, like a Shardblade into his chest, like the Blade in Moash's hands; the grim knowledge that once again, he had failed.

Miasal, Tien, Cenn, Dallet, Maps, Goshel, Nalma, Elkohar, Moash… too many. He could barely remember the names, but the faces were ever present. The darkness was ever present.

                He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will the thoughts away, to make it light, to make it numb. Make it better. Where was Syl? She… she always helped; she really did. Had she left him again? Had he pushed her away too much, with too many lies, a broken oath? Which one? He didn't lie, he didn't he—

"Kaladin?"

He leapt to his feet, summoning Syl in seconds. His chest heaved painfully fast, vision blurring in and out of focus. Storms, he was crying. He quickly wiped the tears away with a shaking hand, Sylspear still pointed at the figure. Good, he had Syl, he could fight his way out. Forcing his breathing to slow, Kaladin's vision cleared.

Adolin, he realized, it was Adolin. Adolin Kholin. What in the Almighty's name was the highprince doing in his quarters? He dismissed Syl and growled, face hot with embarrassment. The glowing silver spear condensed into mist and disappeared, leaving Syl to hover next to him.

Adolin had frozen, eyes wide, at the brandished Shardspear. Now, he relaxed, straightened his uniform, and cleared his throat. He was clearly uncomfortable. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again.

Rare to see Kaladin Stormblessed, Windrunner and Knight Radiant, Highmarshal of Alethkar, weeping on his knees. Maybe they should make him an exhibit, the darkness in him mused, so the whole damn world could see his failures. A few exhaustionspren bit at the air near his feet.

When was the last time he had slept properly?

Kaladin stood up, finally finding his voice. "Get out, princeling." He didn't have time for the man's crem right now. He needed to be alone.

Instead of listening, Adolin stepped closer.

"Kaladin, are you... are you alright?"

He grunted, picking up a bowl that he had knocked off his desk in his panic. The spheres it held were scattered across the room. Mostly diamond chips, they glowed softly, lighting the area better than any candle.

"Course not."

The highprince nodded, as if he understood. Something brightened in his eyes. He smiled softly, "I should've expected that, huh?"

Kaladin didn't answer. He slowly picked up the fallen spheres, one by one. He kept his eyes on the task and his mind away from the images, cutting off every thought that entered his head. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

Behind him, Adolin crossed the room loudly, rustling his clothing more than necessary. The obvious noise meant that Kaladin didn't jump for once, which was nice. His heart was slowing down too. He turned, hoping that the man would leave, but Adolin just crossed the room and picked up a chip that had rolled under the bed. He offered the money to Kaladin with a tilt of his head.

His blond-and-black hair looked stupid, flopping into his face like that. Those happy eyes of his were starting to annoy Kaladin. "I told you to leave, Brightlord."

Adolin ignored the jagged edge to his voice. "I really don't think I should leave you alone right now. You told me yourself that melancholia gets worse with isolation. Did I mishear you?"

Kaladin snatched the diamond chip from the man's hand, dropping it into the bowl.

He sighed. "You didn't mishear me. I wouldn't mind company, but I already have an upbeat person to talk to, one who doesn't annoy me beyond reason." Syl giggled at that, landing on his shoulder.

Adolin considered this for a moment before moving to the desk. He glanced over the jumble of reports before sitting down facing Kaladin. His handsome face was very, very annoying. Did the man ever stop grinning? Even with a Radiant weapon at his throat, it had only softened. Maybe he frowned more when he wasn’t bugging Kaladin. Like a tourist at a menagerie…

“I’m going to tell you a story.”

Kaladin blinked for a moment, exasperated. “Why? Can’t you please just leave?”

Adolin’s stupid smile got wider, “Just because. Anyways, Wit isn’t here to tell you one. Syl could help, if she likes.” He glanced at the small honorspren, who flew to the desk and stood on it, arms crossed. Apparently, she’d made herself visible to the man. She’d been doing that a lot more around others.

Kaladin glowered at her. “Traitor.” Syl ignored the jibe, turning to Adolin.

“So! What’s the story about? Will it make Highmarshal Grumpyface Sadness feel better?” She said it as a joke, but there was obvious tension in her voice. It made the hurt worse, he liked her to be happy. He liked her companionship, even if she didn’t know how to make him feel better. He didn’t know if anyone ever would.

With a sigh, Kaladin stalked to the bed and sat down. Might as well get this over with, so the princeling would leave him alone.

Adolin chuckled, knowing he’d won for the moment. “Okay, give me a second to think… I’ve never done a story before. At least, not for a grown man. I told Renarin stories, when we were little. Anyways.”

“There… once there was a cremling. It was one of those ones that could fly, and it lived in—” he looked around, “—in, uh, a hole in the wall. It had little cremling wings and liked to fly. Uh, Syl?”

She nodded seriously, flapping her arms and rising into the air. She turned the small sleeves of her filmy dress into large oval ‘wings.’ “I have carapace, and also wings. Crack, hiss! And other cremling noises.”

Adolin seemed satisfied with that. Kaladin wished he could jump out the window. Well, not really. The story was cute, but it was hard to move past, well, everything.

Dalinar spoke of the next step being the most important. Kal was finding that the darkness held him back more than any chain or slave brand ever could.

Adolin continued, gesturing as he spoke. “The cremling was small and scared, and it had to hide from the people all the time, because it thought they would crush it. In fact, it saw multiple friend cremlings killed when they went into the open. It even tried running to different holes in different walls, and barely escaped every time. It had good reason to be scared, because the people didn’t like gross little cremlings living in their walls and…” He trailed off, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“I do deserve that glare, I suppose. It was supposed to be a metaphor for you, but I think I just called you a gross little cremling. I swear, I didn’t mean to,” he chuckled, “storms, I have absolutely no idea where this is supposed to go. Look, the moral of the story was supposed to be that we, your friends, we don’t want to see you hurt like this. We want you to feel better, because you deserve that, and I swear by the Almighty, if I have to drag you into the sunlight, I will. I know that I annoy you, but I just don’t know how else to help you.”

The room went silent. Syl sunk back to the desk, curling up with her legs pulled to her chest. Adolin’s too-bright eyes held Kaladin’s dull blue ones.

What was he supposed to say to that? How could he explain that he wanted to feel that sunlight more than anything, but the storm came back. It always came back, and the darkness came with it. How could he deserve that light, if he failed people who deserved it more than him?

Miasal, Tien, Cenn, Dallet, Maps, Goshel, Nalma, Elkohar, Moash… too many. It was too much, all too much, it hurt too much. He tried, failed, and tried again to will it away. He wanted that numbness so badly, almost more than the light. Anything except the void, and the scars that it left. That void, where he stood on the edge of the Honor Chasm and prepared to jump.

Please, let me be… He wasn’t going back there. He couldn’t, but sitting in a silent room with the oaths in his mind and his blue uniform stained with tears, he couldn’t escape it, either.

“I—” damnation, he was tearing up again, “Adolin, I’m glad that you care about me, and that I can call you a friend and an ally, but I’m a grown man, as you pointed out.”

He forced the next words out, hoping the lie wouldn’t hurt his bond with Syl. Hoping…

“I don’t need stories, and I don’t need your stupid face. I need sleep. So please, Adolin, please leave me alone. ”

They sat for a moment. Adolin’s smile somehow managed to fade, and he took a deep breath. Resignation. The prince pushed himself out of the chair, motions almost as beleaguered as Kaladin felt.

“I’ll leave you alone now.” His hand rested on Kaladin’s shoulder. For once, Adolin was taller than him, if only because Kal was sitting. “I will find a way to help you. If you don’t talk to me, at least talk to someone. One of Bridge Four, or at least Syl. Just… remember I’m an option, alright, bridgeboy? I know some good winehouses.”

There was something implied that Kaladin couldn’t place. He found that he didn’t care to, but the man’s words sent twin streams of tears running down his face, and he found that he wasn’t embarrassed.

“Thank you…” He nodded and stood up, feeling at least a little stronger. Adolin let go of his shoulder and turned away, shutting the door behind him with a click.

Right now, he would try to sleep. Tomorrow, he would get up and train the new Windrunner recruits. Sitting back on the bed, he unbuttoned his blue uniform jacket and untied his boots.

 

 

                The next morning, a nightmare woke him up. Terrible, terrible, terrible darkness. The dream passed, and he noticed, for the first time in weeks, light filtering into the room. His arms and legs didn’t feel as heavy, and although his throat was hoarse, he knew that today would be a good day.

A little lighter. A little less weight. He didn’t want to lean on someone, he hated feeling weak like this, but in that moment, Kaladin saw the sun after the storm. He wasn’t flying. He wouldn’t for a while. But he would at least manage to stand on the edge without falling.

                He had a highprince to talk to.

I'm open to all comments and criticism.

Edited May 2 by Izzi