Chapter Text
Kaladin had just returned from another skirmish to his room near the barracks when he heard the knock. He was about to take his shirt off, to change into sleeping cloths—though he knew no sleep would grace him tonight, not when the numbers of the war hung heavy in front of him.
He sighed, preparing to see to whatever scribe or soldier had something else for him to do, doing his best to appear as the strong Highmarshal they saw him as.
Instead, he opened the door to Adolin Kholin, who was smiling. As usual. Storming man.
“What do you need?” Kaladin suppressed a sigh. He had just been planning how to dismiss anyone who had come to ask for him, but dealing with Adolin was far more difficult. The man was persistent, and he knew him too well. That was dangerous.
“It’s not what I need,” Adolin replied. He had his arms behind him. And even when he was the one man Kaladin trusted the most in his life, old instincts still made him watch for his hands.
He couldn’t afford being caught off guard by whatever Syl had presumably put him up to.
“Then what?” Kaladin asked, raising a brow.
“It’s what you need, bridgeboy.” Adolin smiled wider at him, as if that explained everything.
“Can you stop talking in riddles? You’re not doing a very good impression of Wit,” Kaladin snapped. His patience was running thin. He didn’t have the energy for this.
“I’m hurt you think that. But anyway,” Adolin brought his hands out from behind him. “I brought you this.”
In his hands was a small pot, painted a bright, happy yellow, with a plant inside. It was a single, small cactus, the kind that could survive out in the Shattered Plains, with a tiny, pink flower blooming at the side of it’s head.
“What is this?” Kaladin asked, still staring at it suspiciously, one hand on the door.
“It’s domesticated, so it won’t pull in. It also needs a very small amount of water, so it can go well with your busy routine,” Adolin explained.
Kaladin stared at him dumbly. “. . . I’m afraid I don’t understand,” he said.
Adolin shrugged, looking uncertain for the first time since he’d arrived. “I bought it for you to keep. It just reminded me of you when I saw it. Some people keep plants in their homes, so I thought you’d like one.”
“It reminded you of me,” Kaladin echoed as a question, still confused. It seemed like there was something he was missing in this conversation, an undertone that he was expected to understand but didn’t.
“Yes,” Adolin said simply. “It’s very much like you.”
Kaladin glanced back down at it, then up at him. “. . . sharp and prickly?” He raised a brow.
Adolin grinned. “It’s not sharp enough to hurt.” He extended it towards Kaladin as an offering. “Just don’t grab it directly and you’ll be fine.”
As an experiment, Kaladin hesitantly raised a hand and poked at a small needle on the cactus. It was sharp, but not as much as he’d been expecting.
“It’s very resilient, and I thought it’ll make your room look more lively,” Adolin said, gesturing with a hand behind Kaladin. Kaladin turned, giving a look towards his small room. It was a point of disagreement between Adolin and him how he liked his room. Kaladin liked it small, and bare, and sometimes dark. Even if the dark made him feel worse sometimes. . .
“You could set it right there.” Adolin pointed. Kaladin’s eyes followed his finger towards the small table beside his bed, where he kept his spheres for light.
He looked back towards him, frowning uncertainly. Still, what would he do with a plant? What was even the point?
Syl flew in from the small window at the side of his room, twisting a few times in the air as a ribbon of light before appearing as a small woman between them. She gave a curious look at the plant, flying around it to check at different angles. Finally, she looked up at Adolin, looking excited.
Great.
“Ooh, what’s that?” she asked, smiling, her eyes wide with wonder as if it was the most curious thing she’d ever seen. Truth be told, it was curious to even him. Why did people keep plants of all things in their room? He knew people liked having gardens, but in their rooms?
“It’s a plant,” Adolin explained to her simply. “I was giving it to Kaladin for him to keep.”
Syl gasped and looked at him pleadingly. “Can we?” she asked, as if she was the one who was going to have to care for it. Kaladin wasn’t a farmer, but he knew plants needed attention to grow.
“You’ll only need to water it every other day, whenever you’re free,” Adolin commented, as if reading his thoughts. Then, he walked in without ceremony. He put the pot next to his dim bowl of spheres. Kaladin had been using stormlight to keep awake without his knowing, apparently.
Syl flew beside Adolin, eyes never leaving the plant as she poked at it with her incorporeal finger.
They both then turned to look at him questioningly, silently asking for permission. Kaladin sighed, uncrossing his arms. He walked over and leaned against the bedside table to watch the innocent cactus staring back at him. He narrowed his eyes at it.
“Fine,” he muttered.
Syl whooped in joy, twirling in the air. Adolin’s grin was so victorious, one would think he just won a series of duels. Kaladin didn’t smile, but he felt something close pull at his lips.
He’ll keep the storming plant.
Kaladin lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. It had been hours since he’d been awake and he hadn’t gotten up yet. It wasn’t that he was too tired to—not physically, at least—he’d just gotten a six hours of sleep after what felt like ages. He didn’t remember the last time he’d gotten an undisturbed sleep, and without nightmares at that. He should’ve been storming celebrating in joy. Instead, he stared sightlessly, feeling blank.
He hadn’t even taken off the cover from his sphere bowl, so his room was dark. The sun hadn’t risen completely yet.
He had work to do. He should get up. A list of tasks that he had for today ran through his mind. The reminder of his responsibilities should’ve been what motivated him to get up. Instead, each chore made him sink deeper in the bed, settling on his chest like a physical force being stacked upon his heart. It was just so much, so overwhelming.
Syl was still off somewhere, flying around as she usually did when he was asleep. She hadn’t noticed he’d woken up yet, apparently. Not even the promise of her return made him feel better. Instead, having to talk to her, explain why he felt the way he did—or rather, felt nothing— only made him feel more exhausted.
Did that make him a bad Radiant? A bad person?
Storms, physical exhaustion he could deal with, ignore, use stormlight for, stretch around. No, it was that it was mental exhaustion. Normally, it wasn’t so bad, except on particular days. He could fall into the first piece of work he had, focus on his responsibilities, work until nothing else was left in his mind. Then, maybe he could ignore the tiredness he felt in his bones. Most of the times, at least.
It was the getting off his bed part that was difficult. He wished he could at least feel frustration at his lack of motivation—feel anything really. He was Highmarshal, captain of the Windrunners and a storming Radiant for storm’s sake.
The simple task of getting up shouldn’t take everything he had in him.
Maybe he could just give up, close his eyes, fall back asleep and then never wake up again. That sounded nice. Giving in to the nothingness, the void inside him that whispered to give up every day, every night, every waking moment of his life.
The weight on his chest felt constricting. It was what he deserved anyway. Maybe it was his punishment. For all the failures he had, the world still seemed to forget all about them.
But Kaladin didn’t. He would never forget.
He should just stay here, lest he get up and make things worse again. Try to fix everything around him and ultimately causing more harm to everyone. He failed each time. Why try again?
He exhaled softly. Even breathing was starting to get difficult. He turned his head, tearing his eyes off the ceiling so he could look out from his small window.
Instead, his eyes fell on a small, potted plant.
It had been days since Adolin had given it to him. Just as he’d said, the plant didn’t need as much attention as he’d thought. But it was slightly wilting now. The flower at it’s head was gone, but Adolin had said another could bloom again if it was kept in the right conditions.
The plant could be pretty dramatic when it needed something. Tien would have loved it. Storms, it felt like something he would have given to him, just like those small rocks he gave to Kaladin all the time for no reason.
But Adolin wasn’t Tien. He hadn’t given it to him to cheer him up. Maybe he had. Kaladin didn’t know why he had given it to him.
Adolin wasn’t Tien. Tien was dead.
He forced his eyes open. He hadn’t realised he’d closed them. A small ray of sunlight was starting to shine through his window into his cramped room as morning arrived. It fell directly on the plant where it sat on his table. Had Adolin put it on exactly the right spot on purpose? How had he known?
The reminder of his tasks ran through his mind again like a long list being read by a scribe. Each of them just as important. None of them enough to help him get up.
But storm him, he had a plant to water. And that was simple enough. Kaladin could water a cactus, couldn’t he? It wasn’t too difficult. And the cactus looked like it needed it. It shouldn’t have to go without water just because Kaladin was too tired to provide it.
The storming plant needed it’s water. And Kaladin was going to give that to it, even if he was tired.
He got up.