And chapter two, from Adolin's point of view!

"I'm sorry for not trusting you," the bridgeboy says quietly, from where he's leaning on Adolin's shoulder. His eyes are closed, and Adolin wonders for a moment how long it will take for him to fall asleep completely. "I didn't think it could be real," he continues, and Adolin raises an eyebrow.

"Didn't think what could be real? My hair?"

"You're so storming nice," Kaladin continues. "I didn't - don't - I don't even know -think anyone could really be that nice. I thought it was a front."

Adolin swallows, thinking about it. He can picture it. How many times has Kaladin been confronted by someone who seems kind, but been burned for it? No wonder he's wary of everyone. He's like a cat, almost. Watching everyone from the other side of the room, silently judging who he considers trustworthy. "I understand."

"No you don't," there's no bite in Kaladin's tone, just exhaustion. Adolin lets him keep talking. Vedeledev knows how long this has been sitting inside him, stewing into bitterness. "You'll never know what it's like to think you can trust someone and find out you're wrong the way a darkeyes can, princeling. You... you lighteyes have innate immunity, sort of. You're born with it. Us darkeyes, we have to work for it."

Adolin listens as the words spill out of Kaladin. They really need to do something about this, he realizes. He finds his gaze drawn towards the brands again. Kaladin opens his eyes, sees him looking. "Did it hurt?"

Something glazes over the bridgeboy's eyes. "It never stopped. I feel them burn sometimes, when I dream." his hand creeps up to rub the brands.

Brands. Brands. The meaning of the word hits Adolin like a stormwall. Pressing hot metal into someone's skin... "Oh Stormfather," he whispers. He feels sick as he thinks about it.

Kaladin looks at him quizzically. Adolin clears his throat. "How did it happen?" He asks. He's heard it before, how Kaladin was betrayed by Amaram and sold. Why does he want to hear it again?

Kaladin doesn't want to talk about it, but he does anyway, gaze far, far away. As he listens, Adolin forces himself to picture it. To picture what Kaladin had gone through. To picture what every branded slave had to go through.

"I was a little over nineteen, I think, when I got the shash brand," Kaladin continues. "That was, what, six months ago? No that's not right." He pulls himself away from Adolin, sitting cross legged, tapping the carpet as he thinks. "I'm twenty now... his voice trails off.

Nineteen? Adolin wouldn't have guessed that the captain was the same age as Renarin. He shivers at the thought, and the shiver becomes horror when he suddenly pictures Renarin when he was nineteen, slender but tall, and imagines if it was him who was branded and Adolin couldn't do anything to - he forces himself out of that train of thought before it can solidify itself to haunt him.

"Nine months," Kaladin finally announces. "It was nine months ago."

"How did you do it?" Adolin blurts out. "How did you keep going?"

A sardonic smile creeps across Kaladin's face. "I stopped caring." His face takes on a haunted cast. "I didn't think, didn't fight. I just did what I was told... use us up, run us down, let us die. Repeat, repeat, repeat. That's what the bridge crews were."

"You changed that, though," Adolin says, trying to shake the images out of his brain.

"I just started it," Kaladin says, staring into the empty hearth. "They made the choice to keep going."

They fall silent after that, quietly. Kaladin casts a longing look at Adolin's shoulder, and before he can start dragging himself down - Adolin knows he does it - he pulls the bridgeboy against him. Kaladin lets out a deep breath, his body deflating, nearly melting against Adolin. "Don't go falling asleep on me," Adolin teases. "I don't think I can carry you back to your barracks."

He feels the tension rush through Kaladin. "I'm sorry, sir," the captain says immediately, sitting up. "It won't happen again." He's blushing furiously.

Idiot, Adolin berates himself. You'll make things worse. "I'm teasing, Bridgeboy." He rubs Kaladin's shoulder gently. "It's okay if you want to sleep. You're safe in here, remember?"

Kaladin relaxes slowly, the sudden wariness in his eyes settling. After a moment, he puts his head on Adolin's shoulder again. "Nothing and nobody can bother you in here," Adolin continues. "I swear it by, uh, this pillow." He grabs one off the sofa. Kaladin huffs out a laugh. Adolin notes with surprise how young he looks, now that he's not standing ramrod straight, tension creasing his scarred forehead.

He's not sure how long they stay there, but Kaladin's breathing eventually evens out into sleep. And Adolin can't very well just leave then, can he? He continues untangling Kaladin's hair, and is nearly done when a sharp knock sounds at his door. Kaladin's breath catches, and he shifts, hand reaching out for his spear. Adolin falls into the rhythm he used to use for Renarin, murmuring softly in Riran, and stroking Kaladin's hair. "Come in," he calls.

Skar, one of the bridgemen, opens the door. His eyebrows rise as he takes in the sight. Adolin realizes that it must look pretty silly. The son of a highprince sitting on the floor while his bodyguard naps on his shoulder? But Skar just smiles. "Good to see that he's getting sleep," he says quietly. "Don't let him beat himself up about that when he wakes up. We'll stand guard."

"Good work, soldier," Adolin whispers back, feeling silly. Skar closes the door.

He's got plenty of time to sit here. He might as well help a friend with that time.

Adolin speaks Riran, fight me. And he's also really taking a look at Alethi cultural views. There is so much I want to see changed. That's what fanfic is for! If you've got any questions or comments, leave a review or PM me, and I'll do my best to answer! Stay safe and stay positive!