Work Text:
1 - Tien
Hesina found Tien in the storm shelter.
Bundled up small, he clutched a rock in one of his small hands, thumb rubbing across its smooth surface. Blood stained the cuff of his sleeve, and Hesina's stomach lurched at the sight of it - her little boy, bloodied. But no. It wasn't his of course - being wife to a surgeon and mother to his assistant, it would have made more sense for her to be numbed to the sight of her loved ones covered in fluids and viscera, but it seemed it wasn't the sort of thing a person ever got used to.
She pasted on a smile over the queasiness, balanced her hands on her hips, and intoned with false cheer, “Were you planning on coming back for dinner, or should I just go ahead and give your portion to the chulls? I'm not certain they'll enjoy curry, but you never know…”
Tien’s face contorted into a frown was even stranger a sight than the blood on his cuff, for the latter made sense at least in context, whereas the former never would. Her little sunlight sphere. So different to his brother and father it seemed a wonder they were even related at times.
“At least if you give it to the chulls you'll be feeding someone useful,” he sulked.
With a sigh, Hesina crouched in front of him, gathering her skirts out of the way as she crossed her legs. “My sweet,” she said, reaching forward and scooping up his hands, “I wish you would stop sulking, it really is drizzling quite consistently on my own jubilation.”
Tien looked up, hair flopping over his eyes. He needed a trim, but the barber rarely visited Hearthstone thanks to Lirin - his trade in rotting teeth quite succinctly halted by the presence of a good surgeon. As much as she thought Lirin was wonderful and an inspiration, no better a father to her boys could she have dreamed up, it was storming inconvenient to have to pin down two squirming, energetic children every few months by herself to cut their hair.
“Jubilation?” Tien asked, and ah. There it was. The sunshine.
“Of course!” Hesina said, leaning in conspiratorially, “Your father can keep Kal, but you? You're all mine,” she grinned, and was pleased when he did the same.
The best part was it hadn't even been a lie. Whilst she loved both of her sons equally, Tien had always felt more hers than Kaladin. Lirin could have one son to mould into the perfect copy of himself if that pleased him, but she'd get to keep this one all for herself. Hers to nurture, hers to shape. Hers to watch bloom into something sure to be as wonderful as it was wholly unexpected.
“Can I tell you a secret?” he whispered, shimmying closer, unfurling as he did so.
“Of course,” she said, leaning in.
His breath tickled her ear as he said, “I'm glad I don't have to be a surgeon too.”
“Oh?”
“Kal has to do so much studying,” he pulled a face, “And glyphs are hard!”
Hesina laughed, “If you think glyphs are hard, thank the heralds you weren't born a woman. Now come on, there's something we need to do,” she got to her feet, and held out her freehand. He took it, and she hauled him up. Long gone were the days where she could scoop him into her arms and sit him on her hip. She missed them, but there was something endearing about his trotting along beside her too.
A cool breeze hit her face as Hesina led him across the field and back to their house. In the surgery, glassware clicked and water splashed as Lirin and Kal cleaned up after that morning's disastrous attempt to introduce Tien to the field. His little hand gripped hers even tighter as they went past, headed towards the bedroom.
The door clicked as Hesina closed it behind them. Tien went to sit on the side of the bed, fingers running over the small collection of rocks lined up along the bedside table, behind the waiting candle and a hairbrush tangled up in a nest of long dark hairs. Hesina let him fidget, as she hunted through the dresser. In the top drawer, loose cloths and knick knacks obscured the small stack of papers and ink, and another drawer entirely held the tinder box.
She took them out, spreading them on the floor, then turned back to Tien. “So,” she said, “We've established that you definitely don't want to be a surgeon. Is there anything you do want to be?”
“Errr….”
“Okay,” she said, “I'll start. I'd be quite happy if you became a barber, because then you could cut you and Kal's hair and I wouldn't have to anymore.”
On the paper, leaving lots of room, she painted the glyph for ‘barber’.
“Now you,” she said.
He grinned, launching himself off the bed to sit beside her, eliciting a soft ‘oof’ on her part.
“I want to be an explorer!” He said, “So I can find all the best stuff!”
Diligently, she wrote it down, and added, “And I want you to be a museum curator, because that's a much safer way to do… all of that.”
He groaned, resting his chin on her shoulder, “The whole point is finding the stuff, not having it brought to me.”
They went back and forth like that for a while, filling up the glyph paper with so many potential futures it felt blasphemous. Black ink soaked bristles. Smooth brushstrokes, paper fibres course, each shape spidering out in a thousand dark inky tributaries. Infinite paths. Amongst the many listed, some were more achievable, like blacksmith, carpenter, or ardent. Others were more fanciful, like spren, cremling inspector, or king. Not all were possible, but all were wonderful.
She handed it over, and instructed him, “Blow on it whilst I light the candle.”
It took a few seconds, but eventually the spark from the flint caught the wick, and a breath of smoke curled towards the slanted ceiling.
“Quickly now,” She said to Tien, who had still been blowing on the ink.
“You want me to do it?” He said, eyes widening, and she nodded.
“If you're old enough to cut someone open, you're certainly old enough to do this.”
Biting his lip in concentration, he held the paper over the flame. It caught immediately, charring around the edges, embers lining the shape of the page. Heat blossomed, and he dropped it into the bronze dish beside the candle.
They watched it slither away together, and she wrapped and arm around him, safehand glove muffling the texture of his stained roughspun shirt, then pressed a kiss to his forehead.
“Whatever it is, I can't wait to see what you do with your life.”
2 - Lirin
“In front of Kal? ” Hesina hissed, hands on her hips, glaring down at where Lirin clutched his head over a bucket of boiling bandages. “In front of our son?”
“I'm well aware, my love, of exactly how many fools I am,” he groaned.
She could still smell it, unmistakably violet, cheap and strong. “Is it all of them? Because really , in what world do you think it's appropriate to get so drunk that a teenager has to help you into bed?” She wouldn't have even known about it if Kal hadn't woken her by tripping over a loose floorboard. Such a good boy. Times were hard, and she knew he was troubled by the conflict between Lirin and their new citylord. The boy hadn't yet weathered enough storms to realise it wouldn't be the last, that they'd make it out as long as they stuck together.
Not that his father was helping. Storming man.
He groaned again, “Please my love, can this not wait until after it no longer feels like there's a whitespine rampaging inside my skull.”
She tutted, “Unfortunately, suffering the consequences of your actions won't get you out of suffering the consequences of your actions.” She slammed the empty bottle down in front of him, “You can't do this. Those boys need to see that this won't break you. They need to feel safe. ”
“I think you're just annoyed that I got drunk without you,” he muttered, fishing a bandage out of the boiling water and laying it out to dry.
Internally, she pleaded to Vedeledev for the strength not to murder the love of her life. Did Lirin not understand what he was teaching those boys? It wasn't so much the drink she minded, rather, it was the maudlin she knew would have come with the drink. Lirin was not a happy drunk. “I know that you know it was wrong, do you know how I know?”
“I know that you're doubtless going to tell me,” he said to the inside of his eyelids as he rubbed his temples.
“Too right I am!” She adjusted the position of the bandage he'd laid out, not because it needed to be adjusted, but because she needed to move. “I know because you hid it from me! Drinking in front of Kal because you know how much he looks up to you, he'd never say anything about it.”
“Kaladin’s stronger than you realise,” Lirin said, “He can handle seeing his father’s no herald.”
Hesina shook her head, “Sometimes you make me wonder if you're as blinkered as lighteyes’ horses. He struggles, dear. The same way you do at times.” It made sense that Lirin wouldn't have noticed that, she realised belatedly. It was never him that had to coax Kal to eat when he was at his worst, who had to remind him that he was loved, that she loved him, who stood at the window, watching him watch the rain, heart breaking because he just looked so storming unhappy . “He's more fragile than you realise. It doesn't take much to convince him that things are more dire than they really are. Listening to you go on the way I know you would've done?” She shook her head.
The chair creaked as he leaned back, fingers steepled and wrapped around the back of his head. “Perhaps…” he turned, staring out the window. Both the boys were out there, trampling through fields of rock buds, Kal swinging a stick wildly as Tien trotted behind, stopping every now and then to pick something up. Guilt, it seemed, had driven Lirin to give Kal the morning off, coinciding with Tien’s regular morning of freedom from the master carpenter. “Perhaps we better had go to Kholinar…”
Hesina scoffed, “And deprive the open hearted people of Hearthstone their surgeon?”
Lirin's smile was a little queasy when he replied, “You're right, what am I thinking, we're far too well compensated here.”
“Petty politics,” she said, reminding him of the discussion they'd had on this very topic not too long ago. “We've weathered worse than this.”
“We have to be the storm break,” he echoed, his own words from that discussion. “Absorb the worst of it so they don't have to.”
She took his hand in her gloved safehand, crouching so they were at eye level with each other, “That goes for the boys too. They don't yet understand that we're strong enough to handle this. We have to show them. You don't stop being their role model when you leave the surgery room.”
He sighed heavily, “Of course, you're right as always.”
“Of course I am,” she said, smiling sweetly. “Now go, get some rest. I can finish this.”
“Are you sure?”
“Go,” she batted at his arm lightly, “Sleep it off. I don't want you moping about all day.”
She watched his retreating back, then took a shimmering pot of burn ink down from a shelf. There was a thin layer of dust and fine crem on top of it that she wiped off.
She painted directly onto the workbench, the glyph then set it alight.
Temperance . Lirin needed the reminder, and at times like these, it seemed the Almighty did too.
3 - Laral
“You stupid, stupid girl, do you even know what you've done to yourself?”
Hesina found what she was looking for in the back of her closet. The old shift that hadn't fit her since Kal was born, the havah that fit a life that hadn't been hers for even longer. The sobs were quieter now.
“I can't fix this, do you understand? I can't fix this .”
She held the garments out for inspection. A little big still, but closer than any of her newer clothing.
“Oh, you feel sorry for yourself? What do you think your husband will do to me and my wife when he finds out that I can't fix you? That you'll never give him what he wants? I still have one son, will you deprive me of him too?”
Hesina sighed, draped the clothing over her arm, and headed into the surgery.
Laral lay curled on her side on the exam table, skirts soaked with blood, deathly pale, but still cognizant enough to cry quietly into her sleeve. She didn't seem to be in any danger as Lirin was at the workbench, angrily flipping through a folio. Reproductive organs were arrayed across the page, colourful and clinical.
Hesina set her bundle on a clean table, and gently tapped her husband on the shoulder. He whipped around, face all storms, and snapped, “What?”
“Does she need any more medical care?” she said quietly.
He scowled, “The bleeding has stopped.”
“Then leave this to me.”
He wasn't happy, but he did as she asked, blowing out of the room with the folio tucked under his arm.
She moved over to Laral, crouching to be at eye levels with the girl. And storms, she was still a girl.
“I'm sorry he shouted at you,” she said, brushing a strand of hair from Laral's face. “He's… we've been through a lot.”
In a voice as shattered as the plains themselves, Laral whispered, “Tien?”
Just the name… it was like how she imagined a shardblade might feel. Severing her soul. She forced a smile and nodded.
“I'm sorry… I haven't said that yet, but I'm so…” her chest shook, and she curled in on herself.
“Shh,” Hesina said, stroking her hand down Laral's arm, the way she used to do to soothe Kal and… and… she took a deep breath. “It’s alright, don't you worry about that.”
Another round of sobs. It was all Hesina could do to try and sooth her. Eventually, it stopped long enough for Hesina to say, “Come on. Let's get you cleaned up. You'll feel better with fresh clothes.”
“Y-yes. You're right,” Laral said faintly.
Laral was too weak to do much for herself, so Hesina helped her wash and change out of her bloodied clothing. She was right, the shift and havah were too big, but it was better than nothing.
She supported her out of the surgery room - there was a cot in there for patients who needed to be monitored overnight, but it felt wrong to leave Laral in there, the same little girl Hesina had taught the women's script to, who had sat with her and gushed over the tattered fashion folio Hesina had brought back after visiting her father in the city, who Hesina had hoped would become her real daughter one day.
Instead, she led her to Kaladin's room. She almost paused outside to knock, before chiding herself. Of course that wasn't necessary. Not anymore. The other empty bedroom she didn't dare think about.
“Is this..?” Laral asked as Hesina settled her in the bed. She'd put fresh sheets on the beds as soon as the boys left for the army, wanting to be ready for when they came home. They would probably be musty by now, undisturbed for months.
“Kaladin’s room,” Hesina said, burying herself in the corner, shuffling the position of a stack of medical folios on top of the drawers to save Laral seeing her cry.
“How is he?”
“He's well,” Hesina said. “He… he doesn't write anymore, but his squad leader has been keeping us updated on his progress.” Tukks was a good man. Blunt, if his letters revealed much of his character, but just the act of writing to them displayed a level of empathy that Lirin, at least, had been reluctant to admit existed in the army.
Hesina discreetly dried her eyes on her sleeve before turning back to Laral, “Is there anything else you need, sweetheart, before I leave you to rest?”
Laral hesitated, then softly, “Can you… can you plait my hair like you used to?”
Hesina smiled, “Of course.”
They arranged themselves, Laral sitting up in bed, Hesina behind her. She'd had ladies maids to do this for her as a child, but that had never stopped her from running to Hesina.
The only sound as Hesina split Laral's long hair into sections was Lirin next door, cursing to himself and flipping pages. Silky strands slipped through Hesina's fingers as she wove them together. Nothing complicated, a plait for sleep, for keeping hair out of your face, for running round outside whilst your parents sat drinking tea together in simpler times.
Those had been good days. Exchanging hopes and ideas with Wistiow, being listened to, allowing the promise of the boys’ futures to sprout in that fertile ground. Hesina would always find an excuse to stand by the sink and watch the three of them, washing dishes or scraping crem. Laral teasing Kaladin, who in turn tried desperately to keep an eye on Tien like he'd promised before setting out. Tien, of course seemed to delight in keeping his big brother on his toes, chasing after cremlings and turning over rocks.
So caught up in those memories, Hesina almost didn't notice that Laral's shoulders had begun to shake.
“Oh love,” she said softly, standing to move around, face to face with Laral. “Come here,” she pulled her into her arms, and Laral went willingly, burying her face in Hesina's shoulder.
Between sobs, Laral tried to speak, “He didn't…” a great gulp of air, “He didn't force me.”
Hesina, of course, had her own opinions on the ability of a young woman forced into a marriage for money and politics to consent to much of anything, but she stayed quiet. It wasn't her place.
“I just know…” another sob, “I know what my marital duties are. What I owe him, in his taking me in still.”
“You don't need to justify anything to me “ Hesina said, “I've been a surgeon's wife too long to be naive to how complicated these things can be.” Hesina had recommended too many a discrete herb in her time to judge.
Laral pressed herself closer, “I didn't mean to- to hurt myself,” She whispered, “But I couldn't… I couldn't…”
She was shaking, so Hesina wrapped her arms around her, tight.
Laral's voice was barely older than a breath as she said, “My mother died in childbirth. It's selfish, but I don't want to… to die…”
“Sweetheart,” Hesina said, pulling back a little to meet Laral's gaze, “As someone who's been through it twice, I promise you, there is nothing selfish about not wanting children. This,” she gestured at Laral, skinny frame barely supporting the shoulders of Hesina's old shift, “Is your body. Anyone who does anything to it that you don't want is wrong.”
She pulled her close again, and Laral went willingly, “Children are… can be…” oh, Tien, she swallowed back the lump in her own throat, “Children are a gift, but not one that you have to have if you don't want to. You don't owe anything to that man, do you understand?”
Laral nodded, but didn't say anything further. They stayed there for a little while longer, and Hesina savoured it, as dire as the circumstances were that had brought them to this position. Would she ever get to hold Laral like this again? Like she used to do when she didn't want to go to her father, nursing scrapes or torn clothing, squabbles with the other village children that Wistiow, bless his heart, would never truly know how to provide comfort for.
Eventually though, it had to end. Laral pulled away, “Thank you, Hesina,” she said. “I…” she pressed her hands to her stomach. She must have been in so much pain. “I know that I need to leverage this to my advantage, that there are worse positions to be in than married to a wealthy lighteyed man.”
There was something terrible about her expression - not in its distress, but in its calmness. Hesina was watching a woman preparing to endure, and it felt like watching the child who used to play in the lavis fields die.
“Please,” Hesina said, “Come to me first if you ever need anything like that again. I've helped women with things like this before, and I will do so again.”
Laral nodded, then hesitated, “My… mother.. Did she..?”
Hesina smiled, “Your mother was overjoyed when she found out about you. What happened to her was terrible, but she never regretted you.”
Laral nodded, eyes falling.
A thought struck Hesina, “I have an idea. Wait here.”
She came back with glyphward paper, ink, two brushes and a candle. She spread the paper out on the bed between them, and they each took a brush. Together, they painted the glyphs for honouring the dead - so familiar now to Hesina that she could draw them in her sleep.
Hesina painted in Laral's mother's name in the place where the name of the deceased went, then, hesitantly, Laral added her father's name next to it. And next to that, she wrote ‘Tien’.
She looked up at Hesina, guilt welling in her eyes, “I miss him too,” she said softly, “And I don't… don't dare burn glyphwards for him at home.”
Hesina reached out to squeeze her hand. “Thank you, for thinking of him.”
It would have to be enough.
4 - Oroden
Only infrequently had Hesina sat on this side of the exam table. Call it good parentage, call it natural agility that prevented injury in spite of the amount of time she'd spent up a ladder in better days, but she was too busy feeling disoriented for it to fully register when Lirin said, “I think you're right, dear.”
She blinked. “Sorry?”
“I think you're right. You're pregnant. Quite far along too.” The diamond light flashed across his spectacles, so clear and bright that she couldn't see his eyes.
At their feet, a few dull purple globs of fearspren bubbled up. Lirin's throat bobbed as he said, hoarse, “I'll pretend those are mine for you, if you pretend they're yours for me.”
It took a moment for her words to come back, but when they did, Hesina said, “That sounds like a deal to me.”
There was a strange whistling sound in her ears. The same that had filled them first when she'd read the letter about Tien, then later when she read the one about Kaladin. That wasn't right. She wasn't supposed to feel that way. This was good news.
“This is good news,” she told Lirin, smiling the sort of smile that had to be cut into a person's cheeks with a knife.
“Of course it is,” Lirin said. Not smiling.
That night, she painted glyphs of thanks. One after the other, they covered the floor until she couldn't see the fear spren beneath them.
When she burned them, she held them long enough that the flames blistered her fingertips.
5 - Kaladin
Kaladin arrived on the tail of a highstorm, soaked through, and all but collapsed against the doorframe.
“Oh you silly boy,” Hesina said upon opening the front door, “You should have at least waited until the rain stopped.” Exhaustion spren puffed about his feet, mirrored in the dark circles under his eyes. “You look like you could've done with the rest, too.”
His jaw worked, and he avoided her eyes, looking instead to someone behind her, “This is the safest time to arrive.”
“Son,” Lirin said. And ah, that was what the grumpy face was about. Lirin had chided him on his last visit for endangering them. Hesina had made it quite clear, of course, that a little danger was worth it, but she knew it would be his father’s voice that Kaladin heard. It always was.
A pale light swept in after him, materialising as a young woman, dress flaring as she leaned into Hesina's ear, whispering, “Also this way is more fun.”
“Oh Sylphrena!” Hesina exclaimed, smiling broadly, “Will you be joining us today?”
“Of course!” She said brightly, “I still have so many questions, especially for Lirin!”
“Oh storms,” Lirin pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Sorry father,” Kaladin said, “They already banned her from asking questions in the clinic at Urithiru.”
Hesina laughed. “Well, how about you two go and get chatting, and Kal can help me in the kitchen.”
And so, Syl followed Lirin through to the surgery. As much as he complained, he really did enjoy having someone interested in his work to talk to. Meanwhile, Hesina led Kaladin through to the kitchen.
“Sit,” she told him, pressing his shoulders down until his knees buckled into the creaky chair by the hearth.
“I thought you wanted help?”
“Kal, your exhaustion spren have exhaustion spren, if I let you help now you'd probably end up putting tallow in the teapot and the tea on a plate. Sit, and tell me, how is Urithiru?”
And so she listened as he talked about training, about long meetings and late nights. She was glad to hear him mention friends - at least he didn't seem to be completely alone. She worried about that. She'd always told him that family was enough, he'd always have them, but that hadn't been true for a long time now, had it?
As if on cue, he looked up at her. His hair had dried out a little now in the heat from the fire and was no longer plastered to his forehead. “You should come back with me, mother. We could use you, you and father.”
The ‘ I could use you’ went unsaid, but they both heard it all the same.
Hesina went to run a hand through his hair like she used to when he was younger, but stopped herself last minute. He didn't like that anymore, he would never say so, but he tensed if she came too close to disturbing the hair covering his brands. She settled for squeezing his shoulder instead. “The people here need us more.”
“What about Oroden? I could take him with me, if you won't go, this is a warzone, mother. I know it seems safe for now, but that could change.”
She would be lying if she said she hadn't thought about it. Lying too if she said the thought didn't send her into a cold sweat. It wouldn't be a loss, not the same as the others, he would be alive, probably safer than he ever would be here. But she'd miss so much . A thousand priceless moments, gone.
She gave the more practical reason, of course, “And you'd bring him to the front lines with you to care for him? Or would he be cared for by nannies and servants? I don't want him to be raised by strangers, Kal.”
“I'll find a way,” he said, “I'll get the whole village out if I have to.”
Another squeeze, and then, finally deeming the tea sufficiently brewed, Hesina collected three cups from the cupboard, hesitating over a fourth. “Syl doesn't drink, does she?”
Kaladin shook his head. “She's a spren, mother.”
“Of course, of course.” That, she doubted, would ever stop being strange. “You are looking after yourself, aren't you? You're eating?”
He sighed audibly, but she would rather have him irritated than silent, “Yes, mother. Three meals a day.”
She took another look at his uniform - there was a tear in the arm of his coat, she realised. A couple more at his side. Muddy brown stains surrounding each.
“What happened to your uniform?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
He blinked, looking at the tears and stains as if he'd only just remembered them. “Oh… I just came from battle. I hadn't noticed…” He looked up and cringed at her expression, “It was nothing serious, I promise.”
She sighed, and gestured for him to hand over the coat. He did so without complaint, and she quickly found her sewing box.
“I can do that,” he said quickly.
“Were you going to?”
He let his outstretched hand fall.
The cloth was damp, but Hesina had been patching tears longer than Kaladin had been alive and she got to work.
“Cold water and salt when you get back to the tower,” she said. “I know you're busy, but it's important.”
In just his shirtsleeves and trousers, there was a vulnerability to him that hadn't been there before. It was enough to make her ask about her other worry. “Have you been sleeping?”
“I have a lot of work,” he said, stiffening, as if that was the reason. Hesina knew about the nightmares. Knew that he knew that she knew. Last time he stayed overnight he'd woken her up shouting. In response, she'd made both tea and peace with the fact that he wouldn't be staying overnight again.
Or talking about it.
“You should ask your father for something to help with that,” she said, pausing her stitching, so quiet it was almost a whisper. “It's a common problem.”
He grit his teeth in the way usually reserved for Lirin. “I can't take any medication that would impair my focus on the battlefield, mother. It's life and death up there.”
Up. Because of course. Her son flew . And that was supposed to just be normal now.
She sighed, setting the coat aside. “You know I'm proud of you, don't you?”
“Of course,” he breathed.
“No, Kal, look at me,” he did. And those weren't the eyes of the boy she sent off to war anymore, but that was okay. It didn't make any difference, he was still hers , whatever he did, whatever had happened to him, “I mean it. You have done incredible things. Not just for the king, but for regular people. So much more than I ever could have hoped for, and you did it all as your own man. I'm proud of you.”
He looked away, colouring slightly as a few petal shaped spren floated past.
“You can't save us though,” she said softly, and he jolted a little, staring at her. “What we're doing here is too important. I know you won't stop asking, but I just need you to also be aware; our minds are made up.”
He didn't reply, just stared off at some distant point, the way he did often now. He was somewhere she couldn't reach him, and whilst it wasn't as bad as when she thought he was dead, it hurt in a different way.
But she didn't have time to dwell on that. He was in enough pain for the both of them. Someone had to be the mooring, or they'd all be adrift. She picked up his coat again and began to sew.
She didn't think about who had been wielding the spear that slashed his arm. She didn't think about how much it must have hurt. She didn't think about the day the army came calling, and how he threw himself on the pyre just to be with Tien.
There was no space for any of that, just a job to do. A coat to repair and a family to care for.
When she came to the cuff, she hesitated, then, selected a shade of lighter blue thread - the same colour as Sylphrena, she realised as she wet the end of the thread on her tongue and slipped it through the needle's gleaming eye.
Kaladin didn't even blink as she began working a single glyph into the fabric.
Peace .
Later, when it was time for Kaladin to leave, he noticed the small glyph and frowned, “It’s not exactly regulation, mother.”
“Oh shush,” she said, helping him into the jacket, smoothing down the lapels, tucking his collar into a proper position, “I've never even held a spear, yet even I know that the army turns a blind eye to such things. You're just embarrassed.”
He huffed, “I'm not-”
“Oh he absolutely is,” Syl said, appearing out of nowhere to whiz around Kaladin’s head, wearing a dress that looked very much like Hesina's.
“Well Syl,” Hesina said, “Make sure you let any of the men who question him know that Highmarshal Stormblessed's mother loves him very much, and also wishes he would stop getting into so many fights.”
“Mother-”
“Oh don't worry, I will!” Syl promised with a giggle, before zipping off again.
Kaladin groaned, but Hesina just grabbed his hands as tight as she could. “I mean it,” she says, “I love you very, very much. Please stay safe.”
It was a luxury, saying those words. After so long of thinking she'd never again be able to tell him she loved him, being able to do so now was a gift.
“I love you,” she said again, because she could.
He pulled her in close and kissed the top of her head, “I love you too, mother. And I will, I promise.”
+1
She couldn't get it out of her head.
Long after the wine bars emptied, long after the singing grew quiet, long after lights began to dim and footsteps faded to sleep, Hesina could still hear Lirin's words.
“ He saved my life, but Hesina, I think- I think he was trying to kill himself. ”
Her boy.
Kill himself.
What was he thinking ?
She wanted to slam open the door he slept behind, grab him by the collar, and shake him until he saw sense again. She wanted to lock him up and never let him out of her sight. She wanted to track down and kill anyone who'd ever hurt him, and yes, that included Dalinar storming Kholin.
Instead, she sat in front of her candle, drawing glyphwards and burning them to ash.
Mother.
The same glyph she always wrote. Invoking what she'd long ago decided would have to be her calling. If she burned it enough times, she'd be strong enough to live up to it, she was sure.
But then…
He was trying to kill himself.
He saved my life.
Both of them. She'd nearly lost both of them last night. She couldn't do this .
Bandaged knees from scrapes playing amongst the rock buds she could handle. Hot lunches to pry them away from work. Jokes and smiles to keep spirits high she could handle .
But suicide? Ancient parshendi?
Her hands were shaking. She couldn't follow him around every second of the day to make sure he didn't try it again - heralds, that would probably drive him to it faster. Could she ask Syl to do the same? But Syl hadn't been able to do anything about it either.
Was this her fault? Had she not given enough? Not provided enough love? Not promised enough assurances that she could protect him, even from his own mind?
Why?
“Turns out it wasn't anything to worry about, just a sprain,” Lirin's voice. She hadn't even heard the door. She had to find calm, before he found her like this, or it would be all kind, practical advice and she'd want nothing more than to punch him.
“Hesina?” Shock spren formed around him at the sight of her, and he dropped immediately to her side. “You're crying,” he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, because of course this storming man just happened to have a handkerchief ready.
She dabbed at her eyes, “Sorry, I don't know what's come over me.”
“Do you…” he sounded hesitant, never quite sure what to do with emotion if he couldn't immediately diagnose its source, “do you want to tell me what's wrong?”
The shock spren were hers this time, mixing with bubbling anger spren. “You mean you don't know?”
Lirin backed away a little, worry creasing his brow, “Hesina dear-”
She stood, dusting off her skirts, “Our son,” she hissed, “tried to kill himself. And you ask me what's wrong?”
He came towards her, arms open to embrace her, but she smoothly ducked put of the way, “He tried to kill himself! I-” she was hyperventilating, something she only realised when she found her knees buckling under her. This time she allowed Lirin to catch her and settle her to the floor.
“Hands on your stomach, dear,” he instructed, and she did as he asked, feeling her breaths, too fast. This was an exercise familiar to her, if not from using it herself, then from using it to help patients. It worked, if you gave it time.
“That's it love, nice and slow.” He rubbed soothing circles into her back and, again, she allowed the contact.
When she calmed, he spoke smoothly and quietly, “I know it doesn't bear thinking about, but it's over, he's safe.”
She shook her head, “You still don't understand. I-” her voice cracked, “I failed him again.”
His hand stilled on her back, “Love, there was nothing you could've done.”
“That's still not the point!” She pushed herself to her feet again, and counted off a finger on her bare safehand, “First, we lose Laral to that vile predator.”
A second finger, “Then Tien to that same man's petty revenge.”
A third, “Then Kaladin to his own storming sense of nobility.”
She was crying again, salt burning her irritated cheeks. She grabbed hold of Lirin, forcing him to meet her eyes, “And then we got them back. Laral is hurt, but now she's starting to heal.” The other day, she'd even come to Hesina, admitting that she felt she'd been taken advantage of, that she was angry at her body being treated as nothing more than a prize for most of her young life. Anger was good. It meant the wound was, at last, being acknowledged.
“And Kal was getting better . You saw how he was those weeks before… all of this.” She paused for breath. Kaladin had been doing so well . He'd come back to her changed, horribly hurt by ordeals she was only just beginning to properly learn about, and over the course of a year, she'd watched him slip even further away.
“What kind of mother does it make me if I lost the same child twice ?” she hissed.
Lirin pressed their foreheads together, grabbing her hands and pulling her close. “Just the other day,” he said softly, “You told me to stop shouldering the blame for Tien. Why won't you do the same, love?”
“I'm their mother ,” she said, screwing her eyes shut until specks danced across her vision, “It’s my job to shoulder it.”
Not just the blame. All of it. The sadness, the despair, the fear - she was the pillar. If she couldn't be stable, if she couldn't hold them up the way she was supposed to, it would all collapse. It had all collapsed. Her failure.
“My dear,” he said, “Forgive me, but I don't think I've ever heard of a bigger pile of storming crem in my life.”
Hesina stared at him, the shockspren back in full force, “What?”
He pulled away, searching for the glyphward she'd been about to burn, the one that said only ‘mother’.
“What are you doing?” She said, getting to her knees beside him.
“You're right,” he said, “I've been a poor partner to you in this, love. I let you carry far too much for far too long. I promised Kal I'd do better by him, and I'm making the same promise to you too.”
He took the ink brush, and next to Hesina's glyph, he wrote ‘father’.
“I think that's heresy, love,” she said with a nervous chuckle, “I'm meant to do that.”
“If it's good enough for the Blackthorn, it's good enough for me. I mean it, Hesina, I'll shoulder it with you.”
Next to it again, he wrote ‘son’ three times, hesitated, then added ‘daughter’ too. “They'll shoulder it too. We look after each other. I haven't been good at that, but we have to start.”
He offered her the prayer, “Do you want to do the honours?”
“Under the eye of the almighty? With two heralds in the building? I'll have no part in this,” she teased.
Lirin rolled his eyes, then fed the prayer into the flames, before taking her hands again.
“From now on, together,” he promised.
She smiled, rubbing away the last of her tears. “Together.”
aluminumoxynitride Sat 06 Jul 2024 12:19AM UTC
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