Chapter Text
I write in haste to report my predicament. And to ensure my safe extraction should this go wrong.
Aroden dreamed that night
Not a pleasant dream of quiet evenings spent in his study in Kholinar. What-ifs about his mother he never met. Gavilar visiting him to teach him swordplay. These memories swirled around in a torrent. Half-remembered truths. Falsehoods mixed with emotions he’d tried too hard to bury.
He was on the family estate. Running from corridor to corridor. Desperately searching for someone. Each door he tried to open was locked. Each call for help, unanswered. As he ran around another corner, he caught it in his vision, the flicker of a Kholin blue takama. He surged forward as fast as his too-small legs could carry him, chasing what he sought. The corridor darkened as he ran, shadows lengthening in the gloom and tapestries blackening like the Everstorm of legend as his breath came in pants. Torchlights flickered out one by one as he followed that person. The thing he needed that would complete him. Finally he made it around the corner, shouting to the silhouette at the top of his lungs. To a face he’d never seen alive.
“Papa!” He shouted with all his might.
The figure turned around slowly, eyes flinty and judging, giving him a silent stare. The same stare depicted on his Soulcast statue that now adorned the royal palace of Kholinar. He said nothing. He didn’t move. Neither walking away, nor kneeling to embrace the boy that shared his name. Aroden Kholin, he'd been told, was a hard man to love. A blow to the head during a duel had changed him when he was a younger man. He knew dimly that Gavilar had essentially raised Dalinar after the injury…but storms did it hurt that nobody had raised him .
“You’re…no son of mine.”
His father shoved him back. His arm catching on a sconce and sending him tumbling, eyes wide, unshed tears at the edges of his vision, and tumbling into another nightmare.
He shot up, shouting something incomprehensible as the smell of smoke filled his tent. He clutched his chest where his father had shoved him, a burning pain in his chest that was more than just physical. The other side of the bed in his tent was empty. Something that should have worried him, but didn’t. Consciously, he realized none of this made sense. But damningly he knew that unconscious emotion was something he couldn’t control. It was something he buried beneath work and scholarship. He couldn’t be what his father had wanted. Or his brothers wanted. But if he just tried hard enough, maybe…he’d earn their respect.
Those thoughts became fleeting as he stumbled from his tent, mouth in a silent scream as Rathalas burned before him. He surged forward, not even bothering with armor as he grabbed his sword belt. Running past gawking messengers and ardents as the flames licked higher over the Rift. He stormed through the throngs of soldiers preparing barrel after barrel of pitch and powder, forming human chains to ensure every drop they possessed was dumped unceremoniously into the city below, all to ensure that the Blackthorn’s will would not be questioned, an insult and act of war treated with the violence the Thrill required. When he finally reached the wall, Sadeas nearly swung at him with his hammer, only stopping at the last second when he realized whose colors he wore. He said something, but Aroden saw only a silent mouth moving, as his eyes locked with Dalinar’s, whose own glowed red with the Thrill he detested. He should have said something that night. Should have stopped him from that retribution. But his loyalty kept his mouth closed. His feet stubbornly anchored to the stone below him. He stared down into the family manor below as it smoldered. As thousands of civilians, whose only crime was calling this place home, burned alive.
But as his waking mind stirred, he found he could only remain rooted to that spot until Dalinar began moving again. Across walkways, bridges, and finally halting at a metal door cut into the cliffside. He ordered more barrels to be dumped there, and set the blaze himself. Aroden had no Plate, and didn’t have the Blackthorn’s constitution. He was forced to retreat back to the battlements before he could see the end result of the devastation. Hours seemed to pass as thousands burned before him. Sadeas stood silent vigil beside him as the Rift died. His arms crossed across his breastplate as both stood flash blinded by the devastation. Eventually he too retreated, leaving Aroden alone there until the flames lowered long enough for him to look down below. Eyes following the path they’d taken when they entered the city.
In the last moments of the dream, he was carried back before that door again. Unease filled him as he and Dalinar approached. His half brother falling to a knee and… weeping? Ordering a bodyguard to pry the ruined metal away, he stepped into that room. It smelled of pitch and suffering inside. A final redoubt, paired with a prison. The ruins of what must have been a sitting room were on one side, a burned ruin where the pitch had settled. To the other was… was…
He shot up with a scream. Sideknife drawn, eyes wide like an animal. Panting desperately as he fumbled for a sphere from the pouch at his nightstand, desperately needing light. Ember buzzed with alarm, flashing before him as someone stirred in the bed, shrieking in terror.
“Beloved! My Radiant!” Evi shrieked, clutching the wrist that held his knife with desperation. Her body trembling in fright as she turned his face with the other, eyes locking on his.
“A night terror! Nothing more. I’m here, my love! Breathe.”
His pulse pounded like a war drum as he tried his best to slow down. To focus. Four seconds in. Held for four. Out for four. An old training trick. It did little to settle the pain in his chest. The wrongness that settled in his mind. As he pulled himself back into reality. One terrifying thought crystalizing in his addled mind.
That wasn’t what I saw.
He stood up wordlessly, dressing in his trousers and throwing on his uniform coat, stepping out into the cool night. Ember invisibly followed behind him. He’d turned in early tonight. So the moons were still high. Midnight, if he had to guess. The cool air soothed his burning skin, flushed hot from the terror. But he could still smell the burning flesh from his nightmare as he walked away.
I should go back. Storming apologize to her.
But his feet continued to move of their own accord. Past the yard where cannons sat silently, ammunition and powder sashes stored neatly in carts. Normally Aroden would have smiled at that quality of training. At standards held high even when he wasn’t present. But he couldn’t bring himself to care tonight, not with ghosts chasing at his heels. He needed a drink, and company. Sadeas would mock him, of course, for being so upset over a bad dream of all things. But he didn’t need to tell him that. He’d been absent at the Pinnacle for too long. And he was sure as a highstorm was wet that Elhokar was hosting a party up there. And they’d be serving wine.
Windsinger whinnied in greeting as he patted her affectionately. Mounting the horse with only a small flip of his stomach, his head still throbbing from the trauma of the past week and the phantom smell of dreamt flames. The ride to Elhokar’s palace was likely not wise in this state, but he trusted his horse, letting her lead up the trail as he handled the reins loosely.
“Your emotional state is not ideal for greeting others of a similar cultural rank, Aroden. I predict a high chance that you’ll be mocked for this.” Ember whispered, coalescing in his human form and resting on his saddlehorn, sitting with his legs hanging off.
“You’re probably right. And I should probably listen to you more.” Aroden admitted, rubbing his eyes.
“You’re pushing too hard. I wanted a wrecking ball when I picked you and I storming got one. But avoiding unresolved traumas…being a Dustbringer and not Dustbringing? Calculations are that if we don’t act soon the odds of a catastrophic loss to the parshendi in battle by happenstance increase by fifteen percent every season. Someone will make a mistake.” Ember pronounced gravely, flickering away into a ball of firelight.
“Give me a little more time. As I’ve told you repeatedly. I’m merely an officer in the army. I technically have less authority than even General Khan.” Aroden said quietly, dismounting his horse and hobbling it at the stable.
“Which is why you should take control. I calculate a sixty two percent probability of most of the Kholin forces supporting your ascension to highprince. Adolin likely would require emotional restructuring, but Renarin would-”
“We are not imprisoning her boys. They won’t be locked behind a metal door waiting to die. Do you hear me, spren!” He shouted, rounding on Ember with his fists tightly at his sides, unconsciously summoned Division flickering between his fingers.
The echo carried across the yard, thankfully abandoned, before he took a few shuddering breaths and centering himself.
“Fascinating outburst. I calculate that in this emotional state your odds of successfully managing your primary Surge increase by-” The spren stopped, blinking rapidly for a moment before his form dimmed momentarily, bobbing in the air as Aroden shot him another fuming glare.
“I…apologize. I did not realize how much that kind of imagery would affect you.”
“Affect me how? It was just…just a metal door.” Aroden muttered, suddenly nauseous again, flames licking at his memories.
“It was not. And a part of you knows that.” Ember said quietly, hovering before him and materializing in his human-like form. He hesitated, almost reaching out for a moment before vanishing from his sight.
“Enjoy your ethanol, Radiant…I hope it…calms you.”
And then he was gone, leaving Aroden alone to climb the last few steps up to the feasting basin, towards its sphere lanterns strung high and low points filled with water. He didn’t understand why the dismissal stung so much. Why two sets of memories seemed to lie dormant within him. A problem for another time.
Despite his prior promises to himself, he snatched a cup of blue wine from a serving platter as a servant walked by, and without invitation he walked along a Soulcast stone walkway towards the king’s platform. The usual highprinces were there of course. None of them would have spared him a second glance if not for his disheveled appearance. One of his shirt buttons remained undone. His coat wrinkled and dusty from riding here on horseback. But he ignored them all. He wanted a quiet place. Didn’t want to speak. He just…wanted to be near people. People that weren’t her for a while.
Dalinar found him first, standing near the edge of the platform as he clutched the cup, not a single sip taken. He just wanted to…smell it for a while. Surely that would be fine, right? Wouldn’t be against the Codes.
“Aroden…we need to speak. I’ve asked Elhokar officially. If I’m made Highprince of War we could finally end this conflict. Really u-”
“Unite them? Dalinar please. Save your sermons. I’ve always supported the idea…hells I’m the one that originally suggested we try to end this conflict quickly. You suggested the siege.” He grunted with sudden ferocity. His knuckles wrapped around the cup so tight they shook.
“I…I don’t understand, Aroden. Then let’s work together on this if you agree. With your new weapons, and…friendship, with Sadeas our forces could really do this!” Dalinar urged, raising his hand as if to clap Aroden on the back before hesitating. Aroden watched as the arm slowly lowered, before returning to his side like a wilting tree branch. It was never affection from Dalinar. Always the Blackthorn, always angling.
“Mmm, my new weapons. Yes, they’ve made quite a nice mess of my grey matter these last few days. Though you needn’t worry about Soulcasting expenditures any longer. The king’s Soulcasters are under my employ now for most of my fabrications. I wouldn’t want my projects taking away your resources or time.” Aroden replied icily, pointedly taking a step back from his half-brother.
He let the silence stew for a moment, taking a deliberate sip of his wine, willing his hands not to shake. Memories flooded him unbidden. His beating in Jah Keved. Cruel laughter at a child who once struggled to hold a sidesword.
“They were nothing but useless vanity projects, designed by a foolish scholar at one point Dalinar. Do you remember? What’s changed between the time you tore the designs up in front of my face and deciding they were vital to your conquest? Ah yes, the convenient fact of these visions. That you’re the hero who will save us all. Except you didn’t save anyone at Rathalas did you?”
Dalinar leered back as if struck, flinty eyes narrowing as his hands balled into fists and opened at his sides. His weight shifted from foot to foot before becoming steadier. The same headlong stubbornness that had kept him alive in battle a hundred times over.
“I…actually don’t remember. Aroden, listen I…respect you. I want you by my side in this. The boys adore you. I need a man who I can trust when I make this move. I’m close, I think, to finding out what Gavilar told me. This is the key, ending this war and truly uniting this kingdom against the threat that’s coming.” Dalinar said with increasing confidence.
Aroden closed his eyes, the taste of the wine growing bitter on his palate.
Respect. Trust. That’s what I want, right? So…why can’t I accept it?
“All that…and you can’t call me ‘brother.’ Can’t say you care about me. Am I such a foul man, Dalinar? Such a disappointment? Because I read? Because I can storming count? What part of me is so detestable?” He stepped forward between them, closing the distance and resting an arm on Dalinar’s shoulder. Even now the man locked up at the contact, eyes flickering between the hand and his face.
“The sad fact? Gavilar trusted me more than you. Even after the whispers about me and Evi. Even after the Rift. I discovered what he was looking for. A part of it anyway. We share blood, you and I. I’m…sorry if that disgusts you. So…for the sake of the father who sired us. I’ll keep quiet about your visions. I’ll remain a loyal officer in your army. But this? The Blackthorn becoming a lord of war in all but name? This Sunmaker’s folly? I can’t support it. I won’t.”
He released his grip and stepped away quietly, turning his head to look at his half-brother one last time. “There were things we were never meant to be to each other, you and I…brothers, being chiefest.”
He walked away, a small part of him hating himself for the way he did so, and turning to the king’s table. Sadeas sat there, and moved his chair over, inviting him to sit with a small smile.
“Ah how I’ve missed you, Aroden. Head feeling better?” He asked easily, patting him on the shoulder with what he thought was true affection.
“Bell was rung fairly well, but I should be on my feet again soon. Wine soothes most problems I find.” He said with a smirk. “I haven’t been…sleeping well.”
“Yes well, with a woman like that warming your bed I can’t blame you.” Sadeas said with a barking laugh, helping himself to another morsel from his plate. His eyes crinkled in continued amusement as Aroden shuffled uncomfortably in his chair.
“I…we’re not officially betrothed yet.” Aroden muttered, consciously taking a moment to sip his wine, noting its flavor. Heralds, how long had it been since he’d had some? Months, or…years? He didn’t trust his mind any longer to know the answer.
“As if that stopped any light-eyes before! She’s good for you, your scribe . I approve wholeheartedly. You’re a good man, but storms are you too sullen sometimes. Too locked in your books and geometry.”
The joke cut deeper than it should have, and it seemed Sadeas realized it. Though to his credit he didn’t bother apologizing, merely moving past the comment and asking about his progress with the artillery. When shipments would be ready for his own forces. Casually asking about the next hunt they’d go on together. The mundanity soothed his nerves. Filling the hollow that had carved into his chest.
He is a friend. A true one. Dalinar mistrusts because he only craves power. This is a man better than any brother.
He ignored the way he seemed to chant the thought to himself like a prayer.
Elhokar stood up, knocking him out of his thoughts. Looking first at him, and then at Sadeas. Aroden swallowed the sip of wine in his mouth as he did. He’d waved off the servant bringing him a platter of food. Finding that solids didn’t appeal to him tonight. He was glad that he had, because the next announcement made his stomach coil. The king stood up, looking like a fool. Nobody here truly respected him. He was merely tolerated. The man had never really set foot on the Plains properly. And so long as each highprince sent his due from the gemheart spoils, he was largely forgotten. His brother’s great work had died with a whimper. Dalinar was right about one thing. This was no kingdom. Not in reality.
“My friends. The attack on my life has threatened the very fabric of our kingdom. An assassin has tried to kill me. To get to the bottom of this incident, following the tragically short internal investigation conducted internally. I’ve made a decision. One that will bring justice to those who would see me dead! Lest we forget the Assassin-in-White is still at large! My father’s killer runs freely, slaying those in power unchecked! As such. I name Torol Sadeas as my Highprince of Information, and charge him with discovering the nature of this incident will all haste!”
Sadeas stood and bowed, a humble smile on his face as all present applauded, Aroden included. Pride welled in his chest for his friend. A noble title, bound with history, he knew. When the highprinces all served their king in different capacities. Dalinar was wrong. Nothing needed to be united here. He and Ember would get their due eventually, once they were ready. Whoever he ended up serving would be one worthy of respect, and would give it back to him. The only thing he’d ever wanted.
“And for my Uncle!” Aroden hitched his breath, scanning below the table for Dalinar, whose own face snapped up to the king’s, practically trembling with anticipation. Surely the king still wouldn’t give him what he wanted. Not the Blackthorn who would turn the armies of the highprinces into his own band of murderers. He stood up to protest, too quickly, his chair nearly clattering to the stone below.
“So eager! Good, we’ll need that moving forward.” Elhokar said with a grin, stepping from his place to clap Aroden on the back. “Good to see you up and about, Uncle. There will be busy days ahead!” He continued, raising his cup with his free hand. Nausea suddenly flooded his stomach again. His throat tasting of bile.
“I name Aroden Kholin my Highprince of Justice! He’s certainly brought it to my father’s murderers on the battlefield, and I’m sure he’ll deal swiftly with whoever has tried to cut me down as well!”
The highprinces let out a unified cheer that was too forced. Too warm in its enthusiasm. All raised their cups to him in toast, Sadeas included, who gave him a toothy grin and another pat on the back that made his wine slosh in the cup.
Below, as he stormed off the platform, Dalinar gave him one last smoldering look. Aroden sat back down, offering his well-wishers a smile that didn’t meet his eyes, and wondered why a part of him felt like something had twisted and died.
After several hours of feasting and too much wine. Windsinger took him back to his quarters. His head buzzing and his heart still pounding in his chest. Evi waited outside with the dawn, her arms crossed. And surprisingly, not a flicker of discontent or anger in her eyes.
“I heard. Dalinar will certainly be irate…I’m proud of you. You deserve this.” She said quietly, arms tucked in her sleeves as she approached, her free hand emerging and wrapping his in a warm grasp.
“I shouldn’t have left you last night. Not after that. I’m sorry.” He rasped, squeezing her hand back.
“You’re a warrior. I expect night terrors, Aroden. I only ask that you talk to me about them. Perhaps starting with these new fire tubes you’ve invented?”
His breath halted in his chest at that, closing the distance to brush her cheek gently.
“You’re a treasure. I…know it's difficult being here for you. I won’t ask you to look at weapons of war when you detest them so. But confiding in you…I’d appreciate that. I had dreams again last night…about Rathalas.”
“You fool.” She responded, quietly leaning into his touch and closing her eyes. “Those thoughts about war? They were like a child’s. I…I want to learn of what brings you joy. Your creations. Though I ask…not in front of Adolin, or Renarin. Not yet. I fear they may not understand. I’m almost a different person now, after these years. And us? They may never be ready to fully accept it.”
She took his hand, guiding him back to his rooms. Flashing him another dazzling grin. Her eyes flickered in the morning light, more a hazel-gold than their usual iridescent yellow. Different than he remembered. But storms if he hadn’t changed too.
Highprince of Justice. Lead Engineer of the Kholin Army. A Knight Radiant. Lover of a beautiful woman. All were a far cry from the sobbing bastard of yesterday’s nightmares. And he would ensure that the child stayed buried…whatever it took.