Chapter Text
"Ours is the constant vigil. Eternal self-mastery. Any doubt? Any malformed bonds? There are personal consequences of course, but what is worse, is the stares and judgement from when we fail."
Knights of Ash: A Biography of the Master of the Releasers. Chapter 1
“I simply don’t understand.” Elhokar said quietly. “You’re telling me there’s two Codes?”
The king palmed the desk in front of him, a curious crack in the wood that Aroden had only now noticed. Elhokar’s hand caught in it, his fingers tracing the fracture before he looked at him again.
“It depends on your definition of Codes. There are the Codes of War of course, but they have less and little to do with legal proceedings. But yes. There are laws for the lighteyes, and darkeyes. However, some laws apply to both, others to only one group, to say nothing of specific types of punishment prescribed depending on caste.” Aroden explained patiently. He poured himself another cup from the pitcher on the desk. Water alone. He was proud to say he hadn’t had a drink now in some time. He worried about Danlan. He worried about the king’s safety, and his men, especially after the incident with the king’s railing a few days prior, where it had been cut by a Shardblade and an unseen hand. He was also worried about his apparently faltering ability to master Division. So much self-doubt gnawed at him. He’d made such great strides, only to falter, but this was…almost comforting. Elhokar really was a quick study when he put his mind to it, and Aroden found he enjoyed teaching. The law was black and white, people were complicated.
“If you believed that, do you think I’d have bonded you? I calculate the odds of a highspren finding you a worthwhile companion to be less than twenty-one percent, Aroden.” Ember said with a chuckle in his mind. The words made Aroden smirk, though he was quick to hide it with his palm, resting his arm on the table.
“That’s…that’s asinine!” Elhokar exclaimed, standing from the desk to pace nervously, clutching his own glass, filled with purple wine.
“Indeed. Now consider that each highprince can dispense his own brands of justice within his fiefdom, unless the level of criminality can be seen as affecting the crown. Then consider that certain cities like Kholinar that are far older than most, contain their own codes that originate from the Silver Kingdom and beyond. And then realize that every lower ranking brightlord, magistrate, and townsman has their own interpretations and quirks. Its…a storming mess you made me charge of… nephew. ”
The king’s glare could have cut glass, and Aroden would have normally been concerned, if Elhokar didn’t immediately fix him with a toothy grin.
“Well I trust you to fix it.”
He sat back down behind the desk, kicking his feet up and sending a scrap of paper drifting to the floor.
“How would you do it? A single unified code of laws? Try to strip power from the highprinces to administer their own justice?” Elhokar asked, taking another long pull from his cup.
“That would be Dalinar’s way, I surmise. Doubtless he’d thank me for it. But no, we’d have no way to actually enforce such an arrangement. I’ve thought of…another class of person. A worker directly for the Highprince of Justice that would ensure the king’s law is followed and people are protected. The Azish have such a system of independent judiciary enforcers. They should be sworn directly to the Crown, not to a particular House, and serve as an extension of your will. Indeed, the Vedens have a similar…investigator, if one can call him that. Highprince Ralam’s son seeks out misconduct among their lighteyes.” Aroden slid a piece of paper across the desk detailing his proposal. Ranks of lighteyes, and dubiously, darkeyes that would serve the king’s purpose, seeking out judicial misconduct, freeing those falsely accused, and holding misbehaving rulers accountable for their deeds.
The king looked at it for a long moment, as if remembering a past event, his eyes unfocused.
“Ah, his bastard you mean.” He muttered, stroking his shaven face, before his eyes snapped up, lilac irises reflecting the light of the room.
“Forgive me! Aroden-”
Aroden silenced him with an outstretched hand, palm raised.
“No harm done.” He said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. The word dredging up old pain.
“Just consider the proposal for now, have one of your scribes-”
Shouting in the corridor beyond silenced Aroden before he could finish the thought, then the sound of blades being drawn, spears clanking against stone as men fell.
“Assassin!” Came a shout from beyond the door.
Aroden was up as the shouting started, on his feet and the Codes of Law sliding from the table before him with a thud. The tome’s spine broke as it crashed against the stone floor. Elhokar’s eyes met his in silent alarm as two bridgemen stormed into the chamber, spears held too-tightly in white knuckled grips.
“My king! The Assassin-in-White is here!”
Aroden drew his new sword from his scabbard, taking command. This was the man that had killed his brother. He would not kill his son.
“Escort Elhokar to safety. My king! Keep your Blade close, these men will protect you.”
He stepped through the room quickly, adjusting his uniform coat. Armor was of virtually no use against a Blade, and he had hardly been anything but an inconvenience for the Assassin last time they’d fought, but he would do his duty here.
“I hope someone has sent for your Captain!” He barked before he stormed out the door into chaos.
Shouts echoed through the corridors as flashes of Light reflected down towards the main entry of the Pinnacle. Torches burned low alongside gem-lanterns as the king stumbled past him, guided to a safer location. Aroden stood alongside three other bridgemen whose names he didn’t know. Witnesses, damnation. But he decided discretion was indeed not the better part of valor in this fight. The Assassin had defeated him easily before. Now? He stood a better chance, but not without all of his abilities at his disposal. Not without Light.
He drew in a breath, gemstones dimming in their lanterns as the power filled, him, his skin glowing in the low light.
“Storms , he’s one of ‘em too!”
“Quiet!” Shouted another man, grip white-knuckled on his spear.
“Stay behind me, all of you, don’t let him get past. He can Lash himself to walls, and his Blade kills what it touches.” Aroden found himself saying, oddly, disconnected as he palmed the grip of his own mundane sword.
The Assassin slowly walked around the corner, head low, his white Shardblade dragging, tip down in the stone.
“ Please… flee. Do not make me kill you too.” He said quietly, his childlike face almost looking like he’d been weeping.
“I didn’t flee last time, you cur. I’m not fleeing now. You and I have a score to settle!” Aroden barked, blade out in perfect Flamestance.
Reach would do him no good here. Nor would blocking. He would need to evade each strike, keep the Shardblade trapped and defending. He bounced on the balls of his feet as he recalled their last duel. The Assassin would use dizzying Lashing techniques. Attack from angles he didn’t expect. Well, now he could too. He allowed himself another moment’s hesitation, then surged forward.
He skated on Abrasion slicked feet, leaping and *catching* himself on the wall of the hallway, striking from above in a viscous overhead strike. The Assassin had only a fraction of a second to react, instinctively Lashing himself to the other wall. Aroden shoved himself back, clinging to the wall with the soles of both feet and his free hand, barely dodging the Blade, though it swung close enough that it carved a single button from his uniform coat.
He retaliated on the backstroke, ducking a second cut as he landed on the floor, aiming for the Assassin’s leg. The blade struck true, and the white apparel was stained as the Shin crumbled onto the floor, red welling from a devastating blow below the knee, though it healed immediately as the man’s glow lessened, Stormlight healing the wound almost immediately.
But Aroden didn’t give the man room to breathe. He was striking again, letting out a wordless roar of anger, Division surging in his palm as he ignited the air around the Shin, only a distraction in truth. Air burned, but not like flashpowder, but it was enough to make the man leap back with his Blade behind him, time enough for Aroden to cut at the man’s torso. Though he was forced to retreat when he retaliated with the white Shardblade, forcing Aroden to slide back, only the height of a man between them.
“A trick. You burn powders as weapons. Just as you set the tapestries on fire that night. I… how do you cling to surfaces? You are a scholar of some sort. You use tools.” The Assassin muttered, more to himself than anyone else. Aroden seized the chance, stabbing for the man’s chest, though he dodged it, Lashing himself upwards onto the ceiling, and suddenly Aroden was on the defensive as the Blade swung for his head.
“I’m an engineer , and a brother to the man you slew! You’ll find I’m full of surprises!”
He stepped inside the Assassin’s swing, bringing his blade up to cut the man in the midsection, but then he was leaping down from his perch, face to face with the shorter man, thankfully well within the range of his Blade. He halfsworded his blade, a dangerous move without gloves, but necessary in the close quarters. Aroden felt the blade bite into his hand as he swung the pommel out at the Assassin’s grip, intent on making him drop his Blade.
But the Assassin was faster.
With a quick strike of his palm. He locked Aroden’s hands to his blade, preventing him from letting go, locking his arm in place on the sword, and sliced up with his Blade.
Aroden gasped in alarm as his swordarm went dead from the shoulder down, acting on instinct and bringing his knee up into the other man’s groin.
The Assassin bit back a moan, turning on instinct just as the bridgemen closed in.
“No! Get back! ”
But it was too late, One of the men was bisected by the Blade and the other retreated in haste, spearpoint out in a desperate defense. Aroden lunged desperately, grasping his sword with his remaining hand, breathing in another breath of Light.
Come on…come ON!
He thought in desperate alarm, willing his arm to regenerate. But the Light…did nothing. Storms he was going to fail. This man was going to kill him, and then Elhokar, and all he’d fought for would be for nothing!
He swung desperately for the man’s back, but the Assassin somehow knew he was coming. He swung in a wide arc with his Shardblade, making Aroden leap back to avoid it, falling directly on his back. The other bridgeman had dragged his fallen comrade a half dozen feet back, and was kneeling over him desperately, giving the Shin all the time he needed to slowly stride over to Aroden’s fallen form, kicking his sword away.
“Here we are again. You are simply an engineer with cheap tricks. And I…I am Truthless. I must be. I must be! ”
Aroden released the Light he was holding, his arm still as dead as before, dread filling his heart.
“I’m sorry, Ember.” He rasped. His spren materializing as a flickering coal in the stone beside him.
He closed his eyes.
“Make it quick, Assassin.”
And then Kaladin was there.
The man dove into the corridor, spearpoint first, like a skyeel soaring through the air. The Assassin was forced to give ground. Trying for blow after blow as the battle entered Elhokar’s chamber. Aroden weakly tried to stand, but found his strength was leaving him. It was only then he realized his dead arm was leaking blood profusely, his new sword having slipped from his weakened grasp and slicing through tendon and bone as he fell. Blood flowed from a deep cut in his arm, dripping in time with his frantic pulse. For some reason, he found that humorous.
The remaining bridgeman saw it first, shouting in alarm as he knelt on the wound, staunching the flow. Aroden waved him off, desperately puffing in Stormlight just enough to staunch the wound. Blessedly, the flow slowed, enough for him to regain his footing and storm into the king’s chambers. He was just in time to see the Assassin-in-White get knocked over the balcony by Kaladin, both of them plummeting into the courtyard below.
“Secure the king!” Aroden barked behind him, steeling himself and leaping off himself, dragging with his good arm down the bunker’s wall, letting out a shout as his Abrasion betrayed him now, Light leaking out of him like a storming sieve.
He desperately joined the brawl when he landed.
“I will end you Assassin!” He shouted, swinging wide with his blade, forcing Kal to give ground. A costly mistake. The Shin man pivoted in the air, swinging out to catch Kaladin’s leg below the knee with his Blade. All three of them were desperately low on Stormlight now, but Aroden could see Kaladin had enough to heal himself, and he was already bearing some weight on the Blade-cut limb.
It wouldn’t be in time.
“I’ve spared you twice, there will not be a third time. May Damnation find you for making me do this!”
“The one I love is already dead, which means I am too. You can’t hurt me , monster!”
Aroden swung hard with one hand, roaring as he poured every last bit of Light he had into a wave of anger-fueled Division, the Surge finally reacting in a wave of searing heat.
The Assassin staggered back, eyes wide as his body decayed, the last of his stolen Stormlight finally dissipating as he weathered the blast, sinking to one knee. Just in time for the shouts of Kholin troops to finally reach them in the yard. The Shin looked between them both desperately before retreating. Vanishing into the night. Aroden looked at Kaladin one final time, before they both collapsed.
His sword arm was dead.
His sword arm was dead.
And unlike his legs that had been cut out from under him. No amount of Stormlight would bring it back.
Not that he could, anyway. Soldiers didn’t just heal from Shardblade wounds. Doing so would raise questions. Would out him as a Radiant, and would likely out Kaladin as well. He owed that man a debt. He’d fought off the Assassin-in-White, an impossible task. One man with a spear against someone who fought like the Wind itself, with a Shardblade and likely decades of experience with Surges. He’d saved his life, and Elhokar’s. That meant something.
A darkeyed slave was turning out to be a better Radiant than Aroden could ever hope to be. He was a decent engineer, a better than average swordsman, a man who loved ghosts . Maybe it would be better to simply…recede.
“You don’t mean to take this…do you?” Ember offered weakly, materializing in front of him. The ashspren radiated uncharacteristic concern, arms crossed as he floated there. Aroden couldn’t meet his gaze.
“I don’t know. I suppose so. But Ember…even if I didn’t feel this way…”
He did his best to fish an infused sphere from his belt, awkward now, like everything with his left hand, and breathed in the Light. He held it, one heartbeat, two, ten.
His arm remained flaccid, until he released what remained in his lungs.
“Division, healing. They’re both closed off to me…and I don’t know why.” He stood awkwardly from his bed, the sounds of the warcamps echoing up through the Kholin warcamp as he donned his swordbelt- an affectation now, more than anything else. He’d never even trained with a blade in his offhand. He had never thought to. He was a passable swordsman, and far better than most, but it had never defined him.
What had defined him was having the use of two hands, and he didn’t know what to do with the dead limb now. He could cut it off, he supposed. But that seemed reckless, especially if by some miracle, he did manage to figure out an ability he’d managed to master back when he was a grasping Dustbringer who hadn’t even truly meant his First Ideal.
It grated on him, this…fugue state he found himself in. It seemed he couldn’t do anything right. He’d betrayed his family, nearly gotten his nephew killed, and he’d failed to avenge his brother’s death. Again.
At least Dalinar’s planned had born some fruit. Adolin would begin his duels soon. He would consolidate the highprinces’ Shards with their House, and along with it, his power as Highprince of War. The thought should have comforted him…if a part didn’t fear what the Blackthorn would do with that power.
Alongside Amaram, who it seemed had all but replaced him at Dalinar’s side. That wound smarted more than it should have. He supposed he should have been used to that particular brand of familial disappointment. It hadn’t been the first time Dalinar acted like he didn’t exist. At the very least, he and Kal had commiserated over their shared hatred of Meridas.
The former bridgeman was waiting for him outside his quarters as Aroden tugged his dead arm through the sleeve of his coat.
“Still?”
Aroden shook his head quietly.
“I still mean to ride out with Adolin for the meeting with the Parshendi. It will be a good show of force. Let them think they’re meeting with the man that turns their warriors into ash, and not…the shell of what he was.” Aroden said quietly, head low.
To any outsider it would have been absurd. An Alethi brightlord speaking casually to a darkeyed spearman. But Aroden knew better.
He reached up with his good arm, resting it on Kaladin’s shoulder for a long moment.
“You’re their protector now. Elhokar, Adolin, all of them. I never was. I couldn’t even save her when it mattered most.”
He walked away, missing the conflicted expression on his friend’s face.