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It hurt.
He didn´t often get hurt, but when he did it really, really hurt.
That was all Renarin could think about when he was sitting in the Kholin warcamp infirmary. The deep throbbing pain of his elbow, the soft cradling of his arm with his other hand, the salty tears running down his cheeks.
That was what a weak boy gets from riding a horse too big for him.
That was at least what the other Brightlord´s sons had said.
Renarin sniffled one last time before slowly wiping away the wet streaks on his cheeks. It wouldn´t do for someone to suddenly barge in and to witness him crying.
He was the Blackthorn´s son. He wasn´t supposed to cry.
Like Renarin had foretold what would happen next, the doors were suddenly pushed open. And inside stepped-
His father.
Dalinar Kholin truly was an imposing man. His tall bulky figure cast long shadows on the wall as he stepped through the doorway. Suddenly the entire room felt too small for a man of his magnitude.
“Father,” Renarin acknowledged him with a short nod.
“Son, I hear you have been hurt,” Dalinar remarked. He stepped closer and only hesitated for a second before he sat down next to his son on the infirmary bed.
Renarin found surprise flash across his face and found himself reassuring his father. “You don´t have to worry. I´m not hurt too badly.” Or maybe he was trying to convince himself.
Dalinar was quiet. He looked at his son, trying to gauge his body language, trying to pick apart the truth from the lie. Renarin made his face as carefully blank as he could, which was usually pretty easy but seemed like a mountainously big task at the current moment.
“I´m fine,” he found himself whispering into the empty air. It sounded even more unbelievable.
“I was worried about you, son.” That made Renarin look away. Ashamed. But also angry. His father continued, “That is why I wanted to visit you-” Renarin couldn´t help the soft scoff that left his lips.
That made Dalinar´s eyes widen. He hesitantly spoke up, “You seem surprised…?” He left the question hang in the air for some time, waiting for his son to fill in the blanks. Renarin forced the words out, trying to keep his voice as even as usual.
“...´Just didn't think you'd care, father.”
That seemed to have left Dalinar speechless. Renarin didn´t know what kind of face he was making, as he was still pointedly looking at the corner of the room with the used towels lying on a heap on the floor. They lay there, crumpled and forgotten.
Dalinar seemed to have found his voice again. “Of course, I care for you. You are my son. My own blood."
A pause then.
“You never have seemed to care before,” replied Renarin softly.
The atmosphere in the room seemed as tense as ice. Like the slightest movement might crack the surface and plunge them all into the deep, dark depths. The only thing moving was the flickering candle on the table. It glowed brightly, left and right and made the shadows on the wall dance in joy.
Looking at it, Renarin felt quite the opposite of joy. Not with his father next to him and with no one speaking.
He remembered the surgeon telling him that they use candles in the infirmary instead of gemstones, because the dancing light would bring happiness to the patients. And the warmth of the flames would make them smile.
The corner of his mouth twitched slightly upwards. But instead of a smile, they twisted into an ugly grimace.
“Son.”
Renarin´s eyes flickered over briefly until they fell down again to where he still cradled his one arm in the other. It looked almost like he was hugging himself.
“I know I haven´t always been fair to you.”
And suddenly that was too much. Rage welled up inside of him in a tempest, as fast as a Highstorm´s arrival and as powerful as the Stormwall right at the front.
“No, you really haven´t!” Renarin shrieked. He found he had sprung up, pushing himself off the bed with slightly shaky steps.
“You never, never cared about me. The sickly young boy, the irrelevant second son, the spare to your first-born.”
His voice rose in pitch, working itself up quick as the downpour that would follow the start of the storm.
“You never asked me how I felt. You never came for me. You never even looked at me. Like I was worth nothing.” He realized he had spat those last words like they were an insult. Like he wanted to hurt his father like he had been hurt by him when he was just a boy.
A hurt more severe than the one in his arm he was still cradling to his chest.
“And when you did look at me, then only with contempt. And when you did talk to me, then only with arrows aimed at my heart. Only with deadly precision to crush my spirits.”
And just like that, the storm had passed.
Now that he had let out these words, the fury that had consumed him just a moment ago had dissipated into thin air. Completely vanished, only leaving silence behind.
He was still holding his arm in front of himself, like he was trying to protect his body from the counterattack that would surely follow his own.
But no attack came.
Instead Dalinar was left speechless. Defenseless.
He just sat there, gaping at his son.
Renarin suddenly realized he had never seen this behavior from his father. A sentiment that must ring true for both sides. Dalinar seemed to be grasping for words, his hands clenching and clutching at nothing. He slowly got up from the bed, which made Renarin take an involuntary step back.
Now the attack would surely follow.
But instead, Dalinar stepped towards the door. Almost like he was leaving the battlefield. Like he was admitting defeat.
Dalinar´s back was turned to him when he next spoke. “I know I have made some mistakes, son.”
A pause.
“I treated you unfairly.”
Renarin saw his chest move, heaving in a deep breath. Like he was preparing himself.
“I told you things that I never said to anybody else.”
He let out the breath he had been holding in, his hands clenching into fists.
“And I deeply regret them.”
Renarin´s eyes widened, unbelieving. He pulled his arm closer to his body. His father´s soft spoken words were like a sword strike more fierce than any harsh words could have been. And he found himself wholly unprepared for them, leaving him bereft and reeling on the battlefield that was the small room of the infirmary.
“You may not believe me, but I´m trying to be better. Even if I cannot undo my past mistakes, I still try. For Adolin. For you.”
Renarin´s breaths now came out as a fast wheeze. Every new word hit him like a deeper stab into his heart and he had to sit down on the bed again, lest his legs would fully give out under him.
“I´ll leave you then. Please rest for now.”
And with one last glance over his shoulder, his father left the room. The door closed softly behind him with a click.
Renarin´s breath´s still came out fast. He wasn´t allowed to fight with a sword, so he didn´t know the kind of exhaustion that would follow after a bout. But now he felt like he knew. For he had just fought the most intense battle of his life.
He hadn´t meant to loose his composure like that. Hadn´t meant to throw all those accusations like arrows at his father´s head. But still it had happened.
And now he cannot take them back. Once the arrow was loosened from the handle, there was no stopping it or taking it back.
He didn´t want to hurt his father.
But at the same time, he couldn’t help the twisted emotions that had welled up in him so suddenly.
It seemed he had also spoken words he would soon come to regret.