#but this... its not surprising he gives his pain to Odium

[fandomvariousness]

Caught

Pairing: Eren x reader

Warnings: swearing, angst, violence, smut: fingering, slight dubcon, power play, choking

Summary: Eren fu*ks you through the bars of his cell. YEP. That’s it.

Word count: 2k

A/N: We love deranged Eren supremacy, don’t we ( ͡• ͜ʖ ͡•)

It always takes just a slightest moment of distraction.

You couldn’t take your eyes of the Attack titan, who has also happened to be your lover, tearing everything apart. You were standing in a stupor on the edge of some building, aware that you’re having an unforgivable meltdown, yet you couldn’t move a limb. How has it come to this?

Just as you were regaining your common sense, a giant hand swatted you away like you were nothing but a pesky fly. You managed to see the Jaw titan scurrying away as your back hit the hard brick wall of another building before you plummeted down, what, 3, 4 stories?

The pain was excruciating: your head was pulsating unbearably, vision fuzzy, taste of blood in your mouth.

“Fuck,” you muttered as you tried to get yourself together and ignoring the severe injuries stood up.

Yet you only managed to get on all fours before feeling your consciousness slip away.

~

Your eyes fluttered open as you felt your consciousness tap back into you. You groaned in slight pain and started to get up, but was pushed back down by a soft hand.

“Please, don’t move.” It was Mikasa.

“Mikasa,” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes. “What’s going on?”

She remained silent as you forced your eyes to open properly and immediately regretted it. You’ve never seen Mikasa with such grim an expression that she wore now.

“Mikasa…” you repeated, afraid to ask what’s wrong.

She gulped. “Sasha’s dead. She’s been shot after two Marleyan kids snuck into the airship.”

You felt the shock run down your throat, dispersing all over your body.

“Shit,” you mumbled, trying to control the shaking. “Shit…”

“She’s already buried. You’ve been unconscious for some time.”

You were wiping your tears away that couldn’t stop streaming. After a while, you mustered up the strength to ask about him.

“And Eren? Where is he?”

Mikasa let her head hang even lower.

~

You sauntered over to the deep basement, where Eren was being held. You told no one you were coming, especially not Hange or Levi. All of the events were too much for you, and you just needed to lay eyes on him to know whether what they say is true.

You don’t want to believe any of it, but you saw with your own eyes how the Attack Titan destroyed the city. No remorse, no hesitation – just destruction.

Dimly lit stone hallways gave off eerie atmosphere, the flames dancing with the shadows in every crack and crevice. You knew no one was here except for you and Eren in his cell further away, but you felt like you were being watched. Watched by the dark.

As you approached his cell, still slightly limping, you heard him muttering something.

“Fight… Fight…”

You gulped and finally stepped into the light, taking in the sight of Eren at the same time: his damp hair was gathered in a bun, his lean yet muscular frame leaning to the sink with his hands, staring dead in the eyes of his own reflection.

You forced yourself to stop staring at his bare, toned torso before you diverted your gaze to his face, trying to catch his eyes, yet he wasn’t interested, he didn’t even acknowledge your presence.

“Eren?” you croaked out, slightly wavering on your intentions. Maybe you shouldn’t’ve come here, especially how he acted with Hange not so long ago.

He sighed silently and let his head hang a little lower, with his eyes closed – obviously annoyed. “I thought the visiting hours were over.”

Oh, so he’s being cheeky? After all of you risked your lives for his selfish intentions, after Sasha died, after you almost died, after each of you abandoned your morals and did what Eren wanted you to do.

You felt yourself burn with odium – you realized you’ve never been this angry on him before.

“Look at me, you, jackass,” you spat angrily, striding over to the bars and rattling them with both of your hands. “All of this so funny to you, huh??”

His knuckles whitened as he was clearly restraining himself from acting out against you.

“Y/N…” he growled alarmingly, few orange sparks jolting around his frame.

Your heart stuck in your throat, yet you forbid yourself to show him how terrified you were.

You chuckled. “Ooh, go ahead, just blow this whole building away, because you don’t even care about us, right??”

You heard the sink creak before he threw himself towards the bars, rattling them in rage a single time, as if to shake you off. Naturally, you drew back a bit, but didn’t let go of the bars.

Both of you were breathing heavily, staring each other dead in the eyes.

“Eren, I swear, I would slap you so hard if –”

If not for these damn bars, you were going to say, but the airflow was cut off when his calloused hand wrapped around your neck and drew you flush against the bars, metal squeezing against your sore skin.

You didn’t lose your cool as your eyes were still having a battle of their own, Eren’s fingers squeezing into your skin to the point of teasing.

“Go ahead and try.”

You slightly bit your lower lip as you stretched out your hand between the bars, squeezing your own dainty palm against his thick neck. That did almost nothing, of course, but you were showing him that you won’t cower before him like he expects you to.

He noted that as the corner of his lips twitched ever so slightly. “You’re feisty today.”

You cursed yourself mentally as you felt blush creep up your cheeks – not in a million years you’d want to give in to him in this situation, but your body was acting on its own.

You curtly pushed him away with the hand you were holding his neck as he released his own grip, yet the look didn’t break.

You were genuinely pissed on Eren – you wanted to have a nice, calm talk with him and find out what’s really going on, but he’s being even more stubborn than usual.

You sighed. “Sorry to disturb your… slumber.” you noted snarkily and turned around to walk away, yet Eren’s hand wrapped around your throat from behind in one swift motion and dragged you back.

Your body hit the bars painfully, making you wince.

“You wound me up, and now you’re going away?” he muttered smokily against the back of your ear, lips as close as the bars allowed.

You grunted as you tried to pry his fingers off of your skin when his other hand snaked around your waist, barring your escape completely.

“Am I your hostage now?” you breathed out, feeling your stomach flutter as Eren’s breath tickled your skin.

The hand around your waist snuck under your white long-sleeve shirt, leaving a scalding-hot trail in its wake. “Kind of.”

You managed to suppress a moan, but your eyelids fluttered down on their own.

“Didn’t you miss me?” he whispered, his hand kneading your breast as the other tightened around your neck.

Heat was continuously pooling in your lower stomach as you hummed in agreement.

“Didn’t catch that,” he jerked your body against the bars, rattling them. “What was it again?”

You winced and gripped the bars above your head with both of your hands. “I missed you.” you wailed louder than intended.

You didn’t see it, but you sure as hell felt him smirk.

His tongue brushed against the nape of your neck, coaxing out a quick moan out of you, making Eren release a breathy laugh. “I missed your cute sounds.”

You blushed even harder as you flailed your hand in air for a second, searching for Eren’s head before you found it and burrowed your fingers in his dark hair, messing up his bun.

“Eren,” you breathed out and he knew exactly what to do – he always did.

Normally, he would tease and edge the shit out of you, but having being apart longer than ever, he himself was eager to touch and feel you.

His hand left your neck and snuck under the waistline of your leggings and panties, gliding his fingers through your slick core.

You shivered as he breathed out. “All that rage got you so wet for me.”

“Yes,” you whined squirming against the bars, feeling his own hardness against your behind.

He circled your clit, his own pants feeling tighter and tighter. You felt like your skin was glowing from all the heat and for a moment you wished so hard these damn bars would melt from that same heat, leaving no barrier between the two of you.

Eren’s expert hands were making you moan louder and louder before you felt an intrusion in your mouth as he slipped two digits inside. “You don’t want Hange to interrupt our quality time, do you?”

You yelped as he pushed a finger inside your core – it was just one finger, but you were already on the brink of overstimulation.

“E-Eren,” you croaked after a few moments. “Need your cock, please,”

The battle between your mind and your body was long non-existent as you admitted you’re such a mess for him, like always. You always got caught in his web, and this time is no exception.

You lowered your hand to stroke the obvious tent in his pants, making him groan oh-so-sexily.

He didn’t hesitate as he hooked his fingers under the hem of your pants and underwear as he pulled them down to your knees, a waft of air hitting your wet center. You didn’t even mind the bars painfully pushing against your skin and bones anymore.

You gripped the metal above your head again as Eren aligned himself with your entrance, his fingers digging into your hips as he pushed inside, the sweet stretching ache turning into blazing pleasure almost immediately.

You let out a prolonged moan at the cacophony of these sensations as Eren started to move.

“So tight, always so tight,” Eren mumbled, losing himself in you too.

His tip hit your G-spot, what wasn’t surprising since he knew every inch of you and was always marking your responses to his ministrations. He knew exactly how to make you lose your mind.

The bars were rattling real loud as he pounded into you as if the barrier was non-existent, both of you ignoring the pain from constantly hitting the hard metal.

“Missed my dick, didn’t you?” it was more like a statement than a question, what made you feel dirty and was a final point of tipping you towards you release.

“Eren!” you yelped. “I’m gonna cum,” you were a hot mess, tongue lolling out of your mouth slightly.

He felt your cunt clench around him, indicating that you’re indeed so close, as he pounded into you hard a few times more, one hand cupping your breast and the other on your stomach. You released a short, high-pitched moan when you finally fell, seemingly straight into his embrace.

He pumped into you chasing his own release as you were coming back to your senses, holding on to the bars for dear life as you finally felt his seed spill inside you, your bodies becoming one despite the obvious division.

He held you against the bars with his arms snaked around your waist for a few moments more as you both tried to steady your breathing.

“Really missed you,” Eren muttered quietly, his breath tickling your neck sweetly.

You pulled up your leggings as he did the same with his own pants and turned around to face him, cupping his face with your hand, gently this time.

“I’m so glad you’re back.” was all you could say as you got emotional all of a sudden, seeing his face snuggle into your palm, resembling a small, stray puppy, so desperate for comfort.

He smiled slowly. “You’re not angry on me anymore, are you?”

You released a breathy laugh. “I won’t be if you watch that filthy mouth of yours from time to time.”

“But you like it filthy, don’t you?”

You bit your lower lip. “I do.”

[moiraineswife]

Mine - A Navani/Raboniel Fic

IT’S TIME FOR THE GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY. 

Title: Mine

Rating: M  Content warnings: Violence. Sexy violence. But still violence.

Summary:  Set during Rhythm of War. THEORETICALLY it’s canon-compliant. Just gayer. After several failed attempts, The Pursuer sends men to bring him Navani, believing Kaladin will come to the Queen’s aid if she’s in danger. Raboniel takes issue with this, and refuses to allow them to take Navani.

Teaser: ‘“You will tell him that Navani is mine. If he may claim that Windrunner, then I claim her. He will not touch her. He will not send men to take her from me. He will not so much as think of her or utter her name without my knowledge and consent. She is mine, and I will send every one of his worthless soldiers back to Braize screaming if that is what it takes to make that known throughout this tower.”’

Link: AO3

It had been a long time since Navani had studied by candlelight. 

Glowing gemstones had ruled her life for so long now. Woven into her hair as a symbol of status in Gavilar’s court. 

Counting spheres as the cost of conquest had piled on her shoulders as her husband had drunk, and killed, and warred his way to glory, with no idea what she did in the background to prevent his fledgling kingdom suffering economic and social collapse in the wake of his passing. 

Powering the fabrials that had brought her such joy and fulfilment, a constant support in her life. 

Now the Stormlight that fueled the Radiants as most of her family was pulled into this war. 

Raboniel preferred to work by candlelight. She said it soothed her, and reminded her of days when she’d been younger. Stormlight had not been plentiful for Fused in eras gone by. Odium had disapproved of it surrounding them, and Voidlight was a poor source of illumination. 

Navani had to admit they brought a certain warmth to the small room she was ensconced in with Raboniel. They were alone together now, as Raboniel had just dismissed the guards, who had been visibly wilting, and told them to send a replacement team down to them instead. 

There was no sound save the soft scratching of their pens on the notebook between them. Raboniel was studying her latest addition, making small, careful notations in the women’s script. 

One could tell a lot about another’s script, Navani felt. Jasnah’s for example, was pristine, a perfect example of the women’s script, honed over much time. Dalinar’s was less practiced, with large, bold lines, each word somehow making its own statement upon the page. 

Raboniel’s was sharper than Navani’s, more cramped. This was to be expected, given her unfamiliarity with it, but she wrote curiously, each spike and line written with a differing pressure or firmness, to a rhythm, she realised. Right now that rhythm was frantic, her eyes focused, entirely consumed by the work.

Navani understood that feeling. Like Raboniel, she had been many things to many people over her years. Mother, mentor, wife, queen. For herself, she was a scholar. Yes. A scholar. It was still sometimes difficult to ignore the words whispered in Gavilar’s voice at the back of her mind that told her she was nothing herself. Always defined by what she was to, and what she could get from, others. 

Raboniel had helped her see things differently. This was who she was. Navani. Not Queen Navani. Not Brightness Kholin. Just Navani. Navani was a creator, an inventor, a scholar, a pursuer of secrets, and she thrived in this environment. 

She felt the same way about Raboniel. 

She was many things to many people as well. A mother, certainly, even now that Essu was dead, by her own hand, she would never stop being a mother. A soldier, and a war leader. A servant of Odium. An immortal Fused reborn. A Voidbringer, in the minds of many humans. 

Raboniel, however, not the Lady of Pains, the Lady of Wishes, Ancient One, or General, just Raboniel was as Navani was: a scholar. She too thrived on this. She had ulterior motives, certainly, Navani had already seen several of them. 

Yet even without them, she felt sure she would be driven, as Navani was herself, by the question, the seeking, the taste of new knowledge, the thrill of uncovering things that had been buried for millenia, of cracking puzzles buried in the very fabric of their world that no-one had ever cracked before. 

In her heart, in the deepest, most fundamental fabric of her soul, Raboniel was a scholar. And in that way, mortal and immortal, Fused and human, their essence was the same. And it sang in harmony with one another in these moments, cloistered alone together, picking out the mysteries of ages gone by. 

It was a strangely intimate process. Navani had always worked in groups before. She had flitted between ardents and engineers and storm wardens like an insect pollinating flowers, bringing little bits of insight or inspiration, but never lingering with any. 

With this project, she had worked exclusively with Raboniel, for hours and hours at a time. They had only had one another to feed off of and consume with their theories, and thoughts, and ideas, and experiments. 

She felt as though she knew this woman, felt as though she connected with her, in a way she had rarely done with another human so swiftly. 

She adored the bones of Dalinar, she truly did. But it had taken a while to understand him. Part of the reason she had taken such time between Gavilar and Dalinar in their youth was that it took her a while to feel she knew a person, and was close enough to commit to them. 

How wrong she had been, in mistaking Gavilar’s mask for the truth of him. While she had missed the good heart buried beneath the layers of scar tissue Dalinar had hidden it behind all those years ago. 

Raboniel, though, she felt she knew her, knew her, beneath the blood and bones, straight to the soul, the moment they had first worked on Rhythm of War together, and she had looked into her eyes, and found that same bright, consuming, almost manic light gleaming in them that lived within her, too. 

With a small nod, her rhythm shifting to one of satisfaction, Raboniel pushed the notebook back towards Navani, gesturing her to the new notes that had been made in the Fused’s hand. 

As she bent to examine it, however, Raboniel sat up beside her, straight and intent, head turning towards the door. The way she sat when they were not alone, when she was a regal Fused, not a scholar. 

Navani turned, too, and found six of the Pursuer’s Fused soldiers standing in the doorway. 

Raboniel did not seem surprised. If anything she seemed...Resigned. 

Navani was not overly aware of the situation in the tower, but she knew that tension between the Pursuer and Raboniel’s calmer, more reasonable rule were straining. Especially as his hunt for Kaladin continued to refuse to bear fruit.  

Raboniel stood, and a power seemed to radiate from her, as if she were a perfect gemstone, containing an immortality’s worth of stormlight pulsing within. 

She was rather impressed that the soldiers didn’t turn and flee at once, as Raboniel reached her height and stared them down without a flicker of fear, despite being outnumbered six to one.  

“Our master has sent us,” the lead soldier said, red eyes gleaming as they flickered from Raboniel to Navani, still sat at the desk behind Raboniel, who suddenly felt like a shield against that hungry gaze. 

“I thought that he might,” Raboniel replied, her rhythm becoming dark and tempestuous. 

“Then you know why we are here, Lady of Wishes,” said another, taking a step forwards, “This can be resolved without any bloodshed.” 

Bloodshed? Navani felt herself growing cold. On some instinct, she picked up the Rhythm of War notebook and began to try to surreptitiously move to the back of the room. Putting as much distance between herself and these men seemed the most sensible course of action now. 

One of them noticed her, and began to hum in a loud, derisive rhythm, jeering, “See how it runs. The fear is obvious! She knows she is pursued.” 

Pursued? They were here for her? 

Raboniel glanced over her shoulder, long hair strands swishing around her like a cape as she did. She gave Navani a small nod, telling her she had done the right thing.��

“Do not fear such as these, Navani,” she said, her rhythm soft but strong, pulsing against Navani, almost strengthening her, “They do not warrant any reaction from yourself.” 

“It is true, then?” the lead soldier said, his rhythm scathing, his tone far bolder than any she had heard taken with Raboniel before, “You have grown fond of his human pet of yours, and it has made you weak, sucked the passion from you and put it into her instead.” 

Raboniel actually growled at him, her rhythm becoming dark and dangerous, Voidlight collecting around her hand as she stared the soldier down, “Do not forget yourself, Devail,” she said, her rhythm an angry, swirling snarl of sound. “I am not some common Fused like Lezian, and if you speak to me in such a way again you will regret it for the rest of your pathetic immortal existence, I swear to you.” 

Navani trembled and the words were not even directed at her. The soldier took a step backwards, humming softly in a rhythm of apology. As well he might. 

Raboniel took a breath, and looked at each of the men in turn, giving them a long, piercing look, “Is this something you truly wish to do?” she asked them quietly. 

“We’re under orders, Lady of Wishes,” the lead soldier said, “We’re not to use violence as a primary method of achieving those orders, but the Pursuer expects resistance. In that case, he says we are to achieve our goal at all costs.” 

Raboniel hummed a sharp, destructive rhythm, “You would raise your weapons against me, truly?” 

Oh Stormfather, Navani thought, trembling. This could turn ugly, well and truly. Raboniel was a competent warrior, she was sure, but she was primarily a scholar, thinker, and organiser, from what Navani had seen. The Pursuer’s men were among the most finely trained, as brutal and bloodthirsty as their master. 

“We would take up arms against one who tried to defend a human, Lady of Wishes,” the soldier said again, his rhythm respectful, but firm. 

Raboniel shook his head, “Lezian is a fool,” she hissed, “What does he possibly wish to accomplish with the queen that could be more than what I have accomplished with her?” 

“He will use her to lure his prize,” the soldier Raboniel had named Devail said, an indecent hunger in his eyes as he once again looked past Raboniel to Navnai, cowering on the floor behind them, feeling like a hog in a pen at a slaughter market beneath that gaze. 

“The Pursuer believes he can use the queen to draw forth Stormblessed,” the lead soldier said, “He would of course come to the defence of his queen were she threatened.” 

“Or publicly executed,” Devail added, with a gleeful grin. 

Navani quivered. She had rarely felt so helpless. She held the Rhythm of War against her chest, as though it could do anything to help her. She had no weapons, not even her customary painrial. She was tired, and weak, and fragile. 

If Raboniel gave her over to these men there would be nothing she could do to stop it. 

“He thinks to set an ambush for the Windrunner, using something the man will seek to defend to draw him to a place of contest, does he?” Raboniel asked, and her rhythm sounded strangely amused. Perhaps Navani could not read her correctly. 

“You are wise as ever Lady of Wishes,” the lead Fused said, with a small bow of the head, “This is indeed his intention.” 

“And why should it work this time when he has failed twice already, with far more fixed and defensible locations at the shield points?” Raboniel demanded scornfully. 

Devial took an angry step forwards but, wisely, his commander restrained him. 

“I will not relinquish an asset to him for the sake of his wounded, failing pride,” Raboniel continued derisively, “Navani is of far more use to me than Lezian could ever fathom to put her to in his wildest moment of clarity and intelligence.” 

“We are under orders, Lady,” the lead soldier said, “Our master was quite...Insistent.” 

“And you think I cannot be equally so?” Raboniel said, crossing her arms over her chest and frowning. “Return to your master and tell him that he has no authority to issue me with orders in this tower, or anywhere. Tell him he should count himself lucky I do not escalate this insult and return him to Braize, screaming. And tell him that if he wants to request something of me in future, then I expect him to pay me the respect I am due and come himself.” 

With that, she turned her back on them, as though done with them. Navani had to clap her safehand to her mouth to stop herself uttering a warning. It seemed so foolhardy for Raboniel to put her back to these men. 

The tension inside her was vibrating like a lost tone. She could barely breathe for the pressure of it welling inside her. Her eyes flicked up towards Raboniel’s face and found it wearing a soft, reassuring smile. 

“This was not an option our master will allow us to pursue, lady,” the lead soldier said, quietly. 

The Fused behind him drew their weapons, holding them in distinctly aggressive postures. 

Raboniel sighed heavily and turned slowly back to face them. 

“Perhaps I was not clear enough, captain,” she said, her voice quiet and dangerous, “I am giving you this chance to return to your master and have him confront me himself. Take it.”  

“I cannot, lady,” he said, shaking his head, “We were prepared for this eventuality, our master-” 

“If your master wishes so much for me to bleed him,” Raboniel growled, “Then perhaps he can cease being so cowardly and face me himself.” 

Devial made a noise of outrage at that, and several of the others hummed to an angry rhythm. “He already has his prey!” one of them called, “It would break centuries of tradition were he to pursue another before he has claimed the life of the Windrunner.”  

“What a convenient excuse,” Raboniel said scathingly. 

“We have no quarrel with you, lady,” the lead soldier interrupted, “We only want the queen.” 

“Then that is your quarrel with me, captain,” Raboniel snapped, “Navani is mine. As I have made clear to your master, and indeed to all who reside in this tower. If you wish to harm her, or indeed remove her from this room without my authority, then there will be a quarrel.” 

Navani felt almost breathless, as Raboniel glowered down at these men, heavily armoured, ancient, powerful, returned over and over to kill. And she stood her ground and stared them down to protect her. 

A part of her wanted to protest, wanted to stop this hopeless fight before it began. Raboniel being killed might have once been a desirable outcome, but her honour in this moment would not allow the woman to get herself killed protecting Navani, when the outcome would be the same. 

Yet these men terrified her. She did not want to leave this safe, quiet, candlelit room, her books, her scholarship, her safety that she enjoyed with Raboniel. 

She stayed quiet. Cowardly. And watched with wide eyes. 

“Then a quarrel it shall be,” the captain said, sounding resigned, but not altogether surprised. 

They had expected this? They had expected Raboniel to stubbornly face her death rather than simply handing Navani over? 

“Then come, quarrel with me,” Raboniel said in a dangerous hiss, drawing twin blades from her hips as she spoke, “And do make it quick, captain, I have work I must yet attend to tonight. 

There was a moment. A single, eternal moment that hung in silence for a cluster of frantic heartbeats. Like the breath of calm and quiet before the full force of the stormwall was brought to bear upon the world. 

Raboniel and the Pursuer’s men faced one another, Raboniel crouched low in an offensive stance, the men standing in a furious formation, weapons drawn, carapace gleaming, the flickering candlelight casting deadly shadows across their inhuman faces. 

Navani cowered in her corner and whispered a soft prayer to the Almighty, hands clutched over her chest, wishing, absurdly, that she had a glyphward to burn. 

Then the stormwall hit, and Navani pressed herself back against the wall, as if she could push herself into it and escape the cacophony of death and violence that erupted around her like a highstorm. She felt vulnerable, exposed, tied out to bear it alone, with no shield against what was coming. 

Except that she was not alone. Raboniel stood in front of her, protective, a shield against the horrors that had come for her. 

The Pursuer’s men moved forwards in a tight formation and they seemed, absurdly, wary. Though they were six warriors against one scholar, they seemed to actually fear Raboniel. 

A heartbeat later, Navani understood why. 

The men came for her, but she did not wait for them. In a single bound, she crossed the distance between them, and landed in their midst, blades flashing, teeth bared, hair flying like a banner behind her. 

Navani gasped as both of her blades - thinner, and shorter, than a common lighteyes side sword, pierced both eyes of a Fused in the centre of the group. He went down with her landing on his chest, like a mink atop a thrashing rat, his flailing limbs knocking into his companions and sowing chaos in their tight formation. 

Raboniel grinned a feral, dangerous smile at the others around her, then leapt, yanking her blades from the corpse of the Fused beneath her, and scraping along the carapace of the men before her. 

The noise it made was awful, and Navani clapped her hands to her ears. The scraping, shrieking sounded like a dirge of death, and the men around her flinched at the sound of it. 

This was clearly the reaction Raboniel had anticipated, for she sprang backwards out of the chaotic fray, putting her back once more to Navani, keeping herself carefully between her and the Pursuer’s men. 

She jerked her chin towards them, inviting them to come and take her if they could, and Navani felt a chill of understanding. 

In essence, this woman was like her. They were both scholars, driven by their passion for learning, for teasing the secrets from Roshar that it tried so hard to hide from them. But she was more. Far more. And one aspect of herself was this. 

The Lady of Pains. A Herald in her own right. A Herald of Death. Bearer of devastation and violence. A woman who held a sword as easily as she held a pen, and unravelled men with as much skill and precision as she unravelled secrets. 

She spun, both blades whirling through the air, flashing in the candlelight, casting terrible, dancing shadows against the walls. She caught another Fused in the throat and he stumbled, but Voidlight glowed from the wound, healing it. 

Before that could complete, she stepped in to him and rammed her blade, designed, Navani saw now, to pierce armour - or carapace - into his chest, and Navani heard the telltale crack as his gemheart shattered. 

A sword clattered against her back and she turned, snarling, blood flying from her blades, and parried the next swing that should have taken her head from her shoulders. She caught the blade between both of her own, crossed like a chasmfiend’s mandibles, and twisted, shattering the wrist of its bearer. 

He dropped the sword, screaming, and Raboniel moved in as though she might have kissed him, but breathed out, engulfing him in a cloud of blackness that began to devour his flesh while he howled in pain, clawing at it and writhing on the floor. 

Navani had thought herself a connoisseur of death. She had watched countless duels in her life, attended many wars. Her first husband had begun a war of conquest which had often spilled blood upon those closest to him. Her current husband waged a war for the world itself. Navani had seen the aftermath of battles, had even seen a few battles themselves. 

She had never seen anything like this. 

Raboniel moved faster than she would have believed, blades a silver blur, Voidlight rising from her skin as she swayed. 

Dalinar and Gavilar had been skilled. They had talent, practice, and shards to cause devastation. But this? This was an immortal who had been singing to a rhythm of war and death at Odium’s bidding from the moment she had drawn breath. 

She was like a shard all her own. Created to kill. She was like a highstorm, these men a foolish cry for it to quiet its winds, utterly lost to its fury and tempest. 

One of the men cracked the head of a spear against her shoulder and she turned, grasping at the staff. It crumbled to dust at her touch, but the blade remained intact. It fell, as if in slow motion, and she snatched and hurled it across the room, lodging it in the forehead of another who dropped instantly. 

The now weaponless man stared at her with eyes wide, full of fear, then full of nothing but death as Raboniel took both blades and rammed them, one on either side, into his chest, piercing directly to his gemheart. 

Pain flashed unexpectedly into Navani’s awareness. 

She looked down to find a knife slashing against her arm. A second later, it was at her neck, and she screamed, unable to stop herself, as Devial grabbed her and pulled her against him, blade held tight against her throat, sharp blade scraping the skin. 

Raboniel turned at once, locking on to the sound. She stumbled, as the captain struck her from behind. Without looking, her entire aspect focused on Navni, she whipped a knife from her belt and flung it behind her, narrowly missing the captain, who had to dance aside to avoid it. 

“Enough, Raboniel,” Devial panted, his breath hot in Navani’s ear, “I have her. Set down your blades. I promise I won’t torture her too much before I cut her pretty head off if you do.” 

Raboniel stalked towards him, her eyes blazing like the fires of Damnation, burning with hatred and disgust, each step that of a calculating predator. 

“Release her, Devial,” she breathed softly, a trickle of blood streaming from the corner of her mouth as she bared her fangs at him, “Or I will send you back to Odium begging never to be Returned again lest you be forced to face me and the torments I will unleash upon your worthless form again.” 

Devial laughed, and pressed the blade harder against Navani’s throat in answer. 

“So be it,” Raboniel whispered. 

She moved blindingly, far more quickly than Navnai had yet seen from her. In an instant, she had the blade at her neck in her hands, and it vanished to dust in a heartbeat, Navani dropping to the floor and scrambling away from the battling Fused, clutching at her throat in terror. 

Devial swung for Raboniel’s neck as his captain prowled around them, forcing Raboniel to keep one blade guarding her exposed back. 

Navani wanted to help but storms. She was just a scholar, and she would only get in the way. All she could do was whisper another frantic prayer to the Almighty. Something she never believed she’d utter for Raboniel’s sake. 

“You committed a gross slight against me just now, Devial,” Raboniel called to him, her eyes narrowed, “I will have you correct it before I send you back to Braize.” 

“Oh?” he said, “And what was that?” 

“You forgot my title when you addressed me in your scorn,” she said quietly, “I would remind you of it.” 

With that she lunged for him, throwing another dagger as she did, catching the captain in the hand so he could not intervene as she and Devial slammed to the floor. 

She rammed him through the stomach with both of her strange, pointed blades, pinning him in place as he writhed. Then she pressed her hand to him, forcing Voidlight into him, and caused his carapace to ignite, first like smouldering coals, then a roaring bonfire. 

Raboniel did not seem bothered by the heat as it engulfed him, writhing and screaming beneath her.  

She leaned in close to him, ripping her blades free of his abdomen, sending blood gushing from the wound it left, “I am the Lady of Pains, Devial,” she whispered to him, close and soft as she might to a lover. Then she rammed her blade into his chest and twisted, “My will in this tower is law. My word is final and absolute. And you will pay me the respect I am due by that title. Lest I remind you once more of its origin.” 

Navani had thought she would use her second blade to end Devial, puncturing either his gemheart or his spinal cord to finish him. 

Instead she rose from him, stepping away, leaving him writhing, consumed by flames and agony. His Voidlight supply healed him. Not fast enough to escape the death that was coming, but enough to prolong it, to ensure his last breaths would be spent in pain. 

Navani found she could not feel too sorry, but she did look away from him, watching to where Raboniel stalked towards the last of the men. Their leader, the captain, who cowered on his knees before her. 

He tossed aside his blade as she approached him, “I yield, Lady of Pains,” he said, voice cracking with fear. 

“Oh?” she said, sounding faintly amused, “And you would have allowed me to yield to you, or to Devial, had I been so pitiful as to demand that mercy, would you?” she demanded, rhythm pulsing with derision. 

“I, I-” the man panted, floundering, red eyes wide and terrified as he stared up at her. 

“Do not answer,” she snapped, “I do not need to hear you lie to me as a final insult for this day’s nonsense. I do not wish to hear you speak another word to me while you hold this body, lest I be reminded of this encounter, and your worthless part in it. Do I make myself clear?” 

The captain nodded frantically, humming to a remorseful, subservient rhythm. 

“Good,” she said, coldly. “You will return to Lezian, and you will tell him that my patience with him is growing thin, and if he thinks to test it again, he will be sorry. As sorry as Devial, there,” she said. 

As she spoke, she jerked her head towards the Fused behind them, now spasming and whimpering his last. 

The echoing silence left in the wake of his death was somehow worse than his screams. 

“You will tell him that Navani is mine. If he may claim that Windrunner, then I claim her. He will not touch her. He will not send men to take her from me. He will not so much as think of her or utter her name without my knowledge and consent. She is mine, and I will send every one of his worthless soldiers back to Braize screaming if that is what it takes to make that known throughout this tower.” 

She gave the captain a shove, sending him stumbling away from her. He scrambled to his feet, hovering, waiting to see if there was more she wished of him. 

“Get out of my sight,” she spat, waving a dismissive hand. 

He bolted at once. 

Navani sat, stunned, in the corner of the room, staring with wide eyes at the aftermath of what had happened. She put her fingers to her neck, feeling the faint cut there. It was not bad. Barely a scratch, in truth. But the memory of that blade against her skin, the feeling of the Fused’s clammy hands holding her, pressing her against him, as he spoke so lovingly of torturing her, made her want to claw herself out of her own body just to escape the memories. 

She was jolted back to her surroundings as Raboniel walked to her and crouched down beside her. 

She looked tired. Not physically tired, though. Voidlight, like Stormlight, would support her and stave off fatigue. She looked soul tired. The kind of tiredness that Navani saw when she looked into her eyes as she spoke of the war that had gone on so long for her. 

She had been created to kill, made to bring death to this world on Odium’s orders. She did it well. So very, very well. But she was tired of it. Ready to rest, to sleep, at long last. She was rusted through to her core, done, and finished. The only death she wanted now was her own, Navani was sure. 

“Are you alright?” Raboniel asked quietly, and Navani’s eyes snapped back to her eyes, focusing herself on them. 

“I-” Navani said, her voice shaking.

She wanted to say that she was fine, and she was, in comparison to everyone else in this room, Navani had absolutely nothing to complain about. But the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she kept repeating that single sound, in a progressively higher voice, shaking violently. 

“It will pass,” Raboniel said, gently, “Come here,” she coaxed Navani to her feet and led her into the small side room that connected to their study, away from the death. 

She settled her on the couch, poured her some strong sapphire wine and pushed the cup into her hands. Then she glanced to the next room, where Fused were calling in their own language, crying out. 

“Stay there,” Raboniel said quietly, “I will return for you in a moment.” 

Navani almost laughed at that command. It was the most unnecessary she had ever been given in her life. She couldn’t have moved if a highstorm had torn off the roof and come ripping through the room. 

Flashes of the battle continued to play out, against her will. Above it all, the look in Raboniel’s eyes as she had defended Navani. 

That had been more than a woman protecting an important asset from a political rival. More even than a necessary academic ally. That had been...Real. True, fierce protectiveness. And her declaration that Navani was hers? That she would murder her way through all of the Pursuer’s men if that was what it took to keep her safe? Storms. Storms. It was too much. 

She sat on the couch, staring into the violet depths of her wine, unable to bring it to her lips. It was taking all of her concentration and will to keep herself in check enough to stop it slopping over the sides with how her hands were shaking. 

Raboniel re-entered the room a moment later, crouching down in front of Navani with a bowl of some kind of clear, strong-smelling liquid and some other supplies she could not take in. 

“The guards I sent for arrived,” she said, quietly, “The Pursuer’s men drugged our earlier group, so that they would become more tired, more quickly, hoping I would send for replacements. I have asked them to put our rooms in order for us. They will take care of the-” 

“You saved my life,” Navani interrupted, hoarsely. 

She had been listening to what Raboniel had said, and a part of her mind recognised that it was important. But that part of her was composed, and in command, and poised. And Navani had never felt less like that in her life. So that part of her mind was most certainly not in charge at the moment. 

Raboniel paused, watching Navani with a strange expression. 

Then she set down her things and said, simply, “Yes. I did. You think I would simply have handed you over to them?” she asked. 

“I would have, if I had been in your position,” Navani replied. 

The words were coming out clipped and jerky. She was still staring straight ahead, not thinking clearly. What was she saying? She shouldn’t be telling her that. Next time she might not stand between Navani and those monsters. 

Curiously, Raboniel smiled, “I appreciate your honesty, Navani,” she said to a quiet rhythm, “But I do not think it is true. You would not have allowed someone to take a friend in your care.” 

“That’s what I am to you?” Navani asked, managing to tear her eyes from the spot on the wall she’d been fixating on, “A friend?” 

Raboniel hummed a soft rhythm she could not interpret. 

She did not answer, but gestured to Navani’s arm and said, “You were wounded, I would clean and stitch that for you, to prevent infection. I shall have the surgeons attend you tomorrow, but I do not want anyone else coming in or out of here tonight. It will be secured by my guards, and I will remain with you, in case Lezian attempts to strike again, thinking me weakened.” 

Navani nodded numbly, barely taking in what Raboniel was saying. Then. Wounded? 

She looked down and saw that, indeed, her havah was torn, and there was a long gash in her shoulder where Devial had first grabbed her. Made by a dagger, she thought? Or had it been his claws? She wasn’t sure. It was all a blur. It was all- Oh storms. 

Raboniel was achingly gentle as she began to unbutton her havah, saying quietly, “I need to move this out of my way, to work on you.” 

Navani nodded vaguely again. She would have let Raboniel do almost anything to her in this state. Some part of her, deeper than conscious sense or reason, trusted this woman. It had identified her as safe, the only safe thing left in her world. 

On a base, instinctual level, that part had seen this woman stand before her, fight to the death to defend her, then come to her afterwards to care for her. In her frantic, terrified state, an anxiety beyond panic or hysteria, she clung to whatever instinct guided her to, and right now, instinct guided her to Raboniel. 

Raboniel prodded gently at the wound in Navani’s shoulder, “Not bad,” she assessed, the quiet scholar returned once more, the feral, violent intensity of the battle gone now they were alone together again. “It will hurt, I am sure, but should cause no lasting damage.” 

“It doesn’t,” Navani replied mechanically, as Raboniel began to clean it, “Hurt,” she added, rather foolishly. 

Raboniel nodded, “Be grateful for that reprieve,” she said, wryly, “It will, once your mind catches up with what your body has just experienced.” 

“It was so much,” Navani whispered. 

The part of her brain that still had a wit left, chided her for the foolish comments, pointing out that Raboniel would not want to hear such babbling from her. 

Raboniel only nodded however, “Your first time is always a lot. The next will be easier.” 

Navani trembled and violently shook her head, “I do not want there to be a next time,” she said, swallowing hard. 

“None of us ever do, Navani,” Raboniel said quietly, “Each time I am forced to pick up my blades and kill again, I hope it will be the last. It never is. I told myself I should stop hoping it will be, as that is foolish, and repeated evidence has been put in front of me that there will always be more. Yet some time will be the last. So I hope for it. Still. I hope for it.” 

“I’m sorry,” Navani said, stupidly, as though she had anything to apologise for, as though any of this had been by her design, “That you had to kill again today on my behalf.” 

“Do not apologise, Navani,” Raboniel said softly, removing a curved needle and surgeon’s thread from the small pile beside her, “For all the times I have had to kill most recently, you have been the most worthy reason I have done so.” 

Their eyes met, and a flicker of warmth flared in Navani, pushing through the cold fog that had descended upon her after the battle. 

Clumsily, she reached out and cupped Raboniel’s cheek in her hand, stopping her from looking away, and taking that warmth with her, keeping her in place, looking at her, for just a little longer. 

“Thank you,” she whispered, voice hoarse again, but sounding more like her. 

Raboniel placed a gentle hand over Navani’s, then smiled and, sounding faintly amused as she hummed, said, “I appreciate the sentiment Navani, truly, but I need two hands to finish my stitching.” 

Navani blushed as she realised she had clutched onto Raboniel’s hand without realising, seeking to anchor herself in this moment of chaos and terror. She released her, and focused instead, watching Raboniel’s movements as she stitched. 

The pattern was not the one favoured by modern human surgeons, but the stitches were neat, precise, and well-judged. She was obviously practiced. 

“I wouldn’t have thought this was a skill you would need to have,” Navani said, finding that she needed to say something, unwilling to let the moment lapse into silence, “Given that you can use Voidlight to heal yourself.” 

Raboniel hummed quietly, nodding, “This is true. But it was a skill I had acquired before I became Fused.” She looked up to see Navani’s curious look, and explained, “My mother was a seamstress, many years ago, and she taught me.” 

“You remember it?” Navani asked, amazed, “From so long ago?” 

“I maintained the skill, over many years, and many returns,” she explained quietly, “It was not something that I wished to lose. I taught Essu, also, when she-” she faltered for a moment, and Navani squeezed her hand. Raboniel took a breath and continued, “I wanted her to have skills beyond what Odium wished her to know in order to kill. I thought, perhaps, it may help, to have an anchor, something familiar, not drenched in blood, to return to. It was not enough.” 

She trailed off, and though it made her feel as though she were being repeatedly stabbed, Navani allowed the silence to swallow them, not wishing to interrupt Raboniel’s moment of grief. 

A guard glanced into the room as Raboniel finished up, and Navani jumped so badly that Raboniel almost tore out the row of stitches she’d just finished. 

Resting a hand gently on Navani’s knee, Raboniel turned and said, “Speak.” 

“The area is secure, Ancient One,” the guard said, giving her a salute, “We will remain in the outer chamber, with you and the Queen protected here. If we see any of the Pursuer’s men, we shall call for you at once.” 

“Thank you, Vardwi,” Raboniel said, nodding in thanks to the guard, who withdrew with a respectful nod. 

“Will they come for me again?” Navani found herself asking. 

The usual filter that existed between her brain and her mouth seemed to have broken, and she could not stop her tongue giving voice to her fears. 

Raboniel looked at her, eyes steady, intense, “I will not lie, they may,” she said quietly, “But if they do the result shall be the same. They shall not have you. Though we Fused are of Odium, you will find that I can keep my oath as well as your Bondsmith, Navani.” 

“You would do that?” she breathed, “You would cut down your own, possibly anger Odium...For me?” 

“You have proven yourself, Voice of Lights,” Raboniel said simply, placing hands on her knees and starting to rise, “And you are mine. Under my protection and in my care. It would shame me, were I to allow Lezian to harm you. It-” 

She broke off suddenly, swaying slightly in place, putting a hand to her head. Navani reached out to steady her, alarmed, guiding her back down onto the couch she was on. 

“What is it?” she asked, sharply, alarmed. 

Raboniel groaned, “It appears that I have a dagger in my back,” she said, conversationally. Her eyes twinkled as she glanced to Navani, “I might have suspected you as the source of it, if I did not know better Navani" she murmured with a smile. “I will need to ask you to remove it, however.” 

“What?” Navani said, feeling suddenly a little faint. 

“It appears I have shifted the blade while moving, it has nicked my lung, which is beginning to fill with blood. It’s a rather unpleasant sensation,” Raboniel informed her matter-of-factly, as if there was a problem in one of their experiments. “Voidlight has healed me as it can around the wound, but cannot repair my lung while there is a dagger in the way. I will need you to take it out.” 

Navani swallowed as Raboniel turned in place, and she spotted the hilt of the dagger protruding from her back, just beneath her ribcage. 

“Stormfather,” she whispered hoarsely. She reached out to grip the hilt and pull it free, but her hands were shaking so badly. “I, I can’t Raboniel,” she said, staring at the blade, at the blood leaking from the wound, remembering the terror that had only just passed. “My hands- My hands won’t stop shaking, I can’t, I-” 

Raboniel turned, wincing as that shifted the blade again, and held Navani’s hands in her own, “You can,” she said, her rhythm comforting. “It is only shock, Navani, it shall pass. But I need you to do this for me now, do you understand?” 

“Yes,” Navani whispered, taking a deep breath and trying to master herself, “Yes, I. Yes.” 

Raboniel turned in place again, coughing and spitting up blood as she did so. Navani trembled, then wrapped her freehand around the hilt of the dagger, bracing the other against Raboniel’s back. 

“Are you ready?” she asked, shakily. 

“Make it quick,” Raboniel answered, “One, swift motion. And do resist the temptation to try to ram it into my gemheart, won’t you?” she added, glancing over her shoulder and smirking, “That would be rather poor repayment, don’t you think?” 

“I wouldn’t,” Navani said, and knew that it was true. 

Once she might have done. Once she would have taken a knife willingly presented to her in the back of this Fused, and thrown it all to the winds in an attempt to rid herself, and this tower, of her. But she couldn’t. She knew that. And not just because Raboniel had risked her life to save her tonight. 

Navani took a deep breath, then yanked, swift and sure as she could manage. The knife resisted her, the skin having healed up around her, and Raboniel buried a scream in the cushions of the couch beside her as Navani tore the wound open again. 

Then her body slumped, relaxing, and Voidlight began to heal the wound, leaving Navani quivering with a knife in her hands. 

Raboniel turned and took it from her, gently, then used a handkerchief to wipe the blood from it before handing it back, hilt first. 

“You should have some way to protect yourself,” she said, firmly. “Even if you have no training, it is not too difficult to ram the sharp end somewhere that seems painful.” 

Navani nodded and accepted the blade with trembling hands. Then, with nowhere to currently sheathe it, and no desire to be in contact with it, and the memories it carried with it, she set it aside on the arm of the chair. 

“What now?” she asked, slightly tremulously. 

“We shall rest,” Raboniel said, firmly, “It is late, and you look as though you’re ready to faint with exhaustion and stress.” 

She got to her feet, and Navani found herself grabbing for her hand again, saying urgently, “Where are you going?” 

Raboniel crouched down and covered her hand with her own, squeezing, “To speak with my guards,” she said, humming to a soothing rhythm, “And to inspect the defences they have set up against Lezian’s men for tonight.” 

“You will return?” Navani asked, feeling an absolute fool the moment the words were out of her mouth, yet somehow grateful to her fool self for asking it, so she might hear the answer. 

Raboniel hummed in affirmation, “I will not leave you, Navani,” she promised quietly, “I shall remain here tonight with you. And none shall harm you. I swear it.” 

Navani nodded, then released Raboniel and allowed her to step from the small side chamber back into the main study to converse with her guards. 

Trembling, Navani managed to will enough control into her shaking legs to get them to carry her to the small writing desk in the corner. 

There, she took a scrap of parchment, brushpen, and ink, and painted a glyphward of thanks, which she burned in one of Raboniel’s candles. 

***

[libralita]

Title: Rhythm of War

Author: Brandon Sanderson

Summary: After forming a coalition of human resistance against the enemy invasion, Dalinar Kholin and his Knights Radiant have spent a year fighting a protracted, brutal war. Neither side has gained an advantage.

Now, as new technological discoveries begin to change the face of the war, the enemy prepares a bold and dangerous operation. The arms race that follows will challenge the very core of the Radiant ideals, and potentially reveal the secrets of the ancient tower that was once the heart of their strength.

At the same time that Kaladin Stormblessed must come to grips with his changing role within the Knights Radiant, his Windrunners face their own problem: As more and more deadly enemy Fused awaken to wage war, no more honorspren are willing to bond with humans to increase the number of Radiants. Adolin and Shallan must lead the coalition’s envoy to the honorspren stronghold of Lasting Integrity and either convince the spren to join the cause against the evil god Odium, or personally face the storm of failure.

Rating: ★★★★★

Review:

In my Dawnshard review I predicted the back would say mother of machines and it diddddd.

Oh nooooooooooo it’s Taravangian that will have the story oh nooooo

Odium trapes them? Revolt. Let’s gooooo!

NONONONONONONON don’t go to Mraize.

Sja reminds me of vapor from Skyward.

Wait a minute wait a minute Radiant HQ is called the tower and there’s death rattles about the tower. Gotta reread those.

The sibling is the child of Honor and Cultivation.

Noooooooooooooo Jasnah, Dalinar don’t go

Also this reminds me of Sadeas’ betrayal.

SAZEDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Ahhhh so Radiant is where Shallan’s brain went. Got it.

THE STUMP IS COMING ALONG

IT’S ONE OF THE THINGS FROM ERA 2!!!!!!!!!

Pattern keep away from Wit

Gallant is gonna talk back someday.

I see Shad’s contribution is paying off.

FELT

I’m sure that the woman who sees Shallan’s agents as tools is totally the woman who wants to end slavery for the lols.

ADOLINNNNNNNNNN

SAZED YOU SPOKE TO OTHER SHARDS?! Wholesome bean.

Some kind of shade?

Brandon Brandon Brandon are you…giving us the shard names/ NOW?

Whimsy. Mercy. Valor.

Kal can you go talk to Taln and maybe Ash?

This…this is what Kaladin should be doing.

I just realized that Elhokar might have been in the unseen court. Now I’m sad.

Formless probably represents her father.

Wait nooooooooooooo SZETH STAY THE FUCK HERE!!! SZETHHHHHHHHHH Kal, it’s up to you to swear the fourth ideal.

GAV NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

SEBARIAL. Finally this book can reach its true potential.

God this makes Misborn Era 2 so much more stressful.

Is it one of the spren Venli has?

Ummmmmmmm ummmmmmmm ummmmmmm are you talking about Wax??????

Did Adolin just figure out Mraize’s plan?

She’s…held a cube?

Poor Honor Spren Tsundere.

Hello Venli. Nice to see you here in your own damn book.

The team must surprise the Honor Spren. Something they have never seen before. Something that will right the wrongs of the past. You know what you must do Adolin.

Kal take your own advice and talk to your parents.

Not all spren…were imagined…by men. Oh…oh god. No no no I am not about to think about these implications.

Okay clearly lift would be a good pick to go on this mission because all she would need is food to become awesome.

TSUNDERE SPRENNNN SAVE HIMMMMMMMM

Pattern….

UGH ADOLIN YOU KNOW WHAT YOU NEED TO DO. C’MON!!!

Nooooooooooooooooo Adolinnnnnnnnnnnn just…just…ughhhhhhhhh

Navani don’t go zip.

Brandon I swear to god if you kill someone off screen I’m going to yeet you into a chasm.

Wait a minute is the sibling speaking to Navani? Did I already guess this?

NAVANNNNNNNNIIIII I TOLD YOU NOT TO LET GO OF THE SPHEREEEEEEEEEEEEE

Flame spren at edgy looking.

We’re doing this nowwwww?

Dabbid??

“Storm off with the lectures for once, Father!”—Page 494

Satisfying.

Also Brandon we’re half way through and there’s another climax.

Moash is hereeeeee.

Navani, my love, now is not the time.

…Hire Navani? Excuse me? Navani….

“Regardless, please make yourself known to me when you travel my lands. It is distressting that you think you need to move in the shadows.”—Page 535

Wholesome bean. I love him.

Oh Lirin….

“Poor Kaladin. There was freedom available for his old friend. Two freedoms, in fact. But he doubted Kaladin would ever accept the same freedom as Vyre, so he offered him the other one. The sweet peace of nonexistence.”—Page 551

Ahhh so he is a bastard. Got it.

“He knew it, sure as he knew the sun was hot, and that it circled Roshar forever.”

Um….

You…he…MOASH THAT MOTHER FUCKER. Redemption is a theme.

“PERHAPS. YOU COULD INFLUENCE HIM IN SMALL WAYS ONLY. PERHAPS EACH NIGHT, WHEN HE SLUMBERS…HE THINKS OF YOU STILL, AND THERE IS MORE. A CONNECTION BECAUSE OF YOUR PAST, YOUR SHARED DREAMS. ANY BOND SUCH AS THAT CAN BE MANIPULATED.

WILL THIS BE ENOUGH? IF WE SHOW HIM VISIONS, WILL THAT BREAK HIM?

‘It will be a start. I can bring him to the brink. Get him to step up to the ledge.’

THEN WHAT?

‘Then we find a way to make him jump,’ Moash said softly.”—Page 554

You know I have been told that redemption is a theme in Stormlight Archive.

So I have a theory that the Radiant Spren are some way connected to different main cultures on Roshar. So Althei are Honor Spren. Azish are High Spren and now Shallan’s notes say that Cultivation Spren are merchants so now that slots well Thaylen. Peak spren are…probably Horneaters but who knows.

Ooooooo do I smell romance for Lift?

Wyndle is so cute.

“An old flute that Wyndle said looked strange.”

*Covers face* oh my god she has Wit’s flute. Go give that to Kaladin.

Brandon you’re just going to drop Nightwatcher lore? Now? “Why…if Mother is involved…perhaps this isn’t Stormlight you use at all.” ???? Then what is it???

Hmmmmmmm lets not talk about the Sleepless.

OH NOOOOOOO MRAIZE. OH NO HE WANTS TO HUNT LIFT.

Come on dumb Taravangian.

For some reason, Taravangian reminds me of Dr. Marcoh from Fullmetal Alchemist.

I feel like Navani is going to sass the shit out of Raboniel.

“Awespren burst around her in a ring of blue smoke. Soulcasters didn’t hold spren because they were spren. Manifesting in the Physical Realm like Shardblades. Spren became metal on this side. Somehow the ancient spren had been coaxed into manifesting as Soulcasters instead of blades?”—Page 593

I…you…WHAT?

Ralkalest? Interesting name.

“By showing everyone that our lives will all be improved by working together.”

A) I don’t trust you and B) not if Odium yeets Roshar into the sun.

Noooooooooooo Dalinar it’s worseeeeee.

NALE???

Where’s Taln and Ash in all of this?

So many people wearing a lot of rings. Wait, is that Navani?

“Why hadn’t the Sibling mentioned this immediately?”—Page 622

Navani finally understanding Dalinar’s pain.

I love Navani and Kaladin interacting.

*nervous about Mink*

“‘What is a cow?’

‘Big, juicy, delicious. Wish I could still eat them. You don’t seem to have them around here, which I find amazing, as I’m sure there was one somewhere in Sadeas’s lingage. Paternal grandfather perhaps. Watch the highprinces. There’s almost certainly going to be a show.’”—Page 638

1) RIP you can’t eat meat because you were a Dawnshard 2) True 3) Uh oh.

She did that to pocket another Highprince.

Excuse me, who’s Axindweth?! Wait the rings on her fingers. Is she a feruchemist? Did she do something to Venli’s mother?

Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck

“‘Grampa,’ Litte Gavinor asked. ‘Was my daddy brave when he died?’”—Page 664

Suffering. Endless suffering. Leave me alone.

Okay, this is good information.

Rlain and Venli reunion!!!

Eshonai and Dalinar interaction!

BRANDON I WAS NOT PROMISED YOUNG BLACKTHORN FEELINGS. LEAVE ME ALONEEEEEE.

Wait is the person writing Rhythm of War Navani? But that doesn’t make sense because Michael Kramer is reading it, usually that means it’s a man reading it. Is it Gavilar?

El? I mean the only El I know is…Elend.

Is Kaladin going to say the Fourth Ideal when he realizes that he can’t save Moash?

I’m glad that El is unknown and there are more than one person talking. Perhaps with every new page a different person is talking. I’ll just leave it to the 17th Shard to crack.

A VOIDSPREN IN A CREMLING? Arclo?

Hesina? Why does Rlain want to meet with Hesina?

Mraize and Rabionel are talking. Also I just realized that Mraize reminds me of Vandal Savage.

LIFTTTTTT!!!

Lifelight? Excuse me? I fucking…hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

I see that Navani has now adopted Kaladin. Good shit. Also I am living for the Navani/Kaladin interaction.

OW WHY MUST I SUFFER?

“Navani turned toward Raboniel, steeling herself against the memories brought forth by the sight of the sword. She could cry for her child again tonight, as she had done many nights in the past. For now, she would not show these creatures her pain.”—Page 732

Hell yeah.

When did Eshonai become British?

“‘That’s annoying,’ Kaladin said.

Yes, it is mildly inconvenient that we have to wind a crank to experience the wonder of making a human being safely levitate hundreds of feet in the air.

‘Pardon, Brightness, but I can usually do it with far less trouble.’

Which is meaningless right now, isn’t it?

‘I suppose it is.’”—Page 743

Look at these two sass each other.

Ivory’s my new favorite.

So, like how gods have metals, do all gods have lights?

Is Venli the one that Navani thinks is insane? I don’t think so?

Navani, you are going to bond with the Sibling. I know it.

I love Navani and the Sibling’s interaction.

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck

“You are not merely a storm! Dalinar bellowed, his voice changing to rumbles of thunder. You are capable of choice! You hide from that, and in so doing, you are a COWARD!”—Page 821

God I love Dalinar scolding the Stormfather, it’s so funny.

FINALLY DALINAR KNOWS! Also…that’s some interesting font you got there…

“But I have another task. I need to find a way to speak to the god-priest, then convince him to help me rescue Urithiru.”—Page 825

Good luck, kid.

Szeth-son-Honor. Oh my heart. It almost makes up for the fact that I’m so sad for Navani.

Excuse me, Chiri-Chiri is getting a pov. Brandon, stop writing while drunk.

“Szeth froze as the little boy, Gavinor, stepped up to him. He raised a wooden sword hilt-first toward Szeth. The boy should fear him, yet instead he smiled and waggled the sword.

Szeth took it, hesitant.”—Pages 834-835

MY HEART! OH MY GOD THAT’S SO CUTE I COULD DIE. BRANDONNNNNN.

Rysn! You weren’t supposed to tell him!

Poor Rysn. She doesn’t get a break.

Koravari. Did we just get Cultivation’s name?

The Deadeyes are probably sensing something…else.

“The target called himself ‘Sixteen.’”—Page 864

Yep that’s him. (Nope.)

How is that that Shallan shutting out her two other personalities is worse for her?

Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh hi Nale.

Oh, Shallan must have bonded a different spren and killed it.

Restares is Kalak. Shooketh. But did Gavilar know that? Because wasn’t he speaking with Kalak with Nale. So…I’m confused.

Restares is the one writing this then.

I think I pointed out how Rlain was named Shen like Pashendi.

Remember everyone, redemption is a theme.

WIT!

“You can’t know any of this, because you live on a giant ball of rock full of slime where everything is wet and cold all the time.”—Page 913

Agreed.

“This is a dog, Kaladin. They’re fluffy and loyal and wonderful.”—Pages 913-915

At least we agree, Hoid.

WHAT DO YOU MEAN THERE’S A DRAGON ON ROSHAR?! AND SHE PREFERS TO HIDE. HOID! BRANDON!

It has been decided that Wit getting a spren was a massively bad idea. (Not that anyone should have been under the delusion that it was a good idea from the start.)

This is very late in my notes but: I don’t know Brandon, why does Azure look Althei while other Nalthians don’t?

Is the dog…Lassie?

I’m going to take notes on Design so I can write a fanfic where Elhokar lived, became a Radiant and then joined the Unseen Court like the nerd he is.

What? Trusting Mraize is stupid? No shit.

So, I was wrong about Shallan pretending to be Ialai…but she might consider being Kalak.

Kalak is more of an asshole than Wit.

I feel like not only the FuckGavilar subreddit will arise out of the this book but also the FuckLirin subreddit. Seriously? Are there any good fathers on Roshar? Dalinar barely just became one.

So the metal is Raysium.

Fuck Dabbid just became my new favorite character. Who the heck would have seen that coming?

LIFT YOU CAN WAKE THEM UP!? Alright plan: either get Lift to Lirin so she can heal a few Radiants for backpack or head straight for that storming pillar and heal the Sibling. LET’S GO GO GO GO! TIME FOR THE THIRD CLIMAX!

Please Tsundere—YOU DID IT!!!

“They could be purchased from a group of strange traveling merchants called the Eyree.”—Page 976

Ire.

So the Rhythm of War is Navani and Rabionel talking?

Did they have sexy time?

Oh no Shallan killed that cryptic

I WAS FUCKING RIGHT! THUDE IS ALIVE. FUCK YEAH!

Radiant killed Ialai

SOBSSSSS FOR SHALLAN

OKAY MAYA SPOKE WAS ALSO CRY WORTHY

I supposed that night scarred Jasnah just as much as Shallan.

Also Witnah confirmed.

No…Teft…no no no no no no no. I sobbed so much. I hate you Brandon so much.

Aww man I feel so fucking bad for Moash that he can’t see. I’m so sorry. I will weep for you endlessly. Bastard. No man or woman has ever been sexier than when Navani Kholin said “Journey before Destination, you bastard.”

Nononononononono

“Final terms are these: A contest of champions to the death. On the tenth day of the month Palah, tenth hour. We each send a willing champion, allowed to meet at the top of Urithiru, otherwise unharmed by either side’s forces. If I win that contest, you will remain bound to the system—but you will return Altehkar and Herdaz to me, with all of their occupants intact. You will vow to cease hostilities and maintain the peace, not working against my allies or our kigndoms in any way.

Agreed. But if I win, I keep everything I’ve won—including your homeland. I still remain bound to this system, and will still cease hostilities as you said above. But I will have your soul. To serve me, immortal. Will you do this? Because I agree to these terms.”—Pages 1178-1179

Fuck.

Cultivation you absolute fool.

“The Lord of Scars, Wit calls him. Well, when you next meet this Lord of Scars, give him a message from me…Tell him we’re done with his meddling. His influence over my people is finished. Also, Wit says to tell him, ‘Deal with your own stupid planet, you idiot. Don’t make me come over there and slap you around again.’”—Page 1197

I was joking before but…no. It’s him.

I guess Kal and Szeth are going to Shinovar. That’ll be some interesting character interaction.

You, sir, do not deserve the name El.

Also we are so fucked. Beyond fucked. Unbelievably fucked. It may be set up that Wit figured out this set up was too perfect however he might. So WE. ARE. SO. FUCKED.

[warrioreowynofrohan]

Stormlight Archive Epigraphs (1) - Letters

I’ve been going through the Stormlight Archive epigraphs to see if there are hints or foreshadowing or information that I’ve missed; before now, I hadn’t pulled together ones from different chapters, and it’s been very interesting to get a clearer picture of them.

These posts are as much for my own reference as anything else.

This one covers the letters between Wit and his, hm, associates, which are in TWOK Part 2, WOR Part 4, and OB Part 2.

Wit’s Letter

Old friend, I hope this missive finds you well. Though, as you are now essentially immortal, I would guess that wellness on your part is something of a given. I realize that you are probably still angry. That is pleasant to know. Much as your perpetual health, I have come to rely upon your dissatisfaction with me. It is one of the cosmere’s great constants, I should think.

Let me first assure you that the element is quite safe. I have found a good home for it. I protect its safety like I protect my own skin, you might say. You do not agree with my quest. I understand that, so much as it is possible to understand someone with whom I disagree so completely.

Might I be quite frank? Before, you asked why I was so concerned. It is for the following reason: Ati was once a kind and generous man, and you saw what became of him. Rayse, on the other hand, was among the most loathesome, crafty, and dangerous individuals I had ever met. He holds the most frightening and terrible of all of the Shards. Ponder on that for a time, you old reptile, and tell me if your insistence on nonintervention holds firm. Because I assure you, Rayse will not be similarly inhibited. One need only look at the aftermath of his brief visit to Sel to see proof of what I say. In case you have turned a blind eye to that disaster, know that Aona and Skai are both dead, and that which they held has been Splintered. Presumably to prevent anyone from rising up to challenge Rayse.

You have accused me of arrogance in my quest. You have accused me of perpetuating my grudge against Bavadin. Both accusations are true. Neither point makes the things I have written to you here untrue.

I am being chased. Your friends of the Seventeenth Shard, I suspect. I believe they’re still lost, following a false trail I left for them. They’ll be happier that way. I doubt they have any inkling what to do with me should they actually catch me. If anything I have said makes a glimmer of sense to you, I trust that you’ll call them off. Or maybe you could astound me and ask them to do something productive for once. For I have never been dedicated to a more important purpose, and the very pillars of the sky will shake with the results of our war here. I ask again. Support me. Do not stand aside and let disaster consume more lives. I’ve never begged you for something before, old friend.

I do so now.

Reply 1:

I’ll address this letter to my “old friend,” as I have no idea what name you’re using currently. Have you given up on the gemstone, now that it is dead? And do you no longer hide behind the name of your old master? I am told that in your current incarnation you’ve taken a name that references what you presume to be one of your virtues. This is, I suspect, a little like a skunk naming itself for its stench.

Now, look what you’ve made me say. You’ve always been able to bring out the extreme in me, old friend. And I do still name you a friend, for all that you weary me.

Yes, I’m disappointed. Perpetually, as you put it. Is not the destruction you have wrought enough? The worlds you now tread bear the touch and design of Adonalsium. Our interference so far has brought nothing but pain.

My path has been chosen very deliberately. Yes, I agree with everything you have said about Rayse, including the severe danger he presents. However, it seems to me that all things have been set up for a purpose, and if we - as infants - stumble through the workshop, we risk exacerbating, not preventing, a problem. Rayse is captive. He cannot leave the system he now inhabits. His destructive potential is, therefore, inhibited. Whether this was Tanavast’s design or not, millennia have passed without Rayse taking the life of another one of the sixteen. While I mourn for the great suffering Rayse has caused, I do not believe we could hope for a better outcome than this. He bears the weight of God’s own divine hatred, separated from the virtues that give it context. He is what we made him to be, old friend. And that is what he, unfortunately, wished to become. I suspect that he is more a force than an individual now, despite your insistence to the contrary. That force is contained, and an equilibrium reached.

You, however, have never been a force for equilibrium. You tow chaos behind you like a corpse dragged by one leg through the snow. Please, hearken to my plea. Leave that place and join me in my oath of nonintervention. The cosmere itself may depend upon our restraint.

Reply 2:

Dearest Cephandrius,

I recieved you communication, of course. I noticed its arrival immediately, just as I noticed your many intrusions into my land. You think yourself so clever, but my eyes are not those of some petty noble, to be clouded by a false nose and some dirt on the cheeks.

You mustn’t worry yourself about Rayse. It is a pity about Aona and Skai, but they were very foolish - violating our pact from the very beginning. Your skills are admirable, but you are merely a man. You had your chance to be more, and refused it. No good can come of two Shards settling in one location. It was agreed that we would not interfere with one another, and it disappoints me that so few of the Shards have kept to this original agreement. As for Uli Da, it was obvious from the outset that she was going to be a problem. Good riddance. Regardless, this is not your concern. If Rayse becomes an isdue, he will be dealt with.

And so will you.

Reply 3:

Cephandrius, bearer of the First Gem,

You must know better than to approach us by relying upon presumption of past relationship. You have spoken to one who cannot respond. We, instead, will take your communication to us - though we know not how you have located us upon this world. We are indeed intrigued, for we thought it well hidden. Insignificant among our many realms. As the waves of the sea must continue to surge, so must our will continue resolute.

Alone.

Did you expect anything else from us? We need not suffer the interference of another. Rayse is contained, and we care not for his prison. Indeed, we admire his initiative. Perhaps if you had approached the correct one of us with your plea, it would have found favourable audience. But we stand in the sea, pleased with our domains. Leave us alone.

We also instruct that you should not return to Obrodai. We have claimed that world, and a new avatar of our being is beginning to manifest there. She is young yet, and - as a precaution - she has been instilled with an intense and overpowering dislike of you. This is all we will say at this time. If you wish more, seek these waters in person and overcome the tests we have created. Only in this will you earn our respect.

Reply 4:

Friend,

Your letter is most intriguing, even revelatory. I would have thought, before attaining my current station, that a deity could not be surprised. Obviously, this is not true. I can be surprised. I can perhaps even be naive, I think.

I am the least equipped, of all, to aid you in this endeavour. I am finding that the powers I hold are in such conflict that the most simple of actions can be difficult. I am also made uncertain by your subterfuge. Why have you not made yourself known to me before this? How is it you can hide? Who are you, truly, and how do you know so much about Adonalsium? If you would speak to me farther, I request open honesty. Return to my lands, approach my servants, and I will see what I can do for your quest.

Basically everything that I know about Wit and the Cosmere beyond the events of The Stormlight Archive comes from the Stormlight Archive Rereads on Tor.com. Here’s my understanding of what is going on:

The God of Sanderson’s Cosmere, Adonalsium, was splintered into many different pieces (Shards - not to be confused with Shardblades and Shardplate), each consisting of a separate characteristic, and each characteristic was taken on by a different person.  Up until I put these epigraphs together, I thought there were 16 shards, but from this, it sounds like there was a 17th that Wit was supposed to take on, and chose not to, and that his sixteen associates are displeased with him for that (and are trying to get that Shard back?).

The tone of the different replies is very interesting.  The first one, I have some sympathy with, as one of many reasons why I tend to oppose military interventionism is that generally the intervenors have no idea what they are doing and risk making things worse; the author fo the first reply seems to have genuine affection for Wit despite his aggravation.

The second reply is very much the opposite, starting courteous but being the most clearly hostile of the four.  The third reply indicates that Wit’s letter went to a Shard-holder other than the one he intended, and to someone who is broadly antagonistic (given that they “admire Odium’s initiative”).  The fourth one, I’m gathering from bits of comments from other people on the broader Cosmere, is from the person currently holding the Shards of both Ruin and Preservation.

I’m not sure any of the material from the letters is essential, or if it’s just an addition for the enjoyment of Cosmere fans; the broad takeaway seems to be that Roshar is on its own and no one else is inclined to provide large-scale assistance against Odium.

I’m not sure whether I’m corrent in assuming that Tanavast is the original name of the person who took on the Shard of Honor, in the same way that Rayse is the original name of the person who took on the Shard of Odium?

[preservationandruin]

Oathbringer Liveblog, Part Five: Chapters 119-120

I know these are only covering a few chapters at a time, but listen. Its the end of a Sanderson book. Literally everything is happening all the time. 

Dalinar tells god to fuck off, Ultimate Unity Is Achieved (Temporarily), Radiants Do Cool Shit Constantly,  Adolin learns the name of an old friend, Amaram Vored A Rock And You Can Guess How That Went For Him, and--as always--FUCK YEAH, BRIDGE FOUR. 

The epigraphs change, to the postscript of The Way of Kings. The chapter is called Unity. 

“Dalinar? What is this?”  “You cannot have my pain.”  “Dalinar--”  Dalinar forced himself to his feet. “You. Cannot. Have. My. Pain.”  “Be sensible.”  “I killed those children,” Dalinar said.  “No, it--”  “I burned the people of Rathalas.”  “I was there, influencing you--”  “YOU CANNOT HAVE MY PAIN!” Dalinar bellowed, stepping toward Odium. The god frowned. 

Dalinar is LITERALLY GIVING OFF GLORYSPREN. Amaram has to shield his SHITTY RED EYES from it. 

“I did kill the people of Rathalas,” Dalinar shouted. “You might have been there, but I made the choice. I decided!” He stilled. “I killed her. It hurts so much, but I did it. I accept that. You cannot have her. You cannot take her from me again.” 

YEAH! SHUT THE FUCK UP, RAYSE. YOU  DIDN’T KNOW DALINAR KHOLIN LIKE YOU THOUGHT YOU DID. 

“Journey before destination,” Dalinar said. “it cannot be a journey if it doesn’t have a beginning.”  A thunderclap sounded in his mind. Suddenly, awareness poured back into him. The Stormfather, distant, feeling frightened--but also surprised.  Dalinar?  “I will take responsibility for what I’ve done,” Dalinar whispered. “If I must fall, I will rise each time a better man.” 

I LOVE DALINAR SO MUCH. 

Renarin and Jasnah are sprinting through the ward, Renarin struggling to keep up. An entire stream of gloryspren flows by them. 

“I know what you are,” Jasnah said. “You’re my cousin. Family, Renarin. Hold my hand. Run with me.” 

And they head down, down to the glowing light. 

And with all the gloryspren glowing around him, Dalinar notices--Odium looks small. 

Syl looks over to the sea of beads. She pulls Kaladin tight. 

“Maybe you don’t have to save anyone, Kaladin. Maybe it’s time for someone to save you.” 

Dalinar reaches through the worlds. He reaches into the spiritual realm. And he hears Evi’s voice, forgiving him. Venli asks what he is. 

He says he’s Unity. 

And he fucking combines all three realms into one holy FUCK, Dalinar. 

OH MY GOD, HE OPENED HONOR’S PERPENDICULARITY. THAT’S WHAT IT IS. THAT--IT ALL MAKES SENSE. ONLY DALINAR HAS THE REMNANTS OF HONOR’S POWER. ONLY HE COULD DO THIS. 

UNITE THEM. PEOPLE, YES, BUT ALSO THE REALMS. FUCK!

Taln grips onto Ash’s hand. And he says her name. 

“How long?” He asked.  “Taln,” She gripped his hand in both of hers. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” 

He goes outside, and sees Thaylen City. The wall, the soldiers in breastplates and chain. 

And he thanks Ash. Because , in leaving him, they gave humanity four thousand years of progress. She begs him to hate her. He doesn’t. 

Teft gasps. His spren asks him--can he feel the words? He says he’s broken. And...he swears the second ideal, in the most heartwrenching form: 

“I will protect those I hate. Even...even if the one I hate most...is...myself.” 

Renarin and Jasnah reach the last level of the city. Renarin warns Jasnah about Amaram’s soldiers--and she runs straight towards them and wrecks them, soulcasting people and swiping with a Shardblade. Fuck yeah, Jasnah!

And then he looks up, and sees a column of light piercing the sky. 

Navani leans into the light,  laughing like a fool, gloryspren flying around her, brushing her hair. 

“No!” Odium screamed. He stepped forward. “No, we killed you. WE KILLED YOU.” 

And Kaladin, Shallan, and Adolin split out of the pillar of light, just as Amaram was about to fight Dalinar. The explosion of Stormlight from Dalinar also sated Nightblood, meaning Lift and Szeth are alright, although their skin is stained-grey from Nightblood’s hunger. 

Dalinar realizes--Elhokar is not coming through the column of light. He grieves, for a moment. He accepts that grief. And he stands up. And he does better. 

Kaladin Stormblessed stepped up beside Dalinar before the rubble of the wall, and Shallan Davar stood on the other side. Jasnah emerged from the city and surveyed the scene with a critical air, while Renarin popped out behind her, then cried out and ran for Adolin. He grabbed his older brother in an embrace, then gasped. Adolin was wounded?  Good lad, Dalinar thought as Renarin immediately set to healing his brother.  Two more people crossed the battlefield. Lift he had anticipated. But the assassin? Szeth scooped the silvery sheath off the sword and slammed his black shardblade into it, before stepping up to join Dalinar.  Skybreaker, Dalinar thought, counting them off. Edgedancer. That was seven.  He would have expected three more.  There, the Stormfather said. Behind your niece.  Two more people appeared in the shadow of the wall. A large, powerful man with an impressive physique, and a woman with long, dark hair. Their dark skin marked them as Makabaki, perhaps Azish, but their eyes were wrong. 

The heralds, the Radiants--Dalinar did unite them. Odium is gone, fled into nothing. Dalinar is thinking--you know, there should be one more--but oh well. Stormy notes that the last might not have been found yet. 

Oh no, Dalinar’s watch got broken! He starts sending out orders. Renarin, to the Oathgate--and to stop the thunderclast from destroying it, and opening the portal so reinforcements can come. 

Shallan needs to lightweave an army--the Thrill will make the men easier to distract. Jasnah is holding the giant fucking hold in the wall--THAT’S THE COVER OF THE BOOK--Kaladin is guarding Dalinar. And settling a score with Amaram. Lift and Szeth are getting that FUCKING RUBY--although Lift needs food. 

Dalinar heads toward the water, to try to deal with the Thrill. 

Kaladin, of course, shoots into the sky immediately. Of course, he can’t stop being down on himself, because he’s Kaladin. Still. he does get to fight Amaram. 

...who immediately falls to his knees. And just when I think this will be a very, very boring fight--Kaladin notices that Amaram is coughing. Like he’d just...swallowed...something....

Over to Adolin, who is completely healed. His first complaint, when Shallan asks how he’s doing, is that he really liked this jacket! 

...Oh. She made an illusory version of him that was a windrunner. Given his self-esteem issues and feeling inadequate compared to Kaladin, that...can’t be great. 

He summons his shardblade--braces for a scream, although there is none--says he’s sorry, thanks her, and goes into battle. 

Lift and Szeth head off to try to get that GODDAMN ruby, Nightblood humming all the way. And Amaram gets up and INSTANTLY makes me furious again: 

Those red eyes cast a crimson glow through the helm’s slit. “You should thank me, boy,” 

SOMEHOW Amaram has decided that he is the SOLE EVENT that FORGED KALADIN, that MADE HIM INTO THE MAN HE IS NOW. Bull fucking shit. That same self-important assholery that makes Amaram so hateable is coming through again. 

And he’s dual-wielding Shardblades, of course. because why not. Syl is just like “don’t worry, he’s only human!” and that’s when Yelig-nar’s smoke starts to envelop him. 

Dalinar is heading towards the Thrill. He says “hello, old friend,” and then he walks into it. 

Shallan pours out stormlight, creating every person she’s ever sketched. Pattern is humming, louder and louder. All of her drawings--everyone she’s Connected to, because that’s what her drawing is. Her father and mother step from the illusion, and Shallan freezes and starts to fail--

--and then Veil takes her left hand, and Radiant in garnet Shardplate takes her right. Others try to crawl up--but no. That’s enough. They retreat into Stormlight, and hundreds and hundreds more soldiers surge up from the light. 

Adolin sees Jasnah basically toss men around like toys and is like, alright, Jasnah doesn’t need help. He runs off to help Queen Fen and her husband. 

Jasnah, meanwhile,  is abusing the closeness of the three realms to make her Soulcasting much, much easier.

Lift swears as the Fused with the ruby takes it into the sky, and Nightblood wants her to teach him swear words. 

LET! NIGHTBLOOD! SAY! FUCK!

Szeth takes to the air and takes her down, grabbing the ruby--and then three more Fused head toward him. Whoops. 

Back over to Adolin, who’s met up with Navani! She asks about Elhokar--Adolin says he’s sorry, and holds her while she cries. 

Jasnah mends the entire breach in the wall with her Soulcasting. And then just dusts her hands off. Adolin starts working on putting a stable defense together. And Adolin heads off to help the soldiers fighting one of the thunderclasts. 

Back to the Kaladin vs Amaram duel! Amaram is fighting, dual-wielding swords--the one bought with the blood of Kaladin’s men, the other given as payment for Bridgeman lives. A crystal just fucking SPROUTED FROM HIS ELBOW. Kal’s also running interference for Dalinar from the other Fused, too. 

It’s actually really handy for the Radiants that the thunderclast tore the Gem Reserve asunder--because now there are all these infused Gemstones all over the battlefield. Nice. 

Oh, shit, Amaram has pulled out one of those Shardbows. 

Amaram stood near his horse, where he’d unhooked a massive Shardbow that used arrows as thick as a spear’s haft. Amaram raised it to loose again, and a line of crystals jutted out along his arm, cracking his Shardplate. Storms, what was happening to that man? 

He sold his soul for power, and now it’s taken his body, too. Kal dives Amaram, summoning Syl as a short spear--how appropriate--and charges Amaram. 

Dalinar is in the thrill, and it’s happy to see him. I guess Nergaoul, despite being “mindless,” apparently, can still recognize people. 

He had imagined it as some evil force, malignant and insidious, like Odium or Sadeas. 

ODIUM OR SADEAS. I love how those two are put on the same level here. 

Nergaoul remembers the times that the Thrill receded from Dalinar as times it was abandoned. Oh, Nergaoul. What was it, I wonder, before Odium grabbed it and twisted it? 

Jasnah, meanwhile, cuts through a Fused’s head without even turning to look at it. She says she’s gonna do her best to stop Shallan from getting herself killed, given the rate at which Shallan is eating through Stormlight. 

Lift and Szeth (and Nightblood) are just a great comic dynamic, especially now Lift can hear Nightblood. Lift has an idea for how to steal the ruby. 

Shallan is still holding onto Veil and Radiant, and she’s burning herself out. Somehow, she’s managed to make her illusions actually fight, a little. She thinks she might be using Soulcasting as well as Lightweaving. She’s getting drawn more and more into it--

And then someone--probably Lift--asks if she could, uh, stop hugging herself for a minute to help. 

Back to Kal v Amaram! Amaram is still talking like himself--this weird hybrid-monster kept the most monstrous part of Amaram, his mind. 

FUCK, whatever Amaram is now can change stone into liquid. He traps Kaladin’s feet and snaps both of his ankles--fuck. And then he starts gliding across the ground. 

is that...abrasion and friction? Does Yelig-nar mimic dustbringer powers? I don’t know. Kaladin chucks a rock at a Fused getting too close to Dalinar, and throws another rock at Amaram’s horse to get the Shardbow away, too. 

Well, he’s fought people in Shardplate before. Syl suggests he try stabbing Amaram in the face as well. 

And then Kal is up against a Fused and Amaram. Fuck. 

Back over to Adolin! He is looking up at the thunderclast,  summoning his Blade. 

He felt something. A stirring on the wind.  “You want to fight it, don’t you?” Adolin asked. “It reminds you of when you were alive.”  Something tickled his mind, very faint, like a sigh. A single word: Mayalaran. A...name?  “Right, Maya,” Adolin said. “Let’s bring that thing down.” 

SHE TOLD HIM HER NAME. AHHHHHHHHHH IM SO GLAD THAT THIS IS HAPPENING IM SO GLAD THAT ADOLIN’S KINDNESS HAS RESULTS IM SO GLAD THAT, EVEN IN A SMALL WAY, MAYALARAN GETS TO DO THINGS THAT SHE WANTS AND CONVEY HER EMOTIONS, I’M SO HAPPY

Adolin finds a small boy huddled in the house, and gets him out of there, trying to distract the thunderclast, jumping through windows and running. 

A hand in Shardplate reached out of a building nearby, grabbed Adolin, and pulled him inside. 

WHAT

Back to Dalinar. He talks to the thrill, accepting what he was. Thanking it for giving him strength, sometimes--and it makes a happy sound, it crowds closer to him. Nergaoul almost reminds me of an animal of some sort, reacting to someone being nice to it. Dalinar admits--he understands Nergaoul. 

Venli is creeping away, feeling sick, the rhythms going crazy in her, fighting. She manages to grab onto one. The Rhythm of the Lost. The only one of the old rhythms she heard. Timbre thrums to the same rhythm, vibrating through Venli. 

Lost. What had Venli lost?  Venli missed being someone who cared about something other than power. Knowledge, favoritism, forms, wealth--it was all the same to her. Where had she gone wrong?  Timbre pulsed. Venli dropped to her knees. Cold stone reflected lightning from above, red and garish. 

Her eyes aren’t red at all. And she starts. She starts swearing the words. She gets almost through them--to Journey--and then a Fused crashes into her. But Timbre isn’t in her pouch. 

Instead, she’s in her gemheart. She’s keeping the Voidspren in there captive. Venli storms into the cabin of the ship, grabs a sphere. Ruby, glowing. 

She finishes swearing the first Ideal. Odium, you thought you killed the problem sister. But by doing that, you made the other one a problem too. 

Fortunately, the dude who grabbed Adolin was one of the Thaylen Shardbearers. They are teaming up, now--Adolin can hit, while the man--Hrdalm--has Plate and can take hits. Unfortunately, the Fused pounce for Hrdalm. 

And Adolin throws his Shardblade to kill one of the fused. “Alright, Maya. We’ve practiced this.” 

Unfortunately, he’s cornered now with the thunderclast. He summons Maya back, hits again--but it flicks him against a wall, and he definitely broke a rib. He starts counting again. 

AND MAYA COMES ON SEVEN, BECAUSE HE NEEDS HER. AHHHH. 

Maya’s also started bugging him in his mind--he gets knocked through a roof and is picking himself up, and she’s brushing against his mind to do it faster. 

Fortunately, before Adolin does anything else stupid, Renarin runs up. He reminds Adolin that, uh, he can’t heal and HAS NO ARMOR and then charges the thunderclast. Renarin’s healing is so fast that, apparently, being crushed can’t slow him down for very long. 

Adolin gives Maya to Hrdalm so that he can use her, and Hrdalm’s response is great in respect to their various religions: 

“Great Honor in you, Prince Adolin,” he said. “Great Passion in me at this aid.” 

Szeth notes that the Fused don’t expect him to have trained, when learning to use the Honorblade, with all of the Surges. And he and Lift pull a switch--one pouch with a fake gemstone, the other with the real one. With the help of Shallan and an illusory rock, of course. 

I can’t believe the Fused thought they could out-steal Lift. 

Szeth notes that the closer he gets to Nergaoul/the mist, the louder the whispers in his head become. And Lift goes into the mist to help Dalinar. 

Amaram is screaming in pain. Kaladin’s fighting the other Fused and doing his level best not to let it distract him. 

Well, there are amethysts growing out of his face, I think that might be part of why he’s screaming. He’s leaving flaming tracks--that seems to support my claim about Yelig-nar imitating Dustbringers’ powers. Dalinar is in trouble--meanwhile, Amaram is hiking off to get his fucking bow. 

There’s something weirdly funny about this human-parshman hybrid screaming in pain, and then his opponent flies off and he’s just like. welp. gotta go get my bow. Oh well. 

Oh, shit, Amaram can superjump. Not sure what’s letting him do that, but I think a good bet would be “Yelig-nar, obviously.” 

Shit, he can do Lashings too. Clearly, paying attention to which surges he’s using isn’t going to do me much good. 

Also, for fuck’s sake, Amaram still is going on about honor: 

Amaram grinned. “Odium promised me something grand, and that promise has been kept. With honor.”  “You still pretend to speak of honor?”  “Everything I do is for honor.” Amaram swept with a single Blade, making Kaladin dodge. “It was honor that drove me to seek the return of the Heralds, of powers, and our god.”  “So you could join the other side?” 

Amaram admits that he hurt, after he killed Kaladin’s men--but then he realized, it wasn’t his fault,  was it? Nothing was his fault. 

Same as Moash. Same as he tried to do to Dalinar. Nothing’s your fault, give me your pain. And give me your responsibility, your morals too. 

“I made you, Kaladin!” Amaram’s red eyes lit the crystals that rimmed his face. “I gave you that granite will, that warrior’s poise. This, the person you’ve become, was my gift!”  “A gift at the expense of everyone I loved?”  “What do you care? It made you strong! Your men died in the name of battle, so that the strongest man would have the weapon. Anyone would have done what I did, even Dalinar himself.”  “Didn’t you tell me that you’d given up that grief?”  “Yes! I’m beyond guilt!”  “Then why do you still hurt?”  Amaram flinched. 

Eat shit, Amaram. 

Nice try, manipulating Kaladin, but you protested too much. You spent so much time spouting justifications. How long have you rehearsed those? Could you even convince yourself? 

Kaladin points it out--Odium will never, never give Amaram peace. There is no absolution to be found there. Just the illusion. 

The highprince’s entire chest had collapsed inward. There was no sign of ribs or internal organs. Instead, a large violet crystal pulsed inside his chest cavity, overgrown with dark veins. If he’d been wearing a uniform of padding beneath the armor, it had been consumed.  He turned toward Kaladin, heart and lungs replaced by a gemstone that glowed with Odium’s dark light. 

How does that power feel, Amaram? Kaladin keeps pointing it out--if you’re truly guiltless, if you truly believe the sanctimony you spit, why do you still  hurt? 

And Amaram is furious. 

And he makes a mistake--he jumps into the air. And if you’re fighting Kaladin? You never go into the air. He manages--he slams Syl, a spear, against the gemstone at the heart of whatever Amaram turned himself into. And it cracks. 

Kaladin floated downward toward him. “Ten spears go to battle,” he whispered, “and nine shatter. Did that war forge  the one that remained? No, Amaram. All the war did was identify the spear that would not break.” 

Amaram is howling, clutching his gemheart--which goes out. And the area goes down into darkness. 

Unfortunately, the Fused are still coming. 

Meanwhile, the thunderclast is collapsing. Renarin and the Thaylen Shardbearer have cut off its legs and one arm--that’s good. Glys is trying to give Renarin advice--- Light. You will make it go with light. 

He summons stormlight, and the thunderclast’s eyes fade and it settles, dying back down. Renarin’s still worried--he saw himself dying on this day. But he’s alive. 

Shallan, Veil, and Radiant are losing their army. But one figure doesn’t vanish like the others. Long black hair blown free of braids, she steps in between the trio of Shallans and the enemy. 

Jasnah Kholin has arrived. 

Also, at that moment, Shallan--the one who looked like Shallan-Shallan--was a fake, and Radiant was the real one, which alarms Jasnah for a moment. We’re cycling through names for Shallan with incredible speed. They finally, finally reach the top of the wall. 

Renarin is heading for the Oathgate. He notes that while his fits seem to have stopped, he still sees the world differently--in our terms, Stormlight doesn’t heal autism because why the fuck would it? It’s not an illness. 

Twelve Fused are hovering over the Oathgate. Renarin heads into the spanreed room, and reports that Urithiru has also been attacked. Strangely, the Kharbranth faction has fallen completely silent. Unsurprising. 

So he turns to go open it himself--and is startled and surprised when nobody tells him not to. Renarin gets new fits, now--ones where it looks like stained glass spreads around him, forming panels of images. What he sees...it makes him smile. 

“You’re wondering why I’m smiling,” Renarin said.  They didn’t respond.  “Don’t worry,” Renarin said. “You didn’t miss something funny. I...well, I doubt you’ll find it amusing.”  Light exploded from the Oathgate platform in a wave. 

I’m gonna take a wild shot in the dark, here, and say: FUCK YEAH, BRIDGE FOUR. 

YEP Bridge Four has come through, let by a Knight Radiant with a Shardspear. 

Teft. 

Shallan is still lost in all three of her, but she says that after she rests, she thinks she can settle down to being one. Rock starts nagging Renarin about getting his uniform ruined, Lyn rats out the fact that Rock got hurt when he tries to pretend it’s nothing. Fortunately, they’re near Kal--they’re getting stormlight again. 

“Kaladin is close,” Rock agreed. “Ha! I feed him. But here, today, he fed me. With light!”  Lyn eyed Rock. “Storming Horneater weighs as much as a chull...” She shook her head. “Kara will fight with the others--don’t tell anyone, but she’s been practicing with a spear since childhood, the little cheater.” 

I love all the little ways people--Renarin, Kara, Lyn herself, everyone really--violates gender norms. 

Rock hugs Renarin--Ren is a little uncomfortable, as this was not a time he was okay with just being...randomly grabbed for a hug (big mood, Renarin), but he’s so, so glad Bridge Four has arrived. 

Dalinar is drifting in the Thrill. And Lift comes in, pressing the ruby into his hand. Dalinar remembers what Taravangian said about luring in spren, trapping them. 

And, for the last time in his life, he embraces the Thrill. He embraces Nergaoul. He thanks it, and it is so, so happy to be praised. 

“Now, old friend, it is time to rest.” 

Kal is fighting like eight-on-one. He doesn’t have to win, though--he just has to survive. 

Meanwhile,  whatever Dalinar is doing, it’s making Nergaoul thrash and writhe, and the Fused are running. And then it implodes, and the Everstom grows still. 

AND GUESS WHO FUCKING ISN’T DEAD: 

A scraping sound came from nearby, and then a violet light flickered in the darkness. A shadow stumbled to its feet, dark purple light pulsing alive in its chest cavity, which was empty save for that gemstone.  Amaram’s glowing red eyes illuminated a distorted face: his jaw had broken as he’d fallen, and gemstones had pushed out of the sides of his face at awkward angles, making the jaw hang limp from his mouth, drool leaking out the side. He stumbled toward Kaladin, gemstone heart pulsing with light. A Shardblade formed in his hand. The one that had killed Kaladin’s friends so long ago. 

AND HE’S ABOUT TO STRIKE AMARAM DOWN, AND KALADIN SAYS “BRIDGE FOUR.”  AND AN ARROW SLAMS INTO AMARAM FROM BEHIND. 

AND ANOTHER SHOOTS HIM RIGHT THROUGH THE GEMHEART, AND ROCK IS GLOWING ON THE RUBBLE, WITH AMARAM’S SHARDBOW. 

Sometimes, Kaladin doesn’t have to save everyone. Sometimes, it’s time for them to save Kaladin. 

Dalinar is crying as he cradles the gemstone containing Nergaoul. It’s over. It’s over. 

[nightblink]

Blink Reads Oathbringer - Chapters 46-49

Chapter Forty-Six – When the Dream Dies

I did expect that whoever is important enough to have conversations like this with Hoid would indeed be interested in removing the threat of Odium from the Cosmere. Your indifference surprises me, and the stupidity of it is frankly astonishing.

More bridgeman chapters! This time with Skar, yay. I hope you get the hang of breathing stormlight soon; I don't want to see you left behind.

Now there's a high-altitude training regimen. [whistles] And an impressive time indeed when you're not breathing stomlight. That's not a comfort though, and rather mean – though unintentionally so – of Sigzil to rub it in like that.

Interesting that they know the exact amount of force they're using in a Lashing instinctually. I wonder if it works that way for some of the other Radiant Orders' abilities as well?

HORNEATER DANCE OF VICTORY. All of Bridge Four should be doing this dance. They've earned it. What a glorious sight it would be!

Skar: *I'm just going to lie here. the floor loves me more than you assholes do*

At least Teft has some love left for you, or at least chouta. Ahhhh, Teft, I'm really worried about you and those bags under your eyes don't exactly make me any less so.

Bridge Four has come so far, from never even telling the other men their names to a full support group for each other. They all needed it, not just Kaladin; those bridge runs left them all broken, bitter people, cracking a little more with each run, each day they were treated like they only had lives for the sake of expending them under Parshendi arrows.

Wait, what's keeping Kaladin? Teft, is this you displacing anger at yourself onto Kaladin. A handful of spheres says it is. But no, Skar is agreeing… Kal, what's going on here, where your own bridgemates think you're keeping aloof?

I'm still wondering how they hope this whole recruitment thing is going to work out – if they want to try to make true Radiants of some of these men, of if they simply hope for more squires that osmose their ability from Kala-Syl? To be a Radiant, one must be broken, down to one's soul, and that may hold true for the bridgemen, but recruits…? [hums]

What does Rlain think of the humans essentially occupying what used to be the last bastion of his people? He may be Bridge Four, but talk about divisive feelings. Sanderson, we'd better get a Rlain POV in one of these Bridge Four chapters, or I will have another bone to pick with you.

Highprince Reference: red and light blue are Ruthar's colours

Ooof, yeah, that'd do it, Skar. Ingenuity, yes, but also willingness to steal. That's generally frowned upon (unless it's other people's stuff, which is often the point of war, as young!Dalinar so helpfully pointed out a while ago).

Mmm, Syl can sense the soul-cracked ones.

Getting snarky there, Skar. Can't blame him for this one though, as he does have a point at the very least since they let lighteyed Renarin in, waaaay before Kaladin's eyes started showing even a flicker of blue.

Speaking of good points, Sigzil makes one about squires perhaps not necessarily being a step towards being a full Radiant. Good to know that someone is at least considering the routes and levels of Investiture-use here.

[winces] Oh, Skar

(bless u Rock for lightening the mood)

Lyn again! Good good good I want to see more of them (I think I'm going to use 'them' for Lyn for the time being, because while their initial conversation with Shallan was pretty blatant, I don't know if that's something Sanderson intended or if it was another 'oops I accidentally did a thing didn't I'. Still. The agony of being closeted trans in the world of strict Alethi gender roles would easily be enough to break a person, and that could make them a possible future Radiant...)

Ooooo, Skar saw even before the highstorm incident! Damn, he must have thought he was hallucinating, seeing light and all the arrows curving towards it.

Heh, all the thinking in the world isn't going to help you two with this. But focusing on the Ideals that makes the Windrunners what they are…. Yeah. That might do it. Skar, you really do have a knack for teaching.

YES YES YES

YOU'RE GLOWING TOO

FINALLY

Chapter Forty-Seven – So Much is Lost

Wait, admire… admire Rayse's initiative? Odium's? Dude. Seriously. What the everloving fuck.

!!!! Taln's own writings! Or at least what he said while they all thought he was crazy – and he was definitely more than a little loopy, not able to see how far human civilization advanced even when he looked around him.

Finally getting to a Jasnah chapter! WHY DID YOU HOLD OFF ON THIS FOR SO LONG SANDERSON

Ivory's at his full size while in the Physical Realm? Whaaaat. Is this something he can do because of the Oaths that Jasnah has sworn, or is it because the Elsecallers are so entwined with the Cognitive Realm via their abilities?

I'd say “paranoid much, Jasnah?” but considering all of the assassination attempts that have already been made, 'it's not paranoia if they're actually out to get you'.

[winces] Her life's work, all that time and effort and pain, now all so much common knowledge. That's…. painful. It's a good thing that they know it, but at the same time, it leaves a hollowness for Jasnah in its wake.

Shallan is definitely a topic that needs to be discussed.

Ahhh, Ivory – bonded to Jasnah and yet you still don't understand how humans can fortify themselves without that solidity running all the way through.

Oh shit, oh shit, hints of Jasnah's breaking? And it was back when she was a child? Oh no, ohhhh, that's. That's a lot earlier than I thought she'd broken. Considering how distant Gavilar seems in the flashbacks, I'll bet broams he at least peripherally had something to do with it.

“Considering what the ancient fathers are.” IVORY. IVORY YOU CAN'T JUST SAY THAT AND LEAVE US HERE HANGING. IV O R Y- oh. You just mean the spren lost in the Recreance. Well that was anticlimactic.

The idea of spren wars, though, now that is an interesting tidbit of dropped information.

I like Ivory. What a little rebel. You're very much like your bonded in that way, aren't you?

[winces again] Jasnah, you're going to have to confront Shallan about things sooner or later – and probably sooner. When that happens, best to have all the information you can on hand… but also keep an open mind.

All ten orders but the Skybreakers. Speaking of which, when are Nale and Szeth going to show up again?

Fuck, Jasnah knows the secret – the secret that the Stormfather said would break Dalinar and the others. Ivory believes they'd break, he knows the precedent for that…

Jasnah does not.

Chapter Forty-Eight – Rhythm of Work

The hell do you mean, 'we stand in the sea'. Is this in reference to whatever is out in the Ocean of Origins that the lighthouse-keeper mentioned in the Interludes? Maybe, maybe not, but it stinks of coincidence.

Admittedly, while I like the insight that Moash's chapters bring, I just don't care about him as much as I do our other protagonists. He's a good character, but I'm not really emotionally attached to him.

'Better than bridge duty' is not a metric by which anything should be judged, Moash, and you know this.

So. Hauling things, but where are you taking them…?

[winces] He can try all he likes to convince himself that his decisions and actions weren't his fault, but Kaladin gave you chance upon chance upon chance to drop Graves and his crew and stay with Bridge Four. At this point, you're just deluding yourself.

Shiiiiiit, they're going to Kholinar. Of course they are. As if I didn't worry about that city enough already.

Well, he's not wrong about the 'false gods' and 'ruling class whose eyes reminded them of the Knights Radiant', at least. We still need confirmation on whether lighteyes are actual descendants of the Radiants or not, though.

….you're more religious than I'd realized, Moash.

YES YOU CAN BE BLAMED, AND WE BLAME YOU. TAKE RESPONSIBILITY.

!!! Are… are those Kaladin's group of Parshmen? Is his involvement with them the reason they're being treated poorly?

YEP

Oh man, oh man, are you going to go help them, Moash? YES-

-but blanket-condemning humans as you do. Not just in your head this time, but as an argument point. Hoo boy.

Chapter Forty-Nine – Born Unto Light

FLASHBACK CHAPTER YEEEAAAAAAHHHH plz give us more Evi this time Branderson

….Dalinar why are you doing moss-drugs. Are you constantly discontent since you're not getting battles and the Thrill. Also that is a disturbing comparison.

This is perhaps the most opposite of your current self that we've seen you when you weren't Thrill-murdering.

...listening to your wife is good but I don't think she meant 'you should totally do drugs'

However, you getting into a fighting ring is very likely among the things she expected you to get into when she suggested 'live in the moment', considering what you're like at this time, whether you're fighting in them or just betting on them. It's the violence inherent in them.

Yessss, you're caring about Evi, FINALLY, even if you might not love her yet. We still haven't seen evidence of that from your end of the relationship.

Gavilar might not be able to politic his way past a rebellion, but the last flashback indicated that he's certainly going to try, come Damnation or stormwaters. Dalinar, though… he's too apathetic to even care at this point. It's extremely disconcerting.

Oohhhhh, you're trying to use the drunkenness to stave off the Thrill, really…? Well, apparently you're going to fight anyway. But will the Thrill come, and do you even want it to…?

dark bar atmosphere, laced with smoke that curls, grey, melding with and making its own shadows as the raucous noise silences completely, predator's eyes glinting bright blue across the ring

“Hurting you? Storms, that's not what I'm afraid of.”

You have a reputation, Dalinar. It's not a good one.

Yeaaah, he's essentially not feeling anything nowadays. One fight he can barely remember is the last time that brought him emotion – that's not natural; something has to be damping it.

Toh! You're still hanging around! Damn, we haven't seen anything of you save for that single chapter with the highstorm. Has Dalinar simply been too emotionally-dead to notice you the entire time? But he notes 'familiar face', so you must have spent a fair amount of time together…

OH OH IT'S TIME IT'S TIME IT'S TI-  ….it's early and they're not surprised. Why. Why. I demand answers.

You ran all the way there at a sprint, didn't you.

She pretty much did fight a battle, Dal. Just not the kind you're used to.

Still with the left-handed-ness – and it may not be the same sign of intimacy to her as it is to you, Dal, but still.

Dropping to his knees at her bedside! Holding hands! Overcome with emotion! Ohhh, you have come to love her by this point, haven't you?

“many men are apprehensive at first when-” NOPE. SWOOPS HIM INTO HIS HANDS INTO THE AIR AND DANCES AMIDST THE GOLDEN GLORYSPREN

ahhhhh, with thick blond-and-black streaking even as a newborn! AND DALINAR'S PROUD OF IT, PROUD THAT HIS SON SHOWS HIS MIXED HERITAGE EVEN THOUGH THAT'S A THING SCOFFED AT IN ALETHKAR AND SOME PEOPLE EVEN DYE THEIR HAIR TRUE BLACK TO HIDE THAT THEY'RE MIXED. Good on you, Dal, good on you

'May you have your father's strength… and at least some of your mother's compassion, little one.' excuse me while I go sob in the corner

this is the first true spark of Dadlinar – of the Dalinar we see in the future

'BORN UNTO LIGHT' AS A NAME MEANING I'VE BEEN CALLING HIM 'SUN SON' ALL THIS TIME AND THAT'S SO DAMN CLOSE ARE YOU KIDDING ME it's such a good name what a good name my boy my boy

please run through the city whooping for joy and proclaiming you're a dad, Dalinar, I need that image in my head

For once, Dalinar rolls a decent Insight check. What are you gonna do or say to fuck this up, Gavilar.

!!!! 'Lunacy'? Was… was Jasnah already broken by this point? With sixteen more years to go before she bonded with Ivory?

Ooooo, so crowns are mostly a Western-Rosharan thing – Gavilar compromises with a circlet, but probably not an entirely plain one, a simple band of metal. Ten-pointed, perhaps, subtle and tasteful.

Failing? The rebellion is that bad? Aaaaand you're going to send Dalinar in to crush it and that's when shit's going to go down. Ooof.

….this is that Sons of Honor organization cropping up, isn't it, or at least their overarching goals. Were you just part of them, or did you found them, Gavilar?

Oh no, oh no, Dalinar had a flash of hope, of emotion, of a different future than just battle, and now that's going to clash with his old bloodthirst and this is going to end terribly; none of this bodes well

“I… might have something that will help.” ……….I do not trust you, Gavilar. Dalinar's still the unstable barbarian here, but even he sounds more trustworthy than you right now.

This does not sound good this does not sound good this does not sound good-

“I can't help feeling words would be enough, if only I knew the right ones to say.” Okay so you're probably being tested as a proto-Bondsmith, but dude. Dude. This is not the way to go about it.

[mephistophelianmusingsxo]

Colours

Death comes in colours; red, white and black. White being the sudden redemption you yearn for before all goes black; black being the eternal damnation and agony you feel for not making peace with the world while you were still in it and red; red is the anger. The anger at having to leave the world before you expected; before you were able to say the goodbyes, the farewells and promises that you would watch over your grieving family, never to leave them. Clinging on to a faith, a figment of hope that there is something after death and it’s not just that black eternal darkness everyone runs from, but can never escape. And if you’re lucky, you experience all; red, white and black, a murky brown. Not quite sure what anchors and unsettles you the greatest. It is a fact. You are going to die. However, uncheerful this may be, people find themselves hindered by the fear, the protestations when Death finally comes. When Death leans over you, you must be kind. It is fair. It gives you no favours so please do not ask for kindness, for forgiveness because it can offer you neither of those. You must find it within yourself to offer those to it. Then, once you do it blankets you with a dusting of white, silent wishes that you will find peace before it takes you. I feared for none, I prayed for none and I wished death to take me. Whispering it appealed to me, I had seen the colours. The changing of the day into night; it was not violent, it was not blustering, it was an ending; the final result. It arrived too early; I wasn’t quite ready to slip away yet. I would not be rushed nor pressured. In a single hour, I had passed a multitude of stages; denial, anguish and forgiveness. The thing I said I did not need. But I made it a point anyway. Death would suit me. Death came for me arms crossed, and tears frozen. Solemn in its standing it was the darkness before the dawn. Only twenty-nine years old and already my time was up. It was a beautiful thing in a way Death would finally become the saviour needed. Crashing into the fading sense of belonging in this world, I was struck with the same wooden club just previous, specifically designed for breaking bones. Gashes were made and bones were turned to fragments of a jigsaw puzzle, drawing a curdling scream from the confines of my chest. “Focus on me Jet! What are my thoughts? Tell me!” I didn’t know, I had no fucking clue. An arm hung out of its sockets and my ankle, I had no doubt was so unrecognisable I definitely wouldn’t be walking out of here, or at all. No more soaring for this metallic Kite. Passing of minutes echoed in my ears, there was no clock but I was sure I could hear a ticking. As each second passed my agony only heightened, coughing up the blood soaking my lungs, I croaked. I can’t, the pain. I- it’s too much; I had nothing left to give. I wanted to give up, to stop fighting and to allow Death to take my hand. My body was contorted in all ways imaginable, my muscles flexed and tore beneath my skin, my tendons rippled and snapped. I wanted to die. Thirty-six; thirty-four; thirty-two; Come on Jethro, die faster. This wasn’t the first time I’d been strapped to The Rack, its buckles already had my dried blood on and now my blood was repainting the ancient relics. I promised myself after that time, when I was sixteen I’d never visit here again. What happened that day because of me would never be permitted to happen again. Nobody else would be hurt because of me. I lay vertically drifting in and out of consciousness but for those times I saw clarity, he sat watching me. His white hair a beacon of the redemption I didn’t want, his musky leather jacket worn with years of hard excursions, it fucking reeked of memories and long long nights. “Oh stop your bitching Jethro. Focus on me for fucks sake.” I squirmed, wishing he’d just leave me alone to die. But that would be too much to ask. The lever cranked tightening leather bounds around my wrists and ankles, pain shot through every vein in my body stretching. Why couldn’t I pass out? Free myself from the suffering. The only way to stop this was to do what he said, but I couldn’t. I was riddled with misery; I couldn’t bring myself to think of anything but I had to try. Stab in the dark Jet. Like many times before. “Y-ou, you, think I’m an embarrassment, I- I’m a disappointment-” Anger drenched his voice, vibrating the walls and flooring until yet more of my joints popped and crack. “You. Are. My. Fucking. Son. You do not embarrass me, except you have, burying your fucking cock so deep in that Weaver whore. When will you learn, Jethro? They are disposable, we are not. But don’t mistake my blatant leniency for kindness. I will not hesitate to kill you. You think it’s only you to fall for a Weaver, only you to fuck one, must I say without protection; so willingly. Fuck. You’ve always been a pussy. You disgust me.” Nila…Nila. Nila was the life I needed, so vibrant, so full of love; she was the oxygen I needed to breathe, needed to survive, without her I would be nothing again. Sighing, I craned my neck to get a glimpse of the stars through the broken panel in the roof; the tips of my salt and pepper hair glistening in the moonlight shining through. Sweat that drenched my brow from the unthinkable affliction my body was relentlessly trialled through, glistening in the light from the moon, a twinkle of hope. It hadn’t left me yet. With Nila in my heart, I was safe; she wrapped me in a cocoon of security. Her forgiveness alone would mean I would die a peaceful man. The debts, the inheritance, my father, they didn’t matter.

I didn’t talk, nor move. I remained still, unmoving. I was weak. I was tired, so tired I wanted to sleep. If I slept, Death would come. It would place its hands either side of my sagging shoulders and lift me above the world where all I endured was splitting distress. No running, no fighting, it was all at my mercy. Patting my cheek, his gaze held mine. His emotions swirled in to mine and for the first time since he’d started this, I felt what he felt. He wasn’t terrified of the prospect of ending me, he was satisfied. At last he’d be free from the failure he had to raise. However, he didn’t enjoy it. He didn’t enjoy hurting his firstborn, he didn’t enjoy subjecting me to relenting hours of torture but he had to. Motherfucker. I hated him. I would make him pay. A sudden burst of life surged through my veins; I would feed off the hate, drink the vengeance and bask in the odium of reprisal. I shifted in the buckles, writhing as my mismatched bones jerked at the very movement giving way to another cry that whistled through the air; god how I wanted this over. I wanted Nila. I wanted to bury my head in her lap and forget about this, I wanted her touch to soothe every aching bone, every singing muscle and tendon. I didn’t care that my body was mangled and distorted in ways it should never be, I just wanted her. The side of the club delivered another remorseless blow to my gut, wrenching my body forward to bow against the restraints. “You know I love you Jethro. Just do as I ask and all this will be over.” Love? He wouldn’t know love if it hit him in the fucking face, he was a bastard, completely soulless. Choking on a laugh as blood filled my mouth, I spat. No. He doesn’t get to fucking ‘love me’. He doesn’t get to care. To rapture in adoration for his Son. My emotional rage penetrated, piercing the atmosphere striking Cut with an air of surprise. “Fuck you! You’re a bastard. I know you’d be satisfied if I fucking died, you wouldn’t have to raise your failure anymore. Fuck you.” I was right; he didn’t get to feel what he did. He didn’t deserve to. After all the wrong he’d done, that somehow he thought it justified enough to 'love’ his children. Cut stood, opening his mouth but no sound came out. Instead he smiled. A tsunami of wonderful glory eclipsed all I felt, he was proud. I had done what he wanted, what he asked and he couldn’t deny his overwhelming adoration at again “fixing” his son. That was his plan, it was never about me fucking Nila nor was it about the possibility that I would allow myself to fall in love with my toy, it was all about him creating the perfect monster, creating an heir that shrouded an air of mystery wherever he went. Yes, I would freeze and scorch the love I once felt, and once it becomes hard to distinguish the warm-skinned sensation - fire from the frost, my life shall have no future, just a past sealed away. There will become a vastness where only night will prevail and any light that rears its head will be snuffed out, because monsters do not get happy endings, they do not deserve the love of a woman, or in fact love in any form, for you see; monsters can never be a thing of beauty, no. Invisibility suits us best. It’s the first day in November, and today someone will die. As the sharp harsh wind howled against the barn doors, it gave reprieve to the sweltering fever ripping through my body. Gaining a slither of lucidity through the fog in my mind, everyone leaves something, someone it is a must when we die. I have thought of nothing more than the things I have not said, the things I now regret keeping to myself. It isn’t that I want to quit life, but indeed a need, and in doing so I will pretend that quitting laughter, loving, smiles and the soft beauty of falling ebony locks does not rip my heart from my chest and deposit it at my feet. Carve my name not on a tombstone but upon your heart, a legacy never lives etched on cold stone but in the minds of others. But what is a death if a man has no one to mourn him? It is the loneliest thing one can ever do, it doesn’t matter what has been done; good or bad. We all die the same. Utterly lost and alone, staring in to the black abyss and the black abyss stares back at you. Hope is above and never deep, it is what will visit you in the dreams when you sleep, so listen to me when I say, my love will be the compass through. Fear is old, poisonous, treacherous and it rises above all wrongs, but let one violation right all sins. Let my death be the righteous feat. Kes… Sometime at the eve of twelve, I promised it all to you; The Debts, the Inheritance, Hawksridge. Do not detest this like I have, do not wear it upon your shoulders like a burden. Grow with it, rise and mature. Become the man I can never, grieve in silent sorrow but never lose sight of the ending. Finish what I started, Kestrel. And if you feel you cannot because loyalty keeps you bound, do it for her. Let him kill me but not her, set her free. It is all I ask, for I know you’re far too honourable and maintained in fidelity. Honour me one last time. This is not goodbye, never a goodbye because saying so makes it forgettable. I am just fading, the corners of my consciousness blur further. A desperate murky line between living and once existing, if only I could reach out an arm, I would be touching it; it would engulf me and drown me like lapping sea waves. It is nothing like I imagined, had I been so foolish to think death would come for me peacefully? I am stuck, bound and weightless in a blackening void that only caterwauls my own misgiving penitence but alas, it is too late now to deny the kindness of offering. It was time, I had to step from hanging on the brink to accepting and embracing the perpetual slumber of lifeless torture. Stomping back in to view Cut roared; I couldn’t deny even though I hated him, I was glad he felt some kind of remorse. His gaze was frantic and his heartbeat sprinted across the dusty barn floor, a stark comparison to my own. Each rattling of a breath my heart slowed; each rise and fall of my chest my heart fought to pump the blood around my system. Good. Fucking good. Feel guilty you bastard. Summoned by some deep-rooted family bond, his fist slammed in to my chest, kick-starting a rhythm of normalcy to my heart. How long did it take for someone to die like this, minutes, hours, days? I did not care; I was in ecstasy and equally agony; possessed so by a coldness that I am in exile from myself and memories of her flood like tears like the ice through my veins.

[nerdbabyarthur]

Taking Back The Crown - Pt. 4

(( We’ve reached the end of the ‘Event Starter!’ What happens to Arthur? Will he get out of this sticky situation in one piece? Ya gotta read to find out >uO After this, all interaction will be available again. Your goal is to now try and free Arthur from Odium’s clutch! Or, although impossible, you can try and remove Odium altogether. It’s your pick. Good luck and Happy Halloween!~ ))

Immediately the little ghost went still, the electric coating on his body fading due to shock as the ability to move went suddenly missing. He felt frozen and numb, unable to feel anything as he stared, horrified, as the demon let out a rather amused laugh. “That was too easy! Are you really that pathetic?” 

Arthur hissed through clenched teeth at the taunting, gathering up energy to shoot out a burst of sparks and break part of the stalagmite to pull himself off. As his electric form flickered back, his senses quickly returned as well, his middle now burning with pain. Looking down, the ghost tensed when seeing his midsection obtaining a hole, murky green surrounding the wound. That’s not good.

Ignoring the pain, Arthur rushed forward, hoping that by colliding into Odium, his sparking body would electrocute him. However, each time he tried, he was easily smacked away, ending up the only one getting more and more damaged. That was, until, he tried another forward attack and ducked at the last second, zipping around before practically headbutting the demon’s side. A loud horrific angered roar left the other, a strong pulse of energy spreading from the ground and throwing the ghost back and onto the muddy ground. As he quickly scrambled to his feet, he looked back at his attacker and froze at the fury blazing in those green eyes, a horrible contrast to the casual smile on the other’s marked face.

The pain in his middle flared, causing the electric spirit to stumble and groan, form flickering as the green began to climb and spread like sickly veins. Looking down at the hole again, Arthur felt the ice cold rain hit his sparking skin, sinking in deep and putting out the last bit of flame of anger. He thought of Lewis’ decayed body, laying in that cave with a similar hole in his stomach. He wonders if he felt the same pain he feels at this moment. Before him, Odium rolled his shoulders as he frowned, making Arthur feel that he’s made his final mistake. That this is the end.

Now flooded with a much stronger sense of fear, Arthur began to realize that this fight has reached its end and that he has failed. Horribly. “What…what did you do to me?” He motioned to the gaping hole in his figure with a trembling hand, earning a sinister snicker from the pissed off demon. “Isn’t it obvious, Puppet? You denied me, so I punished you. You chose this, and now you are paying for it. Not that I’m complaining, I’m having a very good time watching you suffer. Sadly, we’re going to end this right now, little one. You’ve worn my patience thin.”

The angry growl that came from the green demon only made the little spirit more frightened, the last bit of his courage disappearing as the electric coating on his body dissolved. Odium locked eye contact as he began to walk forward, making Arthur begin to stumble back. In a blink of an eye the demon king was in front of him, grabbing the young man by the neck. A smile grew on the demon’s face, wide and wicked, as a wild look flashed in his eyes. 

The man squeezed harder and harder with brute strength, a wispy hand joining the first one around Artie’s neck. That feeling of suffocation overwhelmed Arthur again as he thrashed and jerked hard, tears stinging the corners of his eyes as the hold only got tighter and tighter.

“I’m done with playtime, Puppet. You WILL do my bidding, and you WILL lead me to Lewis Pepper!” Odium roared, eyes flashing a bright green as his hand shot out and yanked the glowing gold necklace from around Arthur’s neck. Arthur stared with terrified horror as Odium grinned with evil delight and coated the necklace-holding hand with light green energy.

Arthur began screaming as pain engulfed his entire being, his pale orange glow being replaced with a sickly green. Green everywhere. In his head, in his skin, in his eyes. The memory of The Cave flashed to the forefront of his brain, every sensation, emotion, and thought returning to him as if it was happening in the current moment. The feeling of Lewis’ warm chest pressing against his left hand that tingled with pins and needles, the horror, fear, and sick delight that twisted his insides as he watched his best friend fall over the edge and out of his line of sight, purple eyes wide with surprise and confusion locked into his. The laughing in his head that made his brain and ears hurt.

Arthur continued to scream, in the vision and out on the muddy rainy field.

The scene changed. A new sense of dread and fear filled the young man as the body he pushed belonged to a blue haired girl, the strength of the shove stronger due to the shared height. The same fear and confusion in her beautiful blue eyes as she shrieked. She was already crying. He was crying. Not his Vivi, he’d never hurt her. Never hurt Lewis. Never hurt anyone, he’s not like that. He didn’t want to do this. His left foot moved forward as he was forced to look over the cliff and watch her body make contact with the stalagmites, red blossoming from her blue form as her scream cut off with a choke and a gurgle.

Arthur continued to scream.

In his head, continuous scenarios played in his head, all of him killing those he loved. Lewis, Vivi, his Uncle, the Peppers, the Yukinos, his mother. Himself. The pain felt much like one of Vivi’s exorcism slips, only as if it were hellfire itself, burning and eating away at his spiritual flesh. Second by second he could feel his energy being sucked away, a fatigue that evolved deep in his soul growing and growing. He needed to retreat into the necklace, needed to regain the energy, or he’ll...he’ll disappear. But that’s what Odium wants, and he promised. He promised he wouldn’t let him get away with this, wouldn’t let him hurt anyone.

The little blond ghost gritted his teeth, painful groans leaving his throat as he forced himself to keep his screams quiet. Blinking against the visions he found himself staring at Odium’s victorious smile, hissing at the bastard as he trembled and shook from his quickly draining life-energy. “I-I….I won’t let you g-get away….with th-this,” Arthur hissed, feeling like he was gargling his own blood in his mouth. Odium blinked a few times, feigning surprise as he tilted his head to the side, seeming almost confused. Slowly a sugary sweet smile spread onto the taller man’s face, the demon  giving a little giggle before leaning forward to give Arthur a kiss on the nose. Pulling back, that same malicious expression was in those evil green eyes.

“I already have~”

Odium tightened his hold on the necklace until an audible ‘CRACK’ was heard. Arthur gasped as his form turned transparent and quickly faded from vision, disappearing into his anchor. The demon waited for a moment before opening his hand and checking his palm.

His puppet’s anchor sat in the middle, a deep long crack running from the top left of the gem to the bottom. Odium grinned happily, his tail curling as a small purr rumbled in his chest. Perfect. Now that his toy has been placed in it’s cage, he can take what he needs. Closing his eyes, Odium began to focus on calling for the power that was hidden deep within. It took a moment, but the feeling of lightning shooting up into his veins through his hand begun, making the demon king jolt and breathe out as his strength and power increased. With the little puppet’s energy mixing with his own; he could now easily crush that thieving skeleton. With the blue girl at bay and a plan in store for the kitsune, Odium was pleased to see no future dilemma that will keep him from regaining what was his. 

Slipping the cracked necklace around his neck, the demon folded his hands behind his back, turned on his heels, and began to walk away into the forest, humming cheerfully as he walked with a spring in his step.

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Part 1: -  Part 2: -  Part 3: -  Part 4: Here