Well, he hadn't seen that one coming.

Kaladin had been determinedly running through spear kata, striving to improve his speed and agility further. They still didn't know who'd sent the Assassin in White after Dalinar. Until they discovered who had given the order, they couldn't be certain that there wouldn't be more assassins, each equipped with an honourblade, so Kaladin practiced. There were a lot of empty rooms in Urithiru, each of them perfect for a man who was practicing his most used spear forms sticking to the roof. He stabbed, pivoted, and Lashed himself down to the floor. Syl transformed into a flurry of leaves, coursing around him in anticipation, and followed him as he fell. When he had hit the ground and gone to suck in more Stormlight from the pile of spheres by the door, though, he'd gotten more than he had anticipated.

He'd inhaled Syl.

At first, he hadn't even noticed. The Stormlight poured into him just as it normally would, filling him with restless energy. He went to run for the wall, but then stopped in his tracks as his own hand reached up and placed itself across his face, patting his cheek curiously. He stopped dead in his tracks as his hand continued its exploration. It tweaked his nose before embarking on a thorough examination of his jaw.

"Syl?" Kaladin asked, expecting her to pop up beside him like she usually did. "What's going on?"

"You inhaled me, dummy," said his own mouth in a familiar voice. "Looks like I can control your body now." His hands, free from his control, began to plait his hair into an elaborate braid.

"How do I exhale you?" Kaladin asked, exerting all his self control in an effort to not freak out. He had already started breathing normally, Stormlight forgotten in the face of this surprise. "This is weird, Syl-"

"It's perfectly normal!" her voice said, inconveniently using his vocal cords at the same time he wanted to. "All the Knights Radiant used to do it. I think."

"But-"

"Oh!" she interrupted, finishing her plait. It was quite a good plait, but Kaladin's mind was on other things. "I can just use your brain now! None of this symbiotic relationship giving me cognition junk."

"But- you're meant to be my shardblade!" Kaladin managed. "We're meant to be a TEAM, Syl!"

"Well, yeah, but it's going to be the kind of team where I have complete control over you," she explained, appreciatively squeezing one of his biceps.

"But- my shardblade!" Kaladin said. Lighteyes be damned, but he liked having a non-evil all-powerful transforming weapon.

"Here you go," Syl said, making the blade appear momentarily in his hand. "I'm in your brain right now, silly, of course I'll know when you want your spear." His own hand patted him demeaningly on the head.

"Now," she said with menacing purpose. "I think it's time for some shirtless sparring with Adolin."

On exploration of Urithiru it was discovered, unsurprisingly, that the place was enormous. Wing upon wing was filled with rooms to suit any need a Knight Radiant might have. With relative speed they had found a large rectangular room with wide windows and many large, empty storage rooms around perimeter. Adolin wasn't there yet, but Syl and Kaladin knew he would be soon. 'Kaladin' had sent a servant to Adolin's room some minutes before with a sparring challenge that would be impossible for him to ignore. Adolin was already feeling a bit sensitive by the sudden rise of power and importance of those he had always benignly outranked, and Syl's message played on those emotions.

"Yes?" Adolin asked the nervously shuffling servant at his door.

"Um, I have a message from Radiant Kaladin, your Highness. He said 'How about a challenge? Lets see how you match against a Knight Radiant, if you're up to it, princeling.' And he said he'd be in the sparring room." The servant hurriedly bowed and scuttled away. Adolin's handsome face was a mask of outrage and indignation. He threw himself back into his quarters and tore through his trunk of clothes to find his sparring gear. He was red faced and huffing as he stormed out of his room and down to the sparring quarters, leaving a mess of fine clothes strewn behind him. Audible among his mutters were the words 'jumped-up', 'storming Radiants', and the phrase 'bridgeboy' at least eight times, each with increasing ferocity. He had approached maximum indignation by the time he had reached the sparring room, having been able to stew in the words of the challenge for a good eight minutes as he navigated the tight chambers and long staircases of Urithiru.

When he finally reached the sparring room he stood in the doorway for a fraction of a second before he bellowed "BRIDGEBOY!" with all his considerable might, heedless of who else might be present. Kaladin stood in the centre of the room, warming himself in a rectangle of sunshine. He slowly looked over to Adolin with insolent arrogance, and hefted the wooden sparring spear in his hands challengingly.

"Oh, no," said Adolin, expertly expressing his feelings in a long-practiced hiss of vitriolic indignation. He'd carried two Shardblade guards down from his rooms, and he threw one of them at Kaladin. "You said this was a challenge from a Radiant, didn't you?"

Kaladin threw his wooden sparring spear aside, materialising a very different weapon. The guard fixed itself amorphously to the head of the Shardspear. Eyes hard in unspoken challenge and smirking smugly, he also tore off his shirt. Adolin scowled at his upstart bodyguard and removed his jacket, hanging it primly on the doorknob. That was the only precaution he took for his clothes, however. With much practiced flair he reached over his shoulder and yanked his shirt off, tossing it to the ground carelessly and sweeping his head back up in a flowing golden arc. He pushed some stray hairs back from his eyes and was about to say something exceedingly dramatic and impressive, but was interrupted by Kaladin whistling.

"Nice." He said, appreciatively nodding. Adolin's rage was quelled slightly by this unexpected compliment. He fought with his polite upbringing. Dalinar had always raised him to respond well to compliments, even if they were from a rival, concerning his admittedly wonderful torso.

"Um…You too, I guess?" At a loss at what else to say, he summoned his Shardblade and placed the guard over its edge. "Let's fight now."

Kaladin hefted his spear and took a guard position, wisps of Stormlight beginning to drift up off his dark skin. Adolin considered the situation and chose Windstance, shifting his feet and positioning his Shardblade before him.

"Ready?" Kaladin asked, with an infuriating smirk. Adolin responded with a test strike. Kaladin's spear was there to meet his nameless Shardblade, the two weapons meeting with a musical clash. He began to strike with more intensity, keeping Kaladin on his toes, but hitting him was like trying to strike the wind. He shifted effortlessly away, his spear constantly moving and constantly meeting Adolin strike for strike. As they fought, Adolin noticed a change in Kaladin's behaviour. He hesitated slightly mid-strike, a confused expression appearing for a moment. He swept his spear in a completely different way, nearly disarming the prince.

That was odd. Adolin retreated a few steps, shifting into Smokestance and aiming his shardblade so that it pointed at Kaladin's heart. Kaladin nodded appreciatively.

"Better stance for fighting a Windrunner," he said, moving naturally into an answering stance. He struck forwards, nearly hitting Adolin in the side of the head. "You aren't as good at it, though." Stormlight leaked out the side of his mouth as he spoke.

"You're very chatty, suddenly," Adolin muttered, whipping his shardblade out of a feint and again missing his opponent. Kaladin had moved out of his way with a clearly stormlight-enhanced pivot.

"Enjoying the temporary use of my mouth," Kaladin said, before giving a very startling, girlish giggle.

"What?" Adolin asked. "Why did you-"

"Oh!" said a voice from the door. "Oh, wow. You guys… keep doing what you're doing. Don't let me stop you." Adolin glanced back, trusting Kaladin not to hit him while his back was turned. Shallan stood in the open doorway, satchel in hand, eyebrows raised appreciatively. She took a seat against the far wall and began unpacking her art supplies. She noticed Adolin watching her.

"Please, carry on," she said, waving her safehand. "Pretend I'm not here. Resume your manly activities." Her spren drifted up onto the wall, an impossible twisting of lines that Adolin preferred not to look at for too long. As he turned back to Kaladin, he could have sworn he heard Shallan whisper, "Pattern, are you getting their voices? Good, you'll need them for Lightweaving practice later." The spren seemed to buzz discontentedly.

"You giggled," Adolin said, turning back to his sparring partner. "Just now."

"Did not," Kaladin said, emphasising his denial with a jab that missed Adolin's gut by an inch.

"You did," Adolin said.

"You misheard." They fought in silence for a few minutes before Kaladin, in a very different tone of voice, said, "But damn, boy, you are toned as heck. You work out, right? I bet you work out a lot."

Adolin made a confused and strangled noise, as did Shallan, who was still sketching enthusiastically in the corner. "Pardon?" he asked.

"Your biceps are just, wow," elaborated Kaladin, who then winked.

"Thanks," said Adolin. Politely he added, "you're also very… toned. Pal." Kaladin gave another giggle. It was distinctly feminine. He dropped one hand off his spear and twirled one of his curls around his finger, which is when Adolin finally managed to hit him. The shardblade knocked him off-balance, and the still slightly giggling Kaladin was swept off his feet. When he hit the ground- and rolled, of course, because some muscle memory remained even after being possessed by a spren- he began to cough, his spear dissolving. A streak of white-blue flew from his cough, manifesting itself into a put-out honourspren.

"Kaladin!" she cried, crossing her arms. "I had something going there!"

"Syl, you're never doing that again," Kaladin said firmly, getting to his feet and flexing his hand until she rolled her eyes and flowed into the form of a spear. "Sorry, princeling. Where were we?"

"Whoa, whoa. Explain what that was," Adolin said, taking a wary step backwards.

"My honourspren," Kaladin said, shrugging. His spear reformed into a shardblade, which still giggled a little. The guard had stayed on it this whole time. "I managed to inhale her this morning."

"The giggling," Adolin said.

"I didn't giggle," Kaladin said in a blatant denial of the facts. "Now- since we're both here, I haven't managed to get Ironstance yet."

"Was the challenge to the duel even from you?" Adolin demanded, unable to let it go. "All that posturing, and the insults, and we're not even wearing shirts-"

"Syl is a great appreciator of muscles," Kaladin said.

"Damn right I am," said his Shardblade, ethereally.

"And, I mean, shirts probably get in the way, right?" Shallan called from the door. "Sort of impeding your movement? And material folds are such a bore to draw, anyway."

Adolin looked at her, reviewed all potential responses to her comment and decided the best option was to ignore it. "So…" he said, "you're having trouble with Ironstance."

"And after that duel you had with Salinor," Kaladin said, "I figured you weren't a bad person to ask." He moved into Ironstance, his shardblade held up beside his head.

"Your elbows are too bent," Adolin said after a moment, stepping in to adjust them.

"Could you hold it there for a moment?" Shallan called. Both of the shirtless men looked over at her disgustedly.

From that day onwards, Shallan and Syl were fast friends.

The End.