Summer Yards Littered With Bones

The everyday life of the inhabitants of the Grey Tower. This board is for general daily roleplay around the Tower, in the corridors, rooms and halls that make up most of the building.
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Matty
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Summer Yards Littered With Bones

Post by Matty » November 15th, 2017, 11:33 pm

Maever Donovan, Head of the Yellow Ajah It was another day in the Infirmary. Maever was supposed to be taking a day to himself but when he woke up, he realised he didn’t actually have anything else that he needed to do, and the thought of sitting in his rooms didn’t appeal. No, instead he could make himself useful in the Infirmary, and really connect with his peers. The Illianer was happiest when around others, drawing on their energy to fuel his own.

“Oh Maever,” one of the Aes Sedai said indulgently when he strode in, his uniform neat and his little yellow cuffs poking out just past his black coat, “you know you are supposed to be having some free time, yes?”

“Oh I do be knowing,” Maever said brightly, “but I did feel like coming in and helping! So here I do be.” He smiled, “so how do our supplies be looking? Ohhh, we do be needing to be ready, no? There do be that excursion of Greens coming back from that horrible fight in Saldaea at any time. We do need to make sure we do have the beds ready, and enough Healers, and…”

“Of course Maever, but you arranged all this yesterday,” the Aes Sedai said.

And so he had. Maever went to get himself some water to drink, Accepted curtsying to him as he went. Two Asha’man were stood chatting, shaking off the morning blues with some catching up. Piotr and Illis were good men, and they did a fine job in the Infirmary. Maever sidled his way over. Whatever they were talking about, they broke off when they saw Maever approach, patient smiles on their faces.

“Hullo!” he said as he helped himself to some water.

“Maever, you said you weren’t in today!” Illis remarked.

“Oh I do be knowing, but I did decide to come in anyway,” Maever said. “So, how do you both be?”

“You know, same as ever here,” Piotr said. “I’d better check the beds are ready, huh? See you later.” He left Maever and Illis, a pat on the latter’s shoulder as he went.

“Yeah, and… bandages.” Illis left as well, and Maever got his water, nursing it in both hands as he looked around with an awkward sup. A moment later Illis passed by to go assist Piotr, and they talked quietly as they made unnecessary checks of the beds Maever knew were just fine.

But it was good to be prepared, no? Maever contented himself with this, for it was not much later when the small troop of Greens entered, most of them assisted by their Warders or other folk from the Travelling Grounds.

“Oh my!” Maever remarked, seeing the blood and the mud in his lovely clean Infirmary, “over here please, let’s get started. Piotr, green triage, Illis, yellow… hrmm I will do red.” It was a flurry of activity as people were promptly diagnosed, put in certain beds, and seen to. Maever moved between people in a happy buzz, as even with their injuries there was animated talk about what had transpired in Saldaea. Maever listened in with interest, unable to help himself. He wasn’t a front lines fellow but he was fascinated by those who were.

“… and that’s when Dierys stomped in with her axe, but I’d already been stabbed!” announced Xin, a heart Green with a big laugh and friendly eyes.

“Surprised you lasted that long,” one of the other Greens said, “I remember in Arafel when you went out and got jumped by those bandits…”

“Ohhh, at least we did Heal your stab!” Maever said brightly, fluffing Xin’s pillow. “And… I do be remembering when you did come back from Arafel, but it did no seem so bad, no?”

“Mmmm,” Xin made a noise of agreement. There was a slight pause, before:

“Never seen a man jump so high in shock,” the other Green snorted. “Still haven’t told Dierys, you know. Maybe I will when I see her next.”

“Oh no, secrets!” Maever remarked.

“Hah! You tell her and I’ll mention your undying love for her,” Xin said very pointedly to the other Green. Maever finished fluffing his pillow and moved on, going to get some glasses of water for people. Once he had those on his tray people looked to him. If he was doing something wrong, or if he had something they wanted, then Maever earned attention. When he had nothing to offer by way of amusement or service, he was not in demand at all. Maever knew this, it wasn’t old news, so why did it rankle more than it used to? It was always fine before, the Yellow knew his place, and he knew he wasn’t friends with these people. But he’d always felt like he belonged.

“Water? Here you go. You do be ok? That do be good. Okay. Rest well.” Maever had the same string of words jumbled together for each person he gave water to, not really thinking about it any more. They were quiet for him, but to one another it felt like some sort of reunion, these people brought together by a common purpose, a history tying them together. Xin made some sort of joke, and Maever watched Illis laugh as he inspected the now Healed wound. The wound Maever had Healed. Illis had a hand on Xin’s shoulder, gave it a friendly squeeze, and Xin’s eyes trailed after the man a second before going back to his conversation with his peers. Illis spoke to Piotr as he passed the fellow Healer, and Maever couldn’t hear the words from where he stood, but he knew the sort of thing they were. Friendly banter. Something witty and short. Piotr’s laugh made his eyes crinkle when he laughed, and Illis smirked as he went back to his duties. Maever held an empty tray.

“I think I will go to my rooms now,” he said, but there was nobody listening. Everyone had been Healed who needed it, and they had their water.

-

The Illianer sat on his bed, holding one of the little boxes he had received after the interrogations. It had contained a little candle, but that candle was half used now and just the box remained. It seemed a shame to throw it away at the time, fine powdery blue with a yellow ribbon.

Maever tore it into pieces, strip by strip, watching them float to the ground in silence, unblinking. Maybe I will stay in bed tomorrow.

The bell for High Noon rang outside.
Image
------ Murdock -------------- Nathaniel --------------- Maever -------

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Matty
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Re: Summer Yards Littered With Bones

Post by Matty » November 24th, 2017, 11:32 pm

It's just more Maever The sun shone brightly that morning, so much so that when Maever looked up too suddenly from the item he was perusing, it took him by surprise and made him squint until he was used to it. Then he shrugged and looked back down at the little instrument in his lap.

It wasn't anything fancy. Just a set of pipes, old and not the best. Maever didn't buy anything expensive, in case he wasn't any good at using them. He held them up and looked left and right, as if afraid someone would snatch them out of his hands. But there was nobody around, just Maever perched on a fountain in the gardens, nobody to disturb him. The Illianer picked up the pipes, put them to his lips, and blew.

It was a rasping sound, not high and light and witty. Maever hadn't managed to make his sighs turn into music; they remained lifeless and sad, even with the facilitator of music between his lips and the air. This wasn't the first time he'd tried, nor would it be the last. He wanted to blame the pipes themselves for not working properly, for there being some inherent issue with them that meant he was unable to perform to standard, but the truth of it was... Maever was not meant for playing the pipe. He just had to accept that.

The Illianer set them down on the fountain to his right. Some things could not be forced.

----

Maever didn't think about the pipes for a few days. He had a lot of work to do in the Infirmary, and insisted on being there as much as possible so he could help out. Eventually, when he was herded out of the door with instructions to take some time out, the Illianer was at a loss for what to do, until Piotr made a comment in that innocent way one did when they held a knife in your stomach. "Why don't you go and practice the pipes?"

It was with a red face that the Illianer made his way down the corridors back to his room, though he had no reason to be ashamed. No, it wasn't shame that upset him so... it was embarrassment at being spoken to like a young child, as if he was too stupid to recognise when someone was poking fun at him. It might not be personal - Piotr was like that with most - but, well, that didn't mean it didn't feel personal to Maever, and that was his truth. It stung the man's quiet, humble pride, and hours later when there was a knock at his door he was still slightly smarting from it. Still, it was rude to not answer the door, so off Maever went, ever acting on the whims of others.

Three Accepted Maever recognised from the Infirmary stood there, hands innocently tucked behind their backs. Alise had hair more grey than blonde, but she was actually the youngest there. Delilah and Corinne were dark haired with the complexion of Tairens, but they had always been friendly enough with Maever.

"Asha'man," the three girls curtsied, but it was Delilah who spoke for them. "We have something we think you might like."

"Please don't be upset," added Corinne.

Alise held up what was behind their backs all along - a 9-string bittern.

"A bittern!" Maever remarked, rubbing his eyes and then gently taking it from their hands. "Oh my, fortune prick me... that do be very generous of you but, ummm. I do no be able to play. I do no be good with music."

"That's silly talk," Delilah said, "it's better than some pipes. And besides, we all know how to play." Of course, they were daughters of wealthy men who wanted their children to be learned and wise, so that was that. "We can teach you."

There were many protests, but ultimately that was what happened. Maever, unused to such generosity from others at the best of times, had no idea how to handle the kindness he was being shown. Like learning the Old Tongue, receiving kindness was something that was generally easier to understand if one was well practiced with it, and started at an early age. Maever had neither of these advantages, and the concept was initially foreign to him. But the three Accepted were all predispositioned with patience and empathy, the call of the Yellow Ajah strong in their hearts, and between the three of them they could share Maever's doubts without it grating on their collective good nature.

So that was how Maever began to learn to play the bittern. At first it was simple tunes rampant with memories of songs he heard his mother sing to Ryan in his childhood, but Maever had dexterous fingers and a determination, so soon enough he was picking up more challenging material. He was no Gleeman and in fact the thought of performing in front of anyone who wasn't the Accepted made the Illianer break out in a cold sweat, but he had a modest ear for the music, and over time he grew better able to identify how these compositions were put together, what worked and what sounded a bit strange. One thing he enjoyed was putting together a simple, modest tune, just plucking at a couple of the strings, as he waited for sleep to take him at the end of the day. No Accepted, no Piotr, just Maever and the music. He'd sing some remnant of a song he heard as a child, or some amalgamation of that with his own words, making something that was simply Maever.

"A dream with no destination,
evening scenery to end this life,
take me to the wasteland
on the far side of the earth..."


Maever plucked at the strings, and thought he knew contentment.
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------ Murdock -------------- Nathaniel --------------- Maever -------

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Matty
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Re: Summer Yards Littered With Bones

Post by Matty » November 25th, 2017, 1:30 pm

Lo, moar Maever I'm so sorry "There's nothing else we can do," said Delilah. Her voice was soft, but firm; since becoming a Yellow she had shown a lot more assertiveness, though she was never rude to Maever. It do just be a matter of time though, Maever thought to himself. He dismissed the thought; or rather, it was so ingrained into his being that it didn't alter his response to her.

"You do be right," he said, his own voice quiet as he looked down at the woman on the bed between them. It was not common for an Aes Sedai or Asha'man to grow ill, and especially so ill that the Yellows could do nothing about it, but it did happen, and normally when it happened, it happened. As much as they tried to research as much as they could about the body, there were still things they didn't know, and sometimes an illness simply took over, and no amount of Healing could stop it. Afflictions of the mind were so varied and sensitive, that Maever couldn't know how to take care of all of them.

Such was the case here. Delilah had handled her new role as a Yellow well, and never bothered with the shawl like most new Aes Sedai did. Her dresses were a mute yellow, and she gave a cool look at anyone who mentioned "Butter Brigade". Maever liked her and it was just a shame she wouldn't ever be his friend. But like the pipes, one could not force these things. And likewise one could not force Healing, it had to work... or it didn't work.

"So what happens now?" Delilah asked Maever, looking to the thin Illianer for direction.

"Ummm." There was a pause as Maever thought about it. "There do no be much we can do, apart from use a weave to make the death painless. But while there do be a chance she could wake up again, I do no be wanting to do that. She will stay here until her conditions does worsen, then we will take it from there. If she did have any family, we could get them to talk to her, stimulate her mind."

There was an awkward silence in the small room as Maever looked down at the woman. She had grey in her hair, and in this state she looked almost peaceful. At least she wasn't in pain, as far as Maever could tell. A Delve said that for now, she was steady. But only for now. They needed to kickstart her mind again, and then she might] recover. Possibly. It was a slim chance, but if she remained in this state, then there would be no chance at all.

"I do have an idea," Maever said to Delilah. "I will be right back."

-

"Maever," Piotr remarked when the Illianer returned to the Infirmary, "what is that in your hands?"

Maever held up the bittern, tilting his chin a little upwards. "It do be a bittern," he said, "And I do be playing it for a patient."

"A patient who can't hear it and won't notice?" Piotr asked, dubious.

"We do no be knowing that," Maever said, "and if there do be a chance of it working, then it do be worth a try." Maever made his way back to the small room where their Aes Sedai patient lay. He stopped in the doorway and turned to look at Piotr, "go find the Head Clerk," he said. "The Grey Ajah do be needing an update on the condition of their Aes Sedai." Piotr made a face - an Asha'man doing a trainee's job? - but he nodded his head and left. This wasn't something that should be left to a Soldier.

With the door closed Maever could focus on the patient. Her name was Brenna, he had to think of her by her name not her role. As a person. He closed the door so it was just him and Delilah, the latter looking curious.

"Do you really think it might work?" she asked, not with the same scepticism as Piotr.

"There do be a chance," Maever said. "And even if she does no wake up, I do be willing to try. We do no be knowing, Brenna may be able to hear us but no be able to communicate. So. I will play for her. " He sat on a stool next to the bed, resting the bittern on his legs. "So... umm. Brenna, it do be me, Maever! I do be sorry that our Healing did no work as we did hope, and we do hope that wherever your mind do be now, that you do no be in pain. Please enjoy listening to the music and, ummm, if you can come back to us... then please do."

"If I sing to the rain, would the clouds break?
A withered life, a boisterous summer,
throw the relics of nightmares and leave,
the song never ends even when no sun shines...

if I sing to the rain, will the darkness clear?
A life placed in the hands of a rotten dream,
throw the relics of the worst nights and leave,
the flowers bloom and the seasons die..."


"Maever," Delilah said, "maybe you could sing something more cheerful?... but you do have a nice enough voice," she added when she saw his expression. "And no accent!"
Image
------ Murdock -------------- Nathaniel --------------- Maever -------

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Matty
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Re: Summer Yards Littered With Bones

Post by Matty » December 7th, 2017, 1:56 pm

More self indulgent musings from Matty Having been convinced to take another day away from the Infirmary, Maever decided to stay away from the Grey Tower altogether. The Illianer was alone, as he had nobody to ask and he doubted anyone would have wanted to accompany him anyway. He trundled down the streets in peace and solitude, wearing a simple set of breeches and a pale yellow shirt. Utterly unremarkable, it meant he wouldn't be recognised as an Asha'man. That was the intention, though if someone did clock him as the man from the Infirmary, he wouldn't have minded at all.

The Jolly Jester was a small Inn with nothing exceptional to signify it as worth visiting over any other place in Hama Valon. Maever went there for this exact reason, finding there to be a charm in anonymity and the unexceptional. There was nothing wrong with the ordinary, and in a place where so much extraordinary surrounded him, it was good to take a bit of time to be regular. So he had some juice, a pot of tea, and a small selection of bread and cheese to occupy him as he sat and simply watched the people around him. The Inn was quiet at this time of the day, but that didn't stop a man with a patchy cloak from perching on a stool in a corner, a long familiar looking bag on his lap. Maever tried to be subtle about watching but when the fellow took out a rather sleek looking bittern, he grinned brightly. It would be good to listen to someone else play...

At least, that was what he thought before the man began to play, moustache wriggling with his concentration. The portly fellow's fingers moved as if in a small blur, an intricate yet effortless ditty bursting forth from his hands. The sound filled the room and nobody seemed to appreciate the time and skill it took to put out this music, nobody apart from Maever of course. He watched with a sense of dread in his stomach as he realised for the first time that this was music, and the little tunes he plucked out in the Infirmary were trash. They were terrible compared to this. Why did he even bother? Surely his music was so terrible that everyone was laughing at him about it because they knew he sucked, and that this was real talent. Aghast as he sat in his newly discovered mediocrity, Maever looked down at his drink and gripped the cup with both hands, not realising the music had stopped until someone tapped him on the shoulder.

"You alright lad?" It was the aspiring Gleeman, who up close smelled of tabac and dust. "You look like you saw a ghost. Or a ghost saw you, with how pink your cheeks are. Was my music that bad?"

"What? Oh no no no, fortune prick me, your music do be wonderful," Maever insisted, "I did like the shift in key, and how you did that thing with your thumb... it was very good." Better than mine.

"Well now," the man pulled a seat out and placed himself down, helping himself to some cheese. "Do you play?"

"Ummm. I did think so, before. But no to an audience. Or well. Or with any skill."

"Don't be so hard on yourself. You practice every day, no?"

Maever nodded.

"And you enjoy it, right?"

Maever nodded again.

"Then you don't need to be any good. I'm not saying you aren't, I haven't heard you, but if it makes you happy then so what? Just don't act like you're any good... but I don't think you have that problem, somehow."

Maever tried to give a small smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. It wasn't that the man was wrong, it was just that Maever was never so obnoxious as to assume people wanted to actually listen to him.

"Care to give it a try, kid?" Maever had to raise his eyebrows at that. This man looked old, perhaps forty winters or so, but that was half Maever's age. The Gleeman aspirant chortled, "ahh, you're one of those channellers. I can see it in your face now."

The Illianer just nodded his head, "I do be old enough to be your father," he said, "but age do no be an indicator of skill or experience. Ummm. Okay, let me see how I do be doing with the bittern. It does look expensive, I do no be wanting to ruin it... I will be careful."

"Grand. My name's Cyrus."

"Maever." The two men stood, and the other fellow gestured back to where he'd left his instrument. Although they were of a height - fairly tall - Cyrus was thick with it, and moved in a way that simply demanded more space and assumed he was given it. Maever followed in his shadow, skittish and alarmed, until they reached his bittern. He hesitated to hold it, but Cyrus passed it over without any hesitation and so the Illianer put it in position, trying not to look as alarmed as he felt.

He could play, and play he did. But compared to Cyrus, was there any point? If Maever wasn't very good, and Cyrus was good, then surely they should just let Cyrus play, and he could go back to......

....

... whatever it was he was good at? Healing people? Wallowing? Baking a cake? Either way, that didn't matter, Cyrus was good at playing and he ought to carry on with it. But Maever persevered in this moment, looking at the wall in front of him and not the blocky man just to his side, going through the motions as he had practiced so many times before. No, he wasn't any good, but he did enjoy this normally, and he ought to be allowed to dip his toes into the water of pleasure every now and again.

Cyrus wore a smile as Maever played. "You are better than you give yourself credit for," he said.

"Can you make me better?" Maever asked.

"Better at playing the bittern? I can give you lessons on technique should you so please," Cyrus said with an affected loftiness, "but being a better musician will only come when you enjoy your art despite your own views on your work. You need to enjoy it for yourself, not for other people, and not because of other people. Okay? But yes, I can give you lessons - if you buy me dinner first."

"Oh, that I can do," Maever said agreeably. He didn't notice the slightly lascivious look Cyrus gave him as he put the guitar away.
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------ Murdock -------------- Nathaniel --------------- Maever -------

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Matty
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Re: Summer Yards Littered With Bones

Post by Matty » December 8th, 2017, 9:48 pm

More Maever I do be sorry
"You're looking awfully chipper today," Piotr remarked as Maever made his way through the Infirmary, "has something happened?"

"Umm? Oh no, I do just be happy," Maever replied, "that do be all. Anyway, I must be off, and I will see you all tomorrow."

"Leaving on time as well?" Piotr's eyebrows couldn't raise any higher, but they were pretty damn high as it was. "Are you sure you don't need Delving?"

Maever chortled, "do no be silly Piotr. Anyway, bye!"

-

"You're definitely practising between meetings aren't you," Cyrus remarked. Maever sat on the tree stump with his sleeves rolled up, the bittern on his lap. "I can tell - you've been steadily improving."

Maever ducked his head at the compliment, "I do be trying my best," he said. Next to him, Cyrus was seated on his cloak, but not quite relaxed. The Healer in the man noticed this, but said nothing as he went back to strumming the tune he'd been working on. "It does sound okay? I do think you do play it quicker - can you show me this part again?"

"Sorry kid, not today." Cyrus tried to make it sound lofty, and failed. "I, ahh, got into a bit of a fight."

"What?" Maever put the instrument down and moved to kneel in front of the blocky man. "You do be injured? Cyrus, your hands do be your instrument! To juggle, or play, or perform!"

"It's not my hand," the man grumped, "it's- it's nothing really."

The Illianer tilted his head, arms folded. "Cyrus, you do be teaching me so much. Let me use Saidin to take a look."

"The Power?" Cyrus asked, drawing his head back slightly.

"Well yes. I do be a Healer."

"I don't think that will be necessary," Cyrus said a little testily.

"That do be nice, but that do only be your opinion," Maever said. "Here." He put a hand out, "do you be trusting me? I will no do anything without your permission, but understand: I do be a good Healer. And you know I can no lie." That had entertained Cyrus greatly.

The gleeman did relent, and he offered a hand out to Maever. "Alright then, because it's you."

The Yellow smiled and seized Saidin, a look of concentration on his face as he Delved Cyrus. It was a simple weave of Spirit he had performed numerous times, and there was nothing too unexpected about the other man's body. The cause of his pain was quite evident though, as there was extensive bruising around his shoulder and upper arm. That would make lifting anything difficult, never mind holding it in place to play an instrument. Maever's pale eyes moved to Cyrus' shoulder, though he was seeing differently to his non-channelling friend. "How did it happen?" he asked in his detached voice.

Interestingly, Cyrus had no comeback right away. When he did speak, it was without flair. "I was jostled around when I was heading back from a performance. I didn't take a room for the night, and some folk like to see how tough a gleeman is."

Maever shook his head, disappointed in people in general. "I do be sorry about that," he said, sincere beneath the void. "Do you be permitting me to Heal it?" When Cyrus nodded, Maever drew on all five powers almost lazily, knowing just what was needed to make it work. Earth and Air in just the right way to heal the bruising, both external and internal, and the slight hair fractures along the bone there too. It was all stressed, and without rest it would only continue to ache. Maever was glad to help, and he released Saidin when he was done. "There you go," he said. They were still holding hands. "Test it out, see how it does feel."

Instead, Cyrus leaned forwards and kissed him.
Image
------ Murdock -------------- Nathaniel --------------- Maever -------

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Matty
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Re: Summer Yards Littered With Bones

Post by Matty » April 16th, 2018, 12:31 pm

More Maever because why not "So, this Healing thing that you can do..."

Maever looked up from where he was checking on the plants in the Tower gardens. They had light, delicate weaves he could not see as they were made with Saidar, but he liked to ensure they were appropriately watered and there were no diseases in the making. Cyrus stood by his side, arms folded, patchwork cloak present as always. It was he who spoke, and Maever smiled a little. "This Healing thing? I do be familiar."

"Yeah..." Cyrus cleared his throat, "thanks for that."

It was a few days since Maever had Healed Cyrus, but less time than that since their last kiss. The Illianer felt a little bit like he was riding on a bubble of pleasant dreams, and although he knew it would pop soon, he enjoyed the ride while it lasted. "It do be no problem," he said. "The Yellow Ajah do be Healers, and I do be the Head of the Ajah. You did no be knowing this?" he asked, seeing the raised eyebrows.

"You might have mentioned it before," he supposed, rubbing his stubbly face with a hand. His moustache was slightly curled and as grand as ever, but attempts to grow a wise beard were met with failure, so a moustache it would remain. Cyrus smiled slightly, "you don't brag about yourself nearly enough; you ought to take a leaf from my book." Maever just smiled politely at that, but went back to inspecting flowers. Cyrus leaned in, a question on his face. "What?"

"Oh, hrmm." Maever's voice was soft as he spoke, "I do be told a lot about what I should do, how I should act, what I do no be doing correctly. I know people do be meaning well, but since when did being Maever no be good enough?"

Cyrus at least had the grace to go a little red. "I didn't mean to imply such," he said.

"I know," Maever replied. "Most people do no." He offered Cyrus a smile to show he wasn't upset, "but I will always be Maever. Nothing more, nothing less."

"Then it's a good job I like you as you are. I can be enough of a braggart for the both of us." Cyrus grinned, but then he put his more serious face on. "The reason I ask about the Healing is because, ahhh, I was hoping you could do a favour for me."

A Healing favour, no doubt. Maever was used to such requests, but he never turned anyone away. He wiped his hands together to clean them of stray soil, "a favour? Who do you be needing me to Heal?"

The Gleeman chortled, "you get a lot of requests don't you?"

"I do," Maever said, "but I do be wanting to help. Who do it be?"

Cyrus sucked air through his teeth, a sharp inhalation. News that Maever probably wouldn't like. "It's, ahh, my daughter."

"Oh!" Maever could handle that. "Do she be based in Hama Valon, or elsewhere? I can Travel as needed."

"Wait, aren't you upset at the fact I have a daughter?" Cyrus asked.

"Oh no, of course no!" Maever said. "And if she do be needing Healing, then it do be important to you so it do be important to me. Tell me about her."

"Well," Cyrus settled against a convenient bench, hands on his hips, "her name is Gemma, and she's old enough now that she's started the whole courting thing, you know how ladies of leisure do."

"Nope."

"Ah. Well, Cairhienin Houses like to make a song and dance about such alliances, don't they?"

"Uhmmm." The shrug Maever gave showed just how much he knew about that.

"Well she's been a little, well, not quite right recently," Cyrus pressed on, "and someone with some skill in this Healing department might help us work out how best to take care of her."
Image
------ Murdock -------------- Nathaniel --------------- Maever -------

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