Leaving My Cage on the Ground

[Matty]

Maever Donovan, First Weaver of the Yellow Ajah
I do no be a jealous man, Maever thought to himself, sitting and reading his reports with unsteady hands. He was the master of his emotions, not the little green monster balled up in his chest. It does no matter. What other people do be thinking, or what they do be doing... it do no be any of your business.

Dane was a charming Yellow. He was one of those men who had a strong build, stocky and solid, with reliable arms and a certainty in his step. He could probably grow a beard with no trouble whatsoever, should he put his mind to it. By comparison, Maever was a mere fawn, all limbs and neck and desperation. Dane could just mingle, and the other Yellows thought so much of him. Women who would indulge Maever with their time, instead flocked to this Yellow who had been out in the field over the years, honing his craft. He was Talented, Maever had to give him that. As talented as Maever himself? It was hard to say. It wasn't quite the same, but that in itself wasn't a bad thing. Maever wasn't sure he would adopt the same approach to his own Healing, but the other Yellows lapped it up, as if Maever's own skills were not interesting enough to be noticed now there was someone more charismatic to show them the way.

He sat there, in the chair by the window that Maever liked. He sipped his tea in a mug Maever might use sometimes. He smiled, and he had a charming smile. Well, who could blame him? Looking so handsome and manly and solid, Maever would be just as confident were he anyone but himself.

To be someone else for a day, Maever thought, turning his eyes back down to his papers as the little group laughed. There was always work to do in the Infirmary but he always encouraged teamwork and companionship. It just... hurt a little less when he was the one in the chair with the tea and the confidence. With any luck the Creator will strike me down, and return me to the Pattern as a better person. A nicer person, who does wish the best for everyone, no this mess who do be unhappy about a person who has no done anything but be himself. I do be the worst of the worst.

Maever couldn't have said what was in the paper he held in his hands, despite staring at it so intently he ought to have burned a hole through the middle of it. He could only feel the throbbing of his overactive heart, blood rushing through his veins in a symphony of tense disappointment and self loathing. Not that the other Yellows would notice. Maever opted to excuse himself from the Infirmary entirely, surmising that he would not be missed, and they could get along just fine without him.

----

"So you walked out?" Cyrus asked, a small smile on his face as he looked at Maever across the table.

The Illianer nodded, feeling a little daft now. He was far away, in a small inn in Tear where the Gleeman was still doing some performances for a minor Lord or some such thing. It was good to see the man, and he couldn't help but share everything that was bothering him. "I do no be knowing what to do with my mind," he told Cyrus. "I do try to be a good person but then Dane does say something, or be in the same room, and I do be thinking, well, why do I be here when they do be having Dane?"

"Maever, listen to me. Please remember that kindness and generosity are not bandages; they are not in limited supply, you know. Your Yellows can give plenty of their time and attention to you and Dane should they so wish. Also, kindness will not heal that black spot in your heart." Cyrus chuckled a little, "nobody is perfect, and there are many worse things to be than jealous, Maever. A little of it is fine from time to time, but too much can be quite threatening to one's wellbeing. Think of it like a fine wine."

"Bandages, wine, it do be jealousy, from a place of fear," Maever said quietly. "What..." he swallowed and shrugged his shoulders, "what do I be having to offer than they can no get from Dane?"

"Honestly Maever," Cyrus tutted, "you get the love that you give, and you give no love to yourself. You have so much to offer. Kindness and generosity aren't limited items. You can give them as much as you want, regardless of whether they are received or not. You aren't nice to patients because you want them to be nice back, are you? You Heal them because it's what you want to do, and it's the right thing to do. It's the same with being a nice person. It's not a contest. Though if it were, I'd pick you."

Maever blushed a little and shrugged again, "I do be feeling silly, but it do also be how I do be feeling. It do no be Dane's fault, but it do be there. I can no help it."

"Just remember that nobody's perfect, and I'm sure Dane isn't. Don't focus on being him. Focus on being you - you're the best person there is at it." Cyrus leaned across and kissed Maever on the cheek, "I would pick you over a hundred Danes, even if he does have a nice smile and a good pair of shoulders."

---

Maever returned to the Infirmary feeling a little more chirpy, and he put his best smile on as he walked in. His Infirmary. It wasn't being in power that settled Maever, but remembering that he was there for a reason. Setalle looked up from where she was grinding some herbs together, and her smile reached her eyes. "Did you enjoy your afternoon away?" she asked, no mockery in her tone.

Further along, Raynor was changing a bed, and he nodded at Maever as he walked past. "Welcome back sir. I've left a report of the day's activities on your desk, and there's been three requests for private sessions from some of the other Asha'man." They were simple letters on his desk, typical for when people tried to contact Maever and he wasn't around. Trask, Allan and... Dane. Wanted to learn from him, when they didn't need to.

Maybe there was something Maever had to offer after all.