Doing What We're Good At [Maever]

[Craig]

Ravak

Had anyone else started off in this way - well, almost anyone else - talking about the so-called inquisition and how much of a bloody failure-slash-disaster it had been, Ravak would have put on his best scowl and attempted to bore a hole through their skull. But with this being Maever, even with Dax hovering in the background, Ravak made himself listen patiently. After all, the First Weaver had never done him wrong, and was potentially one of the few pure-hearted people in the entire Tower, if not the city.

Poison. Yes, it had been poisonous. Never my--. Thoughts faded away as Ravak listened. Tortured? Immobilised and muted? Hurt? An anger began to swell in the Shienaran's chest before he even realised at whom that anger deserved to be directed. That made him pause in shock. Ravak listened to the rest without internal thought. Only afterwards did he permit himself to consider what had been said, and also what had been done through his actions.

The Master of Arms rose from his chair, sliding it back until the rear legs hit the edge of the fireplace's hearth. Ravak wasn't about to address Maever except for face-to-face. I owe him that much.

"I cannot apologise for what happened," Ravak stated quietly. "To apologise, I had to have made a mistake, but what I did, what I convinced the Hall to vote for, was not truly a mistake. I asked the Hall for the permission to root out Darkfriends. People who knew what I had planned tried to warn me of the consequences and of the fallout, but I didn't listen to them. I think I knew what I was going to happen if my plan was enacted, but I didn't want to admit to myself the truth of that."

"How else does one root out Darkfriends? By asking politely? Waving a ter'angreal in front of their face that detects the taint of the Shadow? Not many novices are that stupid, and I'm certainly no novice. No, what happened happened, and I knew full well about it before it started."

Sighing, Ravak crossed to the side of his desk. He glanced briefly towards Dax and the open door, then bit his tongue. Whatever rights or opinions the Shienaran held were irrelevant in this situation. He drew up before Maever, easily within swinging distance.

"If you want to hit me, you have the right. Plenty of people have the right to that, or more. I placed a desire to rid this place of evil by inflicting evil upon it, and without even the courtesy of admitting that to myself, or to have a hand in its execution. I set other men and women, maybe even the Darkfriends themselves, to enact my business. I've only ever understood the way of the blade, but even I know a little about medicine. You can't cut out something rotten without harming the patient."

Nodding to himself, Ravak looked Maever straight in the eye. "If you want to know how to make it hurt, Dax here can tell you how. And Dax, tell Mia that Maever had my permission."

It was time.

[Sunny]

To Dax’s surprise, Maever shut his Ajah mates out once they actually entered Ravak’s chamber. No witnesses? Curious. The Yellow wasted no time speaking up about what was bothering him; Dax listened quietly, his gaze never leaving the Asha’man’s face. It was surreal seeing this peaceful, happy man so worked up and intent on making his point. Especially knowing what he intended to do at the end.

Maever’s words about forgiveness came back to him and the Tairen muttered a curse too low to be heard. Perhaps I am a bad influence, at that. Still muttering to himself, he let himself slouch back against the door, a picture of casual indolence as he slipped the bracers over his arms and tightened the laces.

Sometimes being supportive meant simply disappearing into the woodwork for a time, but it didn’t take long for Ravak to test his resolve to be a piece of furniture.

I cannot apologise for what happened. Dax’s eyes snapped from Maever to Ravak, his fingers through leather laces so tightly his knuckles creaked. Not a mistake? Truly, Ravak? The Tairen’s jaw worked, and the edges of his vision began to darken. That is all you can say? The Asha’man was hardly the only one to suffer, and for what? He forced himself to imagine a flame, grudgingly feeding his fury into its depths. The Ko’di was slow to come, but eventually he rested in quiet.

That was good, because Maever needed him more than Ravak needed a boot to the groin, no matter how dearly Dax wanted to deliver that paricular gift to the Shienaran. As Ravak continued, he was able to tie off the last knot and let his hands fall to his sides.

"If you want to know how to make it hurt, Dax here can tell you how. And Dax, tell Mia that Maever had my permission."

The Tairen's anger evaporated as the Master of Arms fell silent. It had nothing to do with the suggestion of violence, and everything to do with mention of the man’s wife. Dax glanced up at Ravak, one eyebrow cocked and a world of amused meaning in his blue eyes. "I hope you remember that as well in days to come," he commented dryly.

A moment later he turned his attention back to the Asha’man. When he spoke, his voice was friendly, but matter of fact. “If you’re going to hit him, use your elbow. It hurts you less and him more.” He settled back against the door. “Less need to pull in the butter brigade,” he jerked a thumb behind him to indicate the other Yellows, “if your knuckles aren’t broken.”

[Matty]

All things considered, Ravak could have been a lot more angry and confrontational in response to Maever than he actually was. Maever had expected to be interrupted, or told he was wrong, but in the end he received... agreement. No apology, that was unfortunate, and the shiver that went down Maever's spine and had him stand a little straighter at that particular piece of news said exactly what he thought to that. But then Maever was someone who apologised more than he necessarily had to, so, maybe there was some balance in that.

"You... do be admitting that you did have an idea of what would happen, and you did let it go ahead anyway. And you do no be apologising for that." Maever's words were calm and quiet, he was gentle of voice much of the time but there was a flatness here displaying his dismay and disappointment. "I do no be knowing much about the way of the blade, and I do no be an expert in hunting the Shadow. We do have Greens and Reds and Blues and Greys who do be far more qualified. I do try to fix people.

Perhaps that was the issue. Maever thought of people first - those like Ravak thought of the result they wanted, the ends justifying the means. But to trample on others to get there? No, Maever was no Shadow hunter, but he knew what he was good at, and he knew there was nothing right about harming people to catch Darkfriends.

Dax was quite eager to have Maever use his elbow instead of a fist to hit Ravak, which seemed like a reasonable suggestion but... far less personal? And elbows were a bit hard. Maever shook his head. "No thank you Dax. I do be thinking that I should use my fist. It might hurt, but... well, I do be responding to violence with violence of my own. I do deserve any backlash I do be getting, and a fist does seem more important. Umm. Oh, and please do no be calling my Yellows the butter brigade. They do be good people."

Dax looked a little startled for the briefest of seconds but then he was nodding, and giving Maever advice on how to throw a proper punch instead.

Maever listened, and his left hand curled into a fist as instructed. The theory behind it was simple, a transfer of energy from his shoulder, down his arm, through his knuckles into the handsome man's nose. Maever looked down at his hand, his conviction almost starting to waver as Ravak just stood there, but when he looked up he remembered Ravak's lack of apology. Maever had tried to apologise to the Red who questioned him, over and over without knowing why, his words garbled and unintelligible. I do walk in the Light.

So Maever struck, and he struck hard (at least, harder than one might expect from the placid man). There was no regret, no sorrow, and no flinching even as his hand throbbed from the impact on another person's face. People were cruel and hurt one another all the time. Maever was no better than them. "Your nose may hurt for a while," he said softly. "I will advise against asking my Yellows to Heal it. The throbbing do be a reminder of how some things can still hurt even after they did happen." He wasn't in the void but Maever was calm, assured, confident in himself as if he was Healing people in the Infirmary. Perhaps that was adrenaline, or some deep rooted shock at what he had done. For now though he simply said "I do be forgiving you, but I will no forget. And I will be speaking to the M'Hael about how this Tower do be needing less blades and more compassion."

He turned to look at Dax, "I do be ready to go now."

[Craig]

Ravhala

Impassively, the Master of Arms watched Dax and Maever depart. His nose did not hurt. Someone else's nose hurt just as someone else dealt with the emotions of remorse and anger. Within the ko'di, embraced just prior to the moment of impact, Ravak Darrow did not feel the pain of either his body nor his heart. When the door clicked shut, he calmly took his chair again. Blood dripped from his nostrils onto his pale blue shirt. Rav just watched the door as someone else waited for his wife to arrive.

The door practically flew open. Pain eased in, followed by anger and worry. His anger. Her worry.

"Maever Asha'man suffered because of my actions," he explained. He was frowning, looking thoroughly unhappy. It had nothing to do with the blood drying on his shirt and lips. "And Dax encouraged him to hit me I suppose." Dax's involvement was curious, a question for another time.

Mia’s brow knit as she stepped further into the office and shut the door behind her. “Maever hit you and Dax encouraged it?” she asked slowly, almost like the words didn’t make sense, but she knew he wasn’t lying to her--not that she thought he would. She moved around his desk, closer to him. Her eyes were keen, sharply focused on him as she interpreted the bond between them.

Reaching out, she gently took his hand. “What happened, my husband?” she asked softly.

"What you said would happen," he sighed. "Or what you warned me would happen if I went in front of the Hall with my proposal: more harm than good. And I should have listened." Rav gave Mia the sort of smile many men did when they finally realised that the women in their life were – as they almost always were – correct from the beginning. "Still, if this is what Maever decided to do to me, what must the others think?"

“Many people will think many things,” she said gently, squeezing his hand as she smiled at him with tenderness suffusing every part of her being. “I fear many of them will not be...benevolent, for a while, but that happens sometimes when we try to do what’s best. There is literally no path to not upset people. Do something, and some will be upset. Do nothing, and others will be. All we can do is try, and take the consequences when they come.”

"Maybe," he replied, reluctant to fully capitulate to his wife's wisdom. "I just... what do I do? Saying sorry didn't cut it with Maever and he's on the soft end of the spectrum. Do I hand my pin back? Place myself before the Tower for public penance? I mean, what's the solution? I can't help to lead this Tower if most of the people within it don't want me here."

She considered this for a long moment, forming her thoughts. “There is no...solution. It is nothing that will be simple, or quick. Maybe stepping down would appease some, maybe taking a penance others...but you will never find something to suit everyone.” His wife laughed softly, a little self-deprecating. “Of course, my tenure as Amyrlin was not...ideal, for me in particular, so I don’t know I’m the best to offer advice on that. But the best I can think is that you can only prove that this one thing, as large as it was, does not define you as a leader. Show everyone that you’re better than that, and that you will do better. Time will earn back their trust.”

Rav just nodded, giving a squeeze back. "I hope so. This place is my home. This is where all of my friends and family are. I can't just pull a novice's trick and try to run away from my troubles. And I also can't go around with a broken nose." Ravak didn't have puppy eyes, but he give it his best shot. "Apparently none of the butter brigade will help with this."

“Butter brigade?” she asked with an arched brow and a half smile. She didn’t wait for his answer before she moved closer. She closed her eyes, reaching for Saidar. It grew harder by the day, but she drew it in and opened her eyes. She put her hand on his cheek and then let the Power take care of the rest.

When it was done, she leaned forward until her forehead rested gently against his. “Where you go, so shall I,” she whispered.

Rav smiled, breathing in deeply through his newly mended nose. "Back to paperwork," he said forlornly. "But tonight we should do something special. While it's still just the two of us." His hand drifted over to Mia's belly. "Before this rascal claims the other half of my time."

As if he (or she) knew they were being spoken of, the baby kicked under his hand. Or maybe did a pirouette. It could be hard to tell. Mia smiled slowly, liking the idea of doing something special. “You know, my love…” she whispered. “The paperwork can wait…”