Hand Delivered (Attn: Matty)

[Jenn]

Zarius Iiro

Silver-grey eyes cast a baleful, final look over his shoulder before Zeen left his personal rooms. Despite his exasperation, he cradled the wrapped brown paper package carefully in one of his palms. While he did not truly believe that Callie would carry out her threat of bodily harm should he drop the intended gift, he would not put it past her to place glue on his chairs, or something equally unpleasant.

I am not a pack mule, the Amadician thought irritably, giving the leather cord that supported the pins and ring of his rank around his neck a quick tug. Nor am I an errand boy. And yet here he was, on his way to meet with the First Weaver. Mostly at his bondmate’s behest, carrying with him something that she could have easily had delivered to the Infirmary. Or, better yet, delivered personally herself. But I am the one bringing it to him... Zeen grimaced faintly, dark amusement drawing down his brows. He snorted quietly at himself. Burning bloody woman.

He shook his head slightly, reordering his thoughts. There was nothing for it now. The Arafellin had given him a reason to get outside, so he supposed in that things were not as bad as they could be. He would actually get to feel the sun on his skin without the impolite barrier of power wrought glass.

As the former Green made his way out of the Tower proper, he could not deny that he enjoyed the way a path immediately cleared for him, no matter how crowded or busy. In the time since he had been made the Fang of Hama Valon, he had grown accustomed to it. The bows and curtsies were not something he particularly liked, but he took it in stride; that was something that he was expected to tolerate. He would never get used to the honourific of “Father”, however. The murmured obeisance made his skin crawl. Light in heaven, he was no one’s father.

Quickly dismissing that thought, Zeen instead focused on the meeting that he had hastily requested. He hoped the summons would not be ill-received. He had not meant any offense, but he did not think that Maever would be. Given what he knew of the man, the First Weaver seemed like the easy going sort.

The tall man made his way through the city, coming at last to a small field, bright and fragrant with young trees, grass, and flowers. The line of broad shoulders relaxed visibly, the tension draining out of Zeen’s body as he took several moments to simply breathe deeply, soaking in the warmth and the peace. A glance around showed that he was more or less alone. He wasted no time settling down on a nearby fallen log. Still holding onto the gift, he kicked off his boots and promptly buried his toes into whatever dirt and soil he could work up. A grin lit up his face, all else temporarily forgotten as Zeen delighted in the way the earth shifted and moved beneath, around, and over his feet.

[Matty]

Maever Donovan When Maever received the summons from the M'Hael, his first thought was that he had done something wrong. That was why people were summoned to meetings, wasn't it? To point out their shortcomings and tell them how to improve. It had to be something to do with being the Head of the Yellow Ajah. Maever was doing his best, and he liked to think he was doing a good job, but what if actually he wasn't and he didn't realise it, and everyone was of a mind to get rid of him?

This was not the case, and Maever reminded himself of this as he prepared for the meeting that morning. None of the Yellows he told of this sudden arrangement seemed concerned or worried for him, only curious. Karrahmel, an Ogier of a woman with a heart of stone and a face much like one as well, all but threatened to kick the M'Hael around the Yards if he upset Maever, which the Illianer was appropriately aghast by but also a little warm and fuzzy about too. No, his Infirmary was fine and there was nothing wrong with it. Why, it was running more smoothly than ever, but Maever would not voice that aloud in case it seemed arrogant. It wasn't his work, it was the efforts of all the channellers involved. He simply suggested things or made a few changes where needed based on supply and demand.

It had worked for Callie when he worked at the Blightborder, though she hadn't been so keen at first.

Maever was dressed rather neatly in his Asha'man uniform. The Illianer was not fond of visiting a tailor, they were so intimate with those measuring tools, but his suit was well fitted to his sleek frame. It was odd to think of the homely Healer as being in shape but a natural skittishness and a desire to not carry excess weight kept him honed, oh and the lessons in the sword he took in private too he supposed. Not that Maever carried his weapon then, just his medic's bag. Beneath his black coat Maever wore a buttery yellow shirt, the sleeves just poking out past the black material, and were one to observe Maever's footwear, beneath the shoes, his socks were also yellow. Matty can't remember if socks are a Wheel of Time thing but they're comfier than walking without them, so here be socks.

It was a little odd that he was meeting the M'Hael out in the city rather than in the Grey Tower, but Maever was content to go wherever he was told to. That being said, the Illianer was most pleased by the setting chosen, always finding a sense of peace when he was away from the bustle of the city and instead immersed in nature itself. There were fewer people, the scent of flowers and grass and wood sap were always more welcome than the stench of civilisation, and it almost reminded Maever of Illian. It wasn't of course, this was no farm, but it was close enough even if it was cooler than he was accustomed to even now.

The M'Hael himself was an impressive figure, hard to miss really even when seated, and Maever paused at the sight of him up ahead as if he had to steel his nerves before approaching. He was expected, this was supposed to happen, it was fine. Maever took a deep breath and made his way forwards, preparing to greet the man as his rank dictated. However, upon arrival Maever was close enough to see that the M'Hael was thoroughly distracted by, er, grinding his feet into the ground? Maever had no connection with the earth, he was no Earthsinger, his Talent lay in the human body and how he could fix people. Seeing the man's large feet making contact with the dirt only made Maever think about how to wash the mud from between his toes, and his own feet wriggled slightly in discomfort at the thought.

"M'Hael, sir!" he introduced himself, deciding that he would ignore the feet for the time being. Maever put his fist to his chest and gave a bow, "Asha'man Maever, First Weaver of the Yellow Ajah. Fortune favour you this day! My... sword... er..." but there was no sword, "do be yours. Thank you for meeting with me." Though it hadn't been Maever's decision, he thanked anyway because the M'Hael didn't have to take the time out of his busy schedule to see him. Regardless of his own rank, the blond Illianer was fairly sure that Zarius had a number of other commitments to take care of at any given time.

[Jenn]

Zeen

“Maever,” Zeen spoke warmly by way of greeting, gesturing for the Yellow to approach. He made no move to extricate his feet from the soil, though he did stop wiggling his toes with child-like delight. “It is I who should be thanking you for coming to meet with me on such short notice. Come, sit. There is no need to be so formal.”

The Amadician smiled, the corners of his eyes unexpectedly crinkling. He shifted the plain wrapped package still balanced in one of his hands. “I hope the location is tolerable. I admit, I chose it in order to get away from the Tower. Despite the view, I dislike spending so much time cooped up behind power wrought glass.”

Grey eyes took in the crisp uniform, the black material fitting the First Weaver well. By comparison, (to the surprise of no one) Zeen wore no coat, the laces along his nondescript white shirt partially undone. His breeches were well made, as well as buttoned. His currently discarded boots were sturdy and cared for. As he watched the other man settle, he found his thoughts idly wandering.

Zeen supposed that given his rank, he could devote more time to cultivating his image and the impression it gave. But why? What did he have to prove? He was known throughout the Tower and the city. He was also known in and around Amador. What would dressing himself in finery and strutting about bedecked with gold and jewels and fine silks embellished with gilded embroidery bring him here in Hama Valon except a ridiculous wardrobe bill and endless hours wishing that his clothes were not slowly suffocating the life out of him?

There were exceptions; there were always exceptions. If the honour and gravity of a situation required formality, then he would dress accordingly for it. He had always done so, and that was not something that would change. Perhaps if the the Tower’s position or influence needed to be reinforced... he could be convinced to dress the part. Even then, he much preferred armour to lace and scrollwork. His predecessor, Roddo, one eyed bastard that he was, had stomped about perpetually armed and in armour. That was something to consider. Zeen nearly laughed at the mental image of arriving at the Hall carrying his warhammer with him. Add in a certain Soldier to serenade him with poetry as well as song, and it would make for the beginnings of a very interesting day.

He smiled inwardly at his own private thoughts. The truth of the matter was that he dressed as he did for comfort... and, if he was being completely honest, he dressed as he did because he enjoyed the quiet disapproval and silent scandalized outrage from behind the Void and the Aes Sedai masks.

The M’Hael shook himself slightly, returning to the present as he angled himself to face Maever. “I have something I wish to discuss with you, but first...” he let his voice trail off, holding out his hand as he offered up what was sitting on his palm. “I was told on pain of bodily dismemberment to deliver this to you.” Amusement lurked along the corners of his mouth as lips quirked upwards. “A gift, from Callie. She says she knows you.”

The former Green only just managed to stop himself from ending the sentence with a soft questioning tone. It was none of his business. His look was marginally dubious as he glanced down at the plain brown wrapping paper. “She also wanted me to assure you that it is indeed edible.”

[Matty]

The M'hael had a surprisingly warm and welcome voice, inviting Maever to sit with him. The Yellow couldn't help his own smile in return, a little uncertain but genuine all the same. When other people were happy, then so was he, a mirror to the pleasure around him. "Oh, the location do be most lovely," he insisted as he tried to make himself comfortable... though when the Illianer sat down on a strategically placed tree trunk on its side, he kept his boots on.

The man certainly looked rather relaxed, and in his informal attire it made the Illianer fairly certain he wasn't about to be removed from his position or otherwise told off. Even when Zarius said that he wanted to discuss something with him, Maever barely even flinched, managing to look earnest and curious without his eyes betraying any alarm at the unknown. He had become better at accepting what the Wheel wove, but he was also confident in his ability as the Head of the Yellow Ajah no matter what people might surmise from his attitude. All of this was promptly swept aside as Maever was presented with... a gift. A gift that was edible. It sat there, wrapped up and mysterious, in the M'Hael's broad palm, and Maever blinked at it owlishly before realising that this was not a trick, and Callie had sent him along a present. Wonder of wonders! He did receive thanks for his work at the Blightborder but he had not expected this, so far removed from that time.

"Fortune prick me," he murmured as he reached across for the gift, taking it gently and resting it on his lap as he unwrapped the paper. Inside there was a small, sweet, sticky cake that smelled of dates and toffee, glistening a little and leaving a bit of residue on the waxy paper. Maever grinned brightly, not caring whether this was baked or purchased (though Callie did not seem like the baking sort to him). "It do be beautiful. I can no believe she would take the time to do this for me!" The Illianer was as happy as a cow being milked, and he couldn't keep himself from grinning. "It do be so generous of her. I did Heal her, and look after the infirmary at the camp, but that do be all. It do be a Yellow's duty to care for those around him." It wasn't said in a lofty way. There were some Yellows who felt the other Ajahs and their purposes were secondary to those of the Yellow, but Maever felt it was the other way around. The Yellows helped the other Ajahs to rest and recover from their hard work out in the world, or deep in their minds, and made sure that the Grey Tower moved in the correct direction. It was a little alarming that there had been a lack of Yellows in any position of authority in some time, though Maever was not offering himself for the position and really, most Yellows preferred to operate in the background. The Illianer was certainly one of them.

"It do be so generous of Callie, please give her my thanks. It do be a shame she do no be here to share it with us." Maever was vaguely aware that Callie had been seen around the Tower, and that she and the M'Hael went on excursions together, but that was all and he was not inclined to ask any more about it. Instead Maever carefully prised the cake in half, putting the bigger half on some of the wax paper and passing it back to Zarius. "Here, you should enjoy it in her absence. Cake do no be a thing that a man can eat alone; it should be shared. And I do be ever so fortunate to be able to sit and eat cake with you!"

[Jenn]

Zeen

A genuine smile pulled up at the corners of Zeen’s mouth as the former Green watched the Illianer’s reaction. The corners of silver-grey eyes crinkled as the gift was unwrapped. A simple thing, a cake of some kind. He could not help but wonder if Callie had made it herself. It would account for the odd assurance that it was indeed edible, but... in all the time they had been bonded, the Asha’man had never once seen his Warder cook anything that did not involve bludgeoning a small animal to death and charring it until it was unrecognizable and far too crispy.

Perhaps she had gently bludgeoned some poor unsuspecting baker instead, hounding the poor soul to prepare this for her in lieu of actually making it herself. That thought was as amusing as it was alarming and Zeen tried to stifle the inappropriate urge to throw back his head and laugh.

He listened as Maever explained how he and Callie had met and the M’Hael did laugh then, a quiet, rumbling sound. Another ‘Hand Twirler’ and one that could Heal. And had Healed more than just the Arafellin woman, it seemed. That clarified so many things. Yes, his bondmate would be very fond of Maever, indeed.

A small cake. It did not boast of precious metals or flawless gemstones... yet it may as well have by the way it lit up Maever’s face... no, the man’s entire demeanor. The M’Hael watched, fascinated, through half lowered eyelids. This was something that the Amadician was unused to. So many - himself included - guarded their emotions and their facial features with far greater vigilance and jealousy than any lover he had ever encountered.

Not so with the First Weaver. It was... refreshing.

Zeen blinked as half of the cake, the larger half, was handed back to him. What...? The waxed paper rustled as it settled in his lap. He glanced up quickly at Maever, as surprised as he was startled. “But it was a gift meant for you -” The brown haired man fumbled over his words as his capacity for speech abruptly fled. The other man continued to speak happily as if Zeen had not opened his mouth at all.

“ - Cake do no be a thing that a man can eat alone; it should be shared. And I do be ever so fortunate to be able to sit and eat cake with you!”

He stared at the First Weaver for a long moment, utterly at a loss as to how to respond. You eat the bloody cake. The voice sounded suspiciously like Callie’s and Zeen looked around just to be certain that she had not somehow approached without him sensing her. No one in the small field save the two Asha’man. Light, he was losing his mind. Over cake, he thought with a flash of black, dark humour.

“Thank you, Maever,” he spoke with earnest gratitude. He followed the Yellow’s lead and both men ate in comfortable, if awkward (from Zeen’s end) silence. The toffee was sweet, the dates tender, the cake moist. There was just enough tartness in the glaze to keep the richness from being overwhelming. There was less than a bite left, the sticky dessert crumbling down onto the paper and coating Zeen’s fingers with deep amber remains. He grinned, a quick flow of saidin cleaning off his fingertips before also scooping the last bit of cake into his mouth.

“I believe she would have come if she knew you wished for her to,” the Amadican smiled again, shifting his feet in the soil. “Perhaps we can both find out if she indeed made that bit of deliciousness. She cannot say ‘no’ us both,” he said with utmost confidence, the corners of silver-grey eyes crinkling again, before Zeen’s expression quickly sobered.

“She did not tell me that you had Healed her before, but I am grateful to you for doing so. I -” He sighed, fidgeting with the brown paper before slowly folding it up into smaller and smaller squares. “While I was still Captain-Commander, three patrols went missing in the Blight. Callie’s was one of them. We found... we found most of the lost men and women but they were... they were no longer among the living.” His hands abruptly clenched, the memory of the cook pots overriding everything else for a terrible moment. With visible effort, he collected himself and continued.

“I did not find Callie’s body, only her hammer and... what was left of her arm. We were returning to the Citadel when one of the scouts came across survivors. They had been there for days. All of them injured. Some of them already dead. I have no skill at Healing. The Yellow with us at the time informed me that Callie would die without Healing, but that she was too weak to survive it. I bonded her to help save her life. I offered to release her afterwards, but she did not agree to it.”

Zeen looked away, lips curving upwards. “Now she fusses over me.” He sighed quietly again. “That is... partially why I asked for a meeting with you. As you know, I also bonded the First Inquisitor, again, to try and save his life after... after the Keeper of the Chronicles died. I was curious if you had ever encountered another Asha’man-Asha’man bond. Or even another male channeler bonding another. The two presences in my head are different, Maever. With Callie, the bond is as we are taught it is. I am aware of what she feels and she is aware of what I feel, but we remain separate. With Jaryd... it is not like that. I feel what he feels, he feels what I feel and we feel it as if we are the ones experiencing the emotion, not the other. Quite often, it is extremely difficult to separate what I am feeling from what he is feeling, and vice versa.”

He ran his hands through his hair. “Could it be different because... he and I are both men? Or... perhaps because his bond had been broken before I bonded him? Would that somehow turn it into something different? The intent with which I bonded them is the same; because I wanted to try and save them... if that matters at all...”

[Matty]

Eating in silence was not at all awkward for Maever, due to eating his portion of cake quite happily and not being the sort of fellow to speak with his mouth full. The Illianer was usually sensitive to such awkward moments but when there was cake involved and they both had some to eat, what was the problem? Cake made everything better.

“Oh, I do be sure Callie do be ever so busy, I would no want to impose,” Maever insisted. Besides that small voice reminded him, cloying like toffee but not as sweet as the cake he had just nibbled, wouldn’t she have met the effort if she actually wanted to see you? Maever refused to be thrown off by this voice, instead opting to assume the best in the Borderlander. The man did not want to assume he could simply sidle along with the M’Hael to go and cajole the woman either, this seemed like a rather bad idea even if she did go through the effort of having some cake delivered his way.

The M’Hael went on to talk about his bonds, mostly how he came to be bonded to Callie. The Illianer had not kept in touch with the woman since returning from the Blightborder so was not privy to such information normally, but he had been made aware of the Amadician man’s various bondings over time. It was not something the Illianer necessarily agreed with. He could empathise with wanting to help people – helping people was what made Maever, Maever – but he was of the opinion that a bond was supposed to be about more than simply joining with someone to do what a Healing weave could not. The First Weaver was sure that the right Yellow could have used the right weaves and a bond would have not been necessary but that was not his place to comment or judge really.

Alright, so he did judge a little bit, but only because he doubted he would ever be deemed worthy of a bond. The fighters, the doers with their charming smiles and great strength, were the ones who were drawn to one another. Maever didn’t want accolades, and he didn’t need a Warder, but he did stand on the fringes of these activities, enabling people such as the M’Hael to bond whomever they pleased.

All this meant that Maever did not deal with bonds as much as some of his peers, but he did not become the First Weaver for nothing.

It didn’t sound to Maever as if Zarius was meeting him with a specific purpose in mind. “So, umm, you do be bonded to a man and a woman,” he said, breaking it down into the simplest of terms. “And you do respond differently to each of them. Well, ummm,” the Illianer ummed and aahed as he tried to put it in the correct way, “the bond do be a very delicate thing that does differ between pairings. The Aes Sedai bonding a male Warder do be traditional, and the White Tower does no do differently that I do be aware of, but here? People do be bonding left and right, in all sorts of pairings. I have no heard of two men bonding but two women do mirror one another. I do be thinking that it does relate to being the same gender. A broken bond should no make a difference to how it does function when they do be bonded elsewhere.”

As he said this, one of Zarius’ comments returned to the forefront of his mind, and his light eyes widened at the implications. ”I wanted to try and save them…” “Zarius, do you be telling me…. That you did bond Jaryd without permission first?!” He did try to sound impartial and calm, but there was that twinge of alarm in his tone.

[Jenn]

Zeen

He nodded along as Maever spoke, ordering and reordering the information for later consideration. Zeen did not wish for the First Weaver to think that he was ignoring him, but there was little of additional worth that the Amadician felt he could interject into the conversation. He had asked the Illianer, after all, and interrupting did not seem polite. If it was in fact true that two bonded women mirrored each other, then it made sense that two bonded men would also as well.

He smiled faintly, reaching across the other man’s lap in order to gather up two halves of the wax paper with a soft murmured “may I?” A thin thread of saidin wrapped around the oily paper. A puff of sensation, a faint pop of sound, and the fire that hovered above Zeen’s fingers burned so hot that not even ash remained. The former Green did not regret either of his bonds, but some forewarning would have been nice... if nothing else, so that perhaps some kind of preparation could have been made for the emotional enmeshment.

Something changed, the Yellow shifting. Zeen turned his head just in time to catch the widening of eyes, the abrupt intake of breath, the way the other man straightened. What -?

“Zarius, do you be telling me…. That you did bond Jaryd without permission first?!”

For a paralyzing heartbeat, it was all he could do not to cringe outright. His expression did not shift a whit, though the silver leached out of his eyes, leaving behind flat grey. He had. And he had not been sorry; the need to see that Red lived had been more important than... than permission. Light. No matter how he tried to phrase that, it sounded wrong. Were their positions reversed, Jaryd would have done the same to him. The smaller man had understood why Zeen had done as he did. Jaryd still did understand. And yet, the very nature of a broken bond had made it so that Jaryd was incapable of being willing to accept food, much less another bloody bond. What was more, Zeen knew that if such a thing had been forced onto him, he would have reacted very differently from the Altaran. And he would not have been as gracious.

But then he asked me to not let him self-destruct. To keep him alive.

The Amadician sighed, scrubbing at his face with his hands. “I... I-I could not watch him suffer! I could not watch him die slowly without trying to do something! He... asked me to keep him from self-destructing. He asked me to keep him alive. But... after I had already bonded him. So... no. There was no bloody flaming permission, first.” The Amadician’s hands dropped into his lap. “I do not intend to keep him bound to me. I will release him when he... is better. But I cannot yet.”

His look was dark when he finally spoke again. “I... have had to command him to eat. I have to command him to rest, even if I know that he will not sleep. I cannot command him to actually sleep, or I would do that as well.”

Broad shoulders lifted abruptly, then sagged as Zeen’s body bowed forward, elbows going to rest on his knees. “I have to... forbid him from self-harm or from attempting to kill himself. I... reinforce that command in particular every few hours.” Zeen glanced over at the First Weaver, his stare haunted yet somehow defiant. “And in the meantime, I feel everything that he feels, as if I am the one experiencing it. Every bit of his pain, his grief, his bitterness, his loss, his resentment, his desperate confusion. And how can I blame him for any of that? He has no control... no control over what he is feeling, and no control over what is happening. It is... relentless, a constant onslaught, and there are times I cannot tell when his emotions end and where mine begin. I want to sob. I want to scream. I want to rage and lash out. There are times that I want to die. I know that they are coming from him, and yet if I feel it as if they are mine, does it truly matter?”

Zeen shook his head. “I... do not think I did the wrong thing, even if it was perhaps not right. I could not sit back and let him die. Unless there is a way to Heal broken bonds that I am unaware of.” His smile was hard and humourless. “What would you have done?”

[Matty]

It do be Maever Maever took a sufficiently Maever-portioned amount of pride in his friendliness, his open nature and the fact that people could trust him. He was Oathsworn, he was a faithful friend, and he was a professional Asha'man. But listening to the M'Hael and his excuses, the Illianer was not that smiley, friendly person any longer. A worried expression could shift to an unhappy one with just a subtle change in attitude, and going to unimpressed was equally as simple. Maever listened, he was a Yellow and Yellows listened, but he didn't like what he was hearing a single bit.

It was all excuses in order for the man to do whatever he wanted. This was the problem with strong men, powerful men, the sort of tall and handsome and great people who could move mountains and summon anyone from anywhere with a crook of the finger. They had the capacity to do so much, and it often went to their heads. Asha'man who became the M'Hael were often cut from a similar cloth, and Maever... was not a fan of said cloth, mostly because of what it thought it could do. But there were no excuses for this, not to Maever, and he was not afraid to share this with the former Green either.

"The Yellow Ajah do be helping people all over the world, Zarius." Maever's voice was quiet, but it was not soft. "I did see no end of suffering in the Borderlands. I did witness the deaths of those who could no be Healed in time, who did die in pain. Nobody do be wanting to die, and everybody does feel pain. But we do no be bonding them to tell them what to do to make it better! That does no count as Healing, that do be forcing. Compulsion. You do be using Compulsion to cover up Jaryd's problems without actually solving them.

"He will no get better, no properly, in this way. You can force him to do whatever you do be pleasing and he will dance to your tune, but there do no be any real dance in his heart." There was no other way of telling the M'Hael that force bonding was simply not the done thing. It was tampering with the will of the people, and he masked it under noble causes. It made Maever feel physically sick. Even if he had the best of intentions, well, it was the completely wrong way to go about it. There was an entire Ajah dedicated to Healing, and any one of them could have pointed out how to support Jaryd. This was not the right way, not the done thing.

"If it do no be right, then it do be wrong." It was as simple as that to Maever. The Illianer met the M'Hael's look with a steady one of his own, but there was no smile to be seen. "What would I have done? This do be something you should have asked sooner. We do be having ways to help people who do be losing their bondmates. There do no be a simple weave, but there do be rehabilitation efforts. These do involve bonding another, an experienced channeller. With permission. Fortune prick me...!"

Maever went quiet a moment, because he wasn't sure what else he could say right then without being unprofessional. But he wasn't done either, so on he went, still in his quiet but firm tone. "The Yellows do be learning more and more every day about the effects of a woman bonding a woman. Perhaps we could have helped with this as well. It does no sound easy, and I do be sorry for how it did make you feel, but..." the Illianer made a small shrug, "you did bring it upon yourself. You can no fix everything, Zarius. You do be a talented Earthsinger and you did do a lot of great work with the city after the Seanchan did attack. But people? People can no be put back together with force."