The Grey Tower

Maever Donovan Maever was crouched down when his paid contact arrived at their given meeting place. It wasn’t on purpose, he hadn’t really thought about the impression it would make on the fellow, he had just seen what he thought to be a squirrel and had leaned down to peer into the hole in the tree trunk and see where ii went. The fuzzy grey tail was nowhere to be seen and it was easy to take it as a personal slight, but it was just animals being animals. Maever might not have felt quite so bad had the squirrel not taken a whole biscuit he had offered it and run away.

“Oh dear,” he sighed to himself, “where did you go… oh!” he made a pleased noise when he was alerted to the presence of another man by virtue of his shadow. Of course, Blademaster Dakson had arrived! Maever got to his feet and wiped his trousers and coat, his uniform otherwise tidy as he gave a small bow of his head to the handsome man. “Fortune favour you, Blademaster Dakson.”

“Please, call me Dax.”

“I do be so very grateful to you for agreeing to come along on this expedition, it do be ever so important to the Yellow Ajah and what we do be representing… Blademaster Dakson, you did receive the funds?”

“I did. And it’s Dax.” Delivered with a charming smile Maever couldn’t help but notice. This took away the sting of the correction but with it, any lesson to learn.

“Ohh, I do be ever so glad. I did bring my sword, so we can practice together, but it do be more important that we do find these herbs.” Maever took a small sheet of paper from his medic’s bag slung on the hip opposite where his sword lay, unfurling it to show a drawing – a drawing he certainly hadn’t done, he had no eye for that – of a tall, arching plant with yellow flowers so heavy they pulled the flexible stem downwards. It looked as if it was praying. “The praying primrose,” Maever said blithely, “it does no grow in many places but at this time of year it do be found near World’s End. That do be in Saldaea, where it does overlook the Aryth Ocean. It do be dangerous, Blademaster Dakson, but I do be confident that between us we will get these plants. I do be wanting to plant some here, if I can make the soil just so and the temperature correct…”

“Please, just call me Dax.” There was the charming smile again, but perhaps more emphasis on the “please” this time that went right over Maever’s head.

The two of them were prepared. They had provisions carried by a rather sedate mule Maever had called Gummy (due to a distinct lack of teeth), and enough supplies to last them a few days as well as storage units to carry samples of the plant, cuttings, anything they might find. Maever led them to the Travelling Grounds before making a Gateway to the nearest point he could, an outlying village in Saldaea. The Illianer was excited to find some praying primroses, and he sure hoped Blademaster Dakson was as well.

AND OFF THEY WENT. Above them, the squirrel Maever had been looking for peered out from the branches at the top of the tree, blinking a few times before scurrying on its merry way no worse for the experience, and happily full of biscuit.

----

The sky was low overhead, cloudy and cool with the threat of rain, but more an idle threat than a serious one. Maever took them through the Gateway and out of the village they had Travelled to, one hand on Gummy’s reigns pulling him along. They couldn’t take horses because what if they crushed the flowers? Besides, it wasn’t too far, and the exercise would be good for Maever’s legs. He wasn’t exactly unfit but he did want to become better with the sword, something he could learn from his paid companion. He just wasn’t comfortable making this journey without someone who could protect him if needs be, and the opportunity to learn from an excellent teacher excited him greatly. It made him nervous as well, but he would learn whatever he could from the expert.

It did not take Maever long to feel that excitement of the adventure slip away from him, but he kept a big smile on his face and went with it for as long as he could. This was an important venture for the Yellow Ajah, not something that every Yellow necessarily agreed with, but he was hopeful that the healing properties of the plant would work even more powerfully when combined with other herbs and poultices. He wasn’t doing this to prove anyone wrong, he was doing it because it could save lives, and Maever was eager for the opportunity. If only he was braver, or stronger! But the Illianer was merely a humble Healer, and he would defer to those more powerful than he for the protection he needed.

“Blademaster Dakson,” Maever said after some continuous pacing in thoughtful silence, “do you be… well… I do be sorry if this do no be the most exciting adventure for you. I do be sure a Blademaster does have a lot of exciting stories to be sharing and I would love to hear them! This may no be one of them but still… I do be grateful to you, and when these plants do be helping people in the Infirmary, I will be telling them ‘this poultice do be made with rare flowers grown at World’s End, and I did find them – with Blademaster Dakson!”

There might have been a sigh, but it was probably just the wind.

Dakson bloody Torellion Dax had taken good jobs and bad jobs, exciting ones and boring ones. Since coming to the Tower his options had been relatively banal, but still they had provided some entertainment between the endless hours of working and training in the Yards. He missed the open road...and thus when Maever, of all people, asked him for company and lessons in the sword he had jumped at the chance.

Once they left the village behind, Dax took to ranging ahead and a little behind, keeping an eye out for problems that might arise while the Yellow looked at plants and the sky and whatever else it was that fascinated him. All in all the man wasn’t intolerable, but his insistence on full name and title were enough to keep the Gaidin out of easy earshot. Eventually, however, he rejoined the Asha’man for a time, and it was in that time frame that Maever commented about poultices, once again insisting on the entire string of name and title.

Among many of its other positive traits, money did amazing things for a man’s tolerance. After a moment to collect himself, Dax merely arched an eyebrow and gave his companion a brilliant smile. “I like this well enough, Asha’man Maever,” he said, tugging at the laces on his left bracer. “Much of my life before coming to the Tower was spent walking about waiting for something exciting to happen. That said, I know a few people who would be more than entertained to learn about my involvement with this poultice you’re making. I’m rather better known for gruesome murder than I am for healing.”

Maever looked briefly worried, but then his eye caught something on the side of the road and he crouched with an excited sound to examine a small white flower. The fighter grabbed the mule’s harness, stopping the wretched creature in its tracks to keep it from bowling the Yellow over. Then Dax settled back on his heels and began to examine their surroundings. World’s End was chilly, but not unpleasantly so, and although he could not see it, the Tairen could smell the sea. That brought uncomfortable memories he did not want to think about. He hastily moved his thoughts away, keeping his mind busy with plans for how he might spend the money Maever had paid him.

When at last the Illianer straightened, talking excitedly and nearly incomprehensibly about the herbs he had found, Dax was able to reach into their pack and pass the man a jar without a hint of dismay, even holding it steady while the Asha'man dumped small flowers inside. "Oh thank you Blademaster Dakson!" Maever said.

Dax closed his eyes and counted to five slowly. "My name is Dax." He knew it would have no effect.

Soon enough, they were on their way once more. This time, Dax decided to cut the stream of words off. “You asked about stories,” he commented. “When I was much younger, I took a contract with a Murandian Lord. You know how they are- so pretentious and snooty.” He thumbed his nose with a wink. And so he unfolded a story of dastardly deeds and high adventure, humorous encounters and political intrigue embroidered here and there for his companion’s entertainment. No one said a sellsword had to be unpleasant, after all, and Maever's excited commentary reminded him of happier times.

The white flowers Maever found were not the praying primrose he was looking for, but they were another flower he may as well pick while he was in the area. Not all of them, he was a considerate gardener and all, just a few here and there. Blademaster Dakson held out the jar for him, the flowers went in, and off they went. Success! Maever had much to say on the gloriousness of herbs and their role in the healing process, mostly delivered in such a thick accent that it was lost on the Blademaster, but it was mostly to himself.

"I do be sure people will be impressed with anything you do be doing," Maever said with no trace of irony at all once this excited talking was done, "because you do be an interesting person!" It was as simple as that to Maever. People would listen to the man tell his stories because of who he was, and what he did was simply an amusing anecdote. Fascinating people were fascinating no matter what they did. On the other hand, a boring person could make even a fun event seem quite droll. Maever knew he and Blademaster Dakson were on opposite ends of the scale there.

Blademaster Dakson had a brilliant smile, and when he thumbed his nose about Murandian Lords Maever simply nodded his head, because if he said they were pretentious and snooty, then pretentious and snooty they were. The Illianer was an excellent audience member, asking questions in the right places, giving gasps at the dramatically appropriate times, and applauding in the grand finale when Blademaster Dakson saved the day with nothing but his fists, a helpful serving girl and a basket of lemons. Whether it was true, false or something in between, Maever was enraptured, and he would have listened for much longer had they the opportunity.

The Illianer was happily plucking up some green herbs he knew would alleviate a tummyache when he felt it. Maever was generally a rather unobservant person, too worried about what was going on to pick up on anything, but as he was in a good mood and using Saidin to carefully cut away, he was able to catch more than he might normally. Voices on the wind, a gentle rustle of metal armour, the scent of unwashed bodies. Maever sat up suddenly like a startled deer, looking around with his pale eyes wide. "We do have company," he murmured, his voice detached in the void. He pointed to his left, "from that way. On foot, in armour." The Almoth Plains were a good distance away but this was where they came from, not that our plucky Illianer was aware of this. He got to his feet and gave his companion a look. "Could you please scout ahead and see what we do be dealing with?" Maever would have preferred to avoid an encounter where possible but if they could part on peaceful terms then he would. Even if that meant hiding until they were alone and safe again. He was not going to run away, he had too much to do here to back down now. People were relying on these flowers!

Blademaster Dakson was all business now, earning his pay so to speak, and he left Maever in order to go and investigate. The Illianer was left to guard the mule, and as much as he wanted Gummy to be safe, and as much as Blademaster Dakson could take care of himself, Maever still felt an uncomfortable twist in his stomach at having sent someone to get in trouble. Potential trouble. But what if it WAS trouble, and Maever was responsible for getting him hurt? Why, Blademaster Dakson would need Healing, and he might be angry at being in trouble, which was silly because he was a Warder and all of that but Maever himself was silly, and he had silly thoughts, so silly would just have to rule the day.

"Gummy, please stay here!" he implored the mule, pushing down on its bottom to make it sit down. When Gummy was settled, Maever took off after the Blademaster with his hands wringing together, but a quiet resolve in his eyes that said he wasn't an Asha'man for his Healing abilities alone. When push came to shove and he was needed, Maever could be brave. He was brave, every day he made it from his room, every day he managed a full day in the Infirmary without panic, every time he handled a pushy Aes Sedai without melting into a puddle. Maever was tough, maybe not the toughest, but tough enough. And if that was enough to help Blademaster Dakson then he would be satisfied.

A wind picked up from nowhere, but it was more than just a whim of the elements. It was a focussed wind, directed from the direction Maever was heading in, and the darkening clouds overhead where they were idle and non-threatening before made the Yellow grimace as he picked up his pace. Luckily, being afraid of everything made a fellow rather sprightly, and he made good time on his quest to save the Blademaster.

The sky grew darker by the minute, and the Gaidin’s skin prickled a warning moments before Maever spoke up. The Yellow came across as flighty, insecure, and frequently silly, yet in that moment the mask fell away and he held himself like an Asha’man. The difference, Dax thought, was phenomenal. Which version of Maever was the real one? The thought kept the Tairen busy as he checked the laces on his armor, but then his mind turned to other matters.

Why would armed men be at World’s End? There was little up there but the scattered fauna that his Asha’man companion was so interested in. To the north lay the Blight, to the south Arad Domani, and the shoreline itself was comprised of impassable cliffs. The options presented did not settle well with the sellsword, and he took to moving as quietly as he possibly could. The wind had picked up, but something about that seemed off, as well. Wind usually came in gusts. This was a steady breeze, relentless and harsh against his face.

The Tairen grimaced, pulling up sharp. He did not have to see the bloody threads to know when channeling was involved, and under the circumstances he could not imagine the ones who built the wind could be friendly. Blood and bloody flaming ashes! You did not pay me enough for this, Maever! And yet….they couldn’t leave now. If he had learned anything from the siege of Hama Valon, Traveling was not a thing they could risk any enemy learning. His greatest chance of survival depended on the Yellow Asha’man, as much as he hated to admit it.

Cursing under his breath the mercenary moved forward once more. Eventually he crouched just behind a shielding fringe of shrubbery and peered through. A group had gathered just down the hill. As Maever had said, they were on foot. That was where all sense of comfort ended. The warriors wore odd paneled armor, with insect-like helms that glittered even in the half-light beneath the heavy clouds. Of more concern to Dax, however, was a woman with straw-colored hair who talked to one of the soldiers. Blue and bits of red flashed in and out of sight as the group moved.

Dax pushed himself to his feet, creeping away as quickly as he dared. Once at a safe distance he turned, intending to run as fast as his feet could carry him. Instead, he crashed into Maever, who tumbled to the ground with a yelp. “Oh you do be safe, Blademaster Dakson!” he said in a tone of grievous concern.

“Silence, man!” Dax snapped in a low voice. When the Illianer opened his mouth, the Gaidin simply put his hand over the man’s face. “There. Are. Seanchan. Just there.” He hissed, pointing behind him with his free hand, even as he guided the Asha’man back the way they had come with insistent strength. Had Maever alerted them to an intruder? “They have a sul’dam. I can’t take the group by my-” he paused, frowning as he glanced around. “Where is the mule?”

Maever at least lowered his voice as he explained he’d left Gummy behind. Dax closed his eyes and counted slowly to five, begging a Creator he didn’t believe in for the patience it would take to avoid being killed that day. “We’ll go back and get him then,” he murmured, “and then we will get very far away and leave.”

As all good plans do, that one fell apart within moments. As they passed through a cluster of trees, two men in Seanchan armor stepped forward to block their paths. “We thought we heard a mouse,” the one on the left said in their outlandish slow drawl, “What are you doing in this land?”

“I could ask you the same question, mate,” Dax said evenly, one hand resting on the pommel of his sword as he looked between the two, his posture screaming of lazy confidence. “You don’t look like any Domani soldiers I’ve ever seen. Don’t you have something better to do with your time than harass tired travelers?”

Maever was most relieved to find that Blademaster Dakson was alive and well, though it seemed they were on the cusp of danger still. The Illianer began to ask what the situation was when the man simply put a calloused hand over his face, and the Illianer was so startled that he simply went along with it like a chicken put on its back. He didn't take it personally, he was too agreeable to go against anything a Blademaster said, so he listened with his usual solemn air and he gave a small nod at his plan. Of course they had to get Gummy first, and then they could travel a bit further away. Maever's search for the praying primrose was not over, but here was not safe either...

As was made clear by the Seanchan who stepped in front of them. Blademaster Dakson looked quite at ease, and he was at odds with the awkward Illianer who gave them both surprised looks and put his hands together as if searching for his mother. The uncomfortable shuffle of his hands said he would always look, and never find.

"We do be simple travellers looking for a special sort of flower," he informed the men, quietly earnest. Maever was an honest man and rarely did the Oaths bother him, for he was quite matter of fact and really too simple to be an accomplished liar. "The praying primrose do be a most special plant with remarkable healing properties and so we did come here..."

"You are quite a way from Illian," one of the men drawled. It was a little odd that they would recognise his accent, but Maever could roll with such a thing.

"Of course, but it do be important to have the flower."

"How did you get here?"

"Oh, we did Travel," Maever said, and next to him Blademaster Dakson was counting to five very slowly.

Maever seized Saidin and held onto it, but there was no indication of such to anyone around him. Nothing obvious anyway. An observant person might see how he unconsciously stood a little taller, and how his hands didn't wring quite so much, and when they did move it was more calculated.

"Interesting, that." There was a subtle shift in the way the two men stood, and Maever noted this with disappointment.

"I do no be here to cause any trouble," Maever said, his voice gentle and soft alongside the coolness of the void. "I do be a man of peace. So please do be letting us on our way."

There was a small pause but deep in the void, Maever felt time stretch. He was aware of what was going to happen next as all four men moved with their respective weapons. It always came to violence, the Illianer thought to himself as he moved on instinct, his left hand reaching out towards the nearest Seanchan soldier as if caressing his hair. People were better at being destroyers than they were creators. Maever reached out with Spirit and Air and Water, touching the guardsman's mind and reaching through it in a careful, intricate navigation where a slight mistake could cause permanent damage. He touched the correct part of the mind and caressed it with his threads, causing the man to collapse on the ground.

Next to him, Blademaster Dakson moved with deadly precision and skill, using his fabulous hand twirly body movements to throw the man to the ground and knock him out cold, somehow breaking his nose along the way. It was effortless like some sort of fancy dance, but not one Maever would enjoy taking part in. The Blademaster straightened up, saw that the other guard was on the ground, and raised his eyebrows. Neither Seanchan had managed to unsheathe their weapon.

"I did put him to sleep," Maever said. "There do be a weave for calming down patients who do be needing the rest. He will be fine in a short while." He eyed the bleeding man and kneeled down.

"What are you doing?" Blademaster Dakson asked.

"I do be Healing his nose," Maever said, "that do be unnecessary. He do just be doing his job and--- there, all done." The weaves were simple enough for Maever to perform, and he stood up wiping his hands. "Now, let us find Gummy and get out of here. There do be plenty of day time left to find the praying primroses."

Fortune prick me! Maever was quite happy for the pair of them to retrieve Gummy and get on with their day. Each flower they found would help numerous people and it was this knowledge that kept him preppy and satisfied that they were going to carry on with their noble quest, not run and hide. Blademaster Dakson made away to do his scouting off ahead and the Illianer contented himself with making his way back to Gummy. The mule was no worse for their leaving him be, and Maever patted his nose affectionately as he waited for the Blademaster to return. "Just think," he told Gummy in a low voice, "we do be on an adventure - the Seanchan, a Blademaster, and an exotic flower. This do be the making of... of heroes!" The last word was spoken with quiet affection, as if Gummy was the true hero.

(Perhaps he was for listening to Maever's prattle).

The Blademaster returned and Maever was ready with a greeting for him, but the man wasted no time in pointing out just how dangerous the Seanchan were as if Maever had never heard of them before. He knew that they were capable of a great many things, and he had seen the destruction they caused in Hama Valon, but this really changed nothing for Maever. He might be a nervous man, and he might worry, but he did what an Asha'man had to do. Today, this meant braving the Seanchan for the praying primrose and this was exactly what he would do.

"Blademaster Dakson, I do be appreciating your concern," he told the man, his tone warm but firm. "It does warm my heart to be hearing you be worried for my wellbeing. But I do no be having any intentions of leaving now. The praying primrose do be of utmost importance! We do be needing this flower. And if it does come to it... I will make a Gateway for you and Gummy. I would no expect you to fight an army for me. We do be fortunate that the male a'dam do no be a common creation, no like the female one they do use."

Would the Seanchan break him? Most likely. Maever was not Jaryd, nor was he like a great many Asha'man. But his needs were less important than those of the people who needed Healing. The Blademaster did not look any less displeased, and Maever didn't like to let people down, but he wasn't changing his mind on this. Maever moved around the man and took up the reigns to Gummy, setting off wit him at a prompt but not hurried pace. "I did tell the Seanchan I do be a man of peace, and that does hold true. But I will defend myself, and you, if we do be needing to."

it did belatedly occur to Maever that if he looked less like a channeller then they might draw less suspicion. His excellent idea lodged into his mind, the Illianer removed his black coat and folded it neatly, placing it atop Gummy. His yellow shirt was neat and well fitted, reminding Maever of butter and sunshine. It made his heart feel lighter, and he was much happier as he rolled his sleeves up. He turned to say something to Blademaster Dakson but he was still stood where Maever had left him, giving him an unimpressed look.

The man did not take Maever seriously. It was not exclusive to the Blademaster, but it was most aggravating when he was trying to prove himself and further his cause. He had earned his pins, and it was not unfair for him to be given the same treatment as people such as Jaryd received, was it?

Maever felt his mood slip and with it, his tongue. "Dax, I know I no be a great and powerful Asha'man. I do no be a Green, trying to kill the Shadow every day. I do no be a Red, stopping the bad channelling. I do no be a Blue with their causes. I do be a Yellow - I do be a healer. And I may no be smart, but I do be determined, and I will find this flower. If you do want to leave now, I will make you a Gateway and you may keep the money the Yellow Ajah did pay you to accompany me, but I do no be turning back because of fear. If I did... I would no get anything done, ever."

....Empathy feels funny....

Oh Gummy <3 Maever did not relish the fact that he was openly disagreeing with Blademaster Dakson but at the same time, he had his principles to stand up for and no matter who it was that opposed him, he had to stand by his decision. And stand by it he did. Even when the man looked impatient, as if he was going to lose his temper and argue. Maever met his gaze, so ready to defend himself that when the pat to the shoulder came he twitched, his body not sure how to handle a more moderate response to what he said. He was used to more resistance, not... compliments. He hadn't considered Blademaster Dakson as someone who would look at Maever in such an observant and, to Maever, flattering way.

The closeness brought a healthy blush to the Illianer's cheeks, but it was his words not the proximity that threw him. People were born selfish, babies who wanted food and sleep and changing their soiled clothing and love; it took work to become selfless. Likewise, giving life rather than taking it was a practice not many at the Grey Tower could claim to own, and one of the core tenets of the Yellow Ajah. Heal those who were hurting in some way. He didn't expect this appreciation to come from a Blademaster, and as the man looked around it gave Maever a chance to look at his face properly, like he was seeing it for the first time.

He do no be telling me off, he thought, incredulous. When the compromise came, Maever was more than happy to take it, willing to do this for the Blademaster. It made sense, and the flowers would not be going anywhere. The Illianer took Gummy's reins and followed the other man. "Oh, the flower do be very important indeed!" he said happily, not minding that this was a story intended for when they were lying low. His enthusiasm made his tongue more loose. "When I was a newly raised Asha'man, I did patrol the Blightborder and help Heal the soldiers who did get hurt in battle. Now, in Saldaea, I did come across a Wisewoman who did have all manner of wonderful poultices. One of them, fortune prick me, it did smell like... like Healing itself. I did say, oh, fortune favour you Wisewoman, what do this poultice be? And to that she did reply, Asha'man, that is none of your business. So I did, well, I do be very embarrassed to say that when her items did get left unattended, I did take a small sample, and I did give it to some of the Yellows to analyse." The Illianer ducked his head a little, clearly ashamed at his horrific thievery. "I did leave some coin for my rudeness, I hope she do no be angry still..."

"I'm sure it's fine," Blademaster Dakson said. "This way."

The other man scouted ahead quickly before returning and leading the Yellow and the mule to what looked to be a rather snug, hidden copse. There was plenty of room for the three of them and Maever ushered Gummy in with ease, the mule simply plodding along. The Illianer tried to push down on his bottom to make him sit, but no joy. In the end it took a small, simple weave like that he had used on the Seanchan, to make Gummy sleepy enough to sit down and not make a fuss. Then Maever set his coat out for Blademaster Dakson, who gave him a slightly incredulous look as if he had grown another head before opting to crouch nearer the way in. Maever blushed and sat on his coat himself, feeling a little selfish for it. "These bushes do be nice," he complimented the sellsword, not sure what else to say about their current hideout. Back to talking about the flower!

"The Yellows did disagree about the main cause of the healing properties in this poultice, but some did suggest the praying primrose. Most did no think the same, and I did decide... I would come and find it myself, and try to recreate this mixture!" There was determination in the Illianer's tone, a quiet, steely resolve that only normally reared its head when matters of Healing were involved.

Not Blademaster Dakson