A Search for Tranquility (ATTN: Sean)

[Quibby]

Something's wrong. He's wary. Watch it, or we may have to kill him. The suspicious nature of the Deathwatch had saved Mehrin's life several times, and as much as he loathed the creature in his head, he needed it.

Mehrin was about to answer Dedicated Manelle's question about being a killer, but he was beaten to the questions. "An' you? Recall ya mentionin' not touchin' a sword in twenty odd years. What kept ya so long from it?" Great, it had to be that question. Before he could work out an answer, the man asked another one: "Killed someone ya weren't supposed to?"

Careful... Mehrin looked back to the waterfall, breaking away from the channeler's gaze. After a moment of silence, he turned his attention back to the young man, his face stony. "If you wonder if you are a killer, then you probably aren't," he said quietly, his voice neutral, nearly empty. "Twenty years ago, the Aiel War ended. For seventeen years before that, I was defended the life of an Aes Sedai. For six years before that, I was front line heavy infantry with the Blue Jackets, a mercenary group. That is twenty-three years of violence and killing. You start with revulsion, then you become numb to it."

"And some grow to like it." Mehrin flinched. He had not said that.

"After that long, how could I not have killed 'the wrong person' several times over?" he continued quickly, trying to hide the Deathwatch's outburst. "At the Shining Walls, I saw an orphaned girl crying over the mangled bodies of her parents. In seeing that, I saw what the results of my life had been for the previous decades." Mehrin felt the corners of his eyes tighten slightly at the memories. "I chose to adopt the girl, but that choice infuriated my Aes Sedai; she severed the bond and cast me out." It was painful to remember all of it, especially the last part. "I put my sword in an oak chest and locked it with locks that had no keyholes. I was not going to let my daughter, my Renalie, live with that life."

Mehrin brought his eyes up to the Dedicated's face, his eyes hardening. "Do you know what it takes to tear apart an oak chest with your bare hands? It takes a raid on a village by men looking for somebody. It takes an axe to your daughter's chest." Mehrin's voice dropped to a growl. "They destroyed my life, so I destroyed them. That is why I picked up that sword again." Taking a deep breath through his nose, Mehrin forced himself to relax, to let go of the burning anger that was causing his vision to grow red. "If you are a killer, a real killer, you will know. There will be no question in your mind. Take it from a killer."

[Sean]

The vendetta that burned hotly behind Mehrin’s words should’ve frightened. Already the man’s mien was as imposing as it was mysterious; a beast with a loose muzzle at best.

What are ya then? It seemed a child’s question. The tenor suggested a naivety that Val had thought himself flensed of. Resisting the urge to fidget, he forced his eyes to meet Mehrin’s and found a myriad of emotions there that did not quite make to the man’s face. Many men of war…the men that people idolized possessed the same look. It always begged the question of whether being a hero was worth its price. As far as Valadin was concerned too few people asked that question; maybe there was never any time to.

Another distant spray mixed with the strange warmness of the day. Even this close to the roaring waters, the air was hot and muggy. Swiping the back of his palm across his forehead revealed prominent perspiration. Shadow’s already taken the world the way this heat carries on, he groused inwardly. Shrugging out of the black overcoat each Dedicated was commissioned to wear Valadin found himself rewarded with a gentle breeze that cooled the skin.

“That the only reason ya ever pick up yer weapon? To kill? Never get any sorta satisfaction from…dunno, ‘bein’ one with the blade’ or whatnot?” Valadin asked, coat forgotten on the ground at his feet. “Figured to be any good at that sort o’ thing ya gotta like it somewhat.”

He felt a semblance of relief in knowing that by a killer’s own definition he was not one…yet. Allowing his gaze to track back towards the falls the yearning to test an older Gaidin’s rage—to find how it compared to his excitement returned. Only the innate aversion to taking risks impulsively kept him from acting. Some days he wished it were not so, he decided looking out beyond the cascading waters to lands he’d only seen in the Dream. Some days he wished he could be a hero…or a killer.

[Quibby]

"'Being one with the weapon'?" Mehrin said, genuine surprise on his face. "It's been a long time since I heard somebody actually say that." The Dedicated had chosen to take off the black coat that was the mark of the male channelers in the Tower. It put Mehrin a bit more at ease; it was one less reminder of what the other man was. You're being rude again.

"I guess," Mehrin started, the heat of his voice cooling to something resembling a normal conversational tone, "that there may have been some sort of fantasy at the beginning. A want to do something great with my life, be a warrior righting wrongs." He gave a chuckle of genuine amusement. "I might have even dreamed of being a Warder." And look how that turned out... The amusement faded from Mehrin's face as quickly as it had come, leaving behind the stoic expression that he had come to know so well in the mirror.

"You see, a lot of people start that way, and it may stay a part of some of them for the rest of their lives. For me?" Mehrin shrugged. "I learned that I was good at it, and I learned that I would survive longer if I was better." Absentmindedly, Mehrin's thumbs ran along the calluses on his hands, calluses that had been built by sword and hammer. "Dreams were the first victim of that practicality. For me, the sword became less of a fantasy and more of a fact. It lost its wonder for me. Now?"

Mehrin did not realize that he was reaching for the hilt of a flamberge that was not on his shoulder until his hand closed on the empty space there. "I have had decades to get past that point of 'being one with the blade'. For me, it's just a fact of life now. And that sword?" He smiled again. "I forged my sword myself a long time ago. It has been a part of my life for longer than you have been alive. And if it were to break on me tomorrow?" Again, Mehrin shrugged, a common gesture for him. "I would walk into the forge and make a new one.

"A sword is a tool, nothing more. My colleagues in the Yard? Many of them have weapons that were passed through their families. Some have weapons with stories. Often they have names." Mehrin chuckled, shaking his head. "It lends a sense of romance to the whole thing. But it denies the reality: a sword is a tool that is useful for only one thing: killing people. Romanticizing that is the strangest thing I have ever seen done. You can kill to save your life or to take a hill or even because you enjoy it.

"But there is nothing romantic about it."

[Sean]

The metastasis of ideas and beliefs was quickly becoming a trademark of this exchange.

Beset by the dull roar of the falls in the distance their disputes seemed odd in how they had gone from nattering about the unmitigated danger of the True Source to analyzing the nature of one’s walk with the sword. Valadin wished he’d worn a tunic not quite so soiled from years of overuse to improve the first impression he was making.

“No.” Val said softly after a while, dark eyes hard while they studied Mehrin. The desire to test this man—to see if what lay beneath the words and brusque view on life was as detached as the veneer of the man before him pulsed again like angry nerve. “Aye, a sword is a tool jus’ as a man is jus’ a man, but when the two come together…they’re different.”

It wasn’t as if there was any deep meaning in his argument. Before the Grey Tower no one had taught shown Val so much as a piece of parchment to nourish the mind with. For him those words were simply what he’d come to learn during the calming hours spent mastering swordplay. Only during that time or any time where he fought not with the One Power, but with a blade—a weapon any man could wield—was he able to forget what he was for the briefest of moments. Joy was there as well. To admit his indulgence in the sword was more than just hiding from being a channeller was a perilous insight. It meant that he embraced all that came with it—the ability to kill, to hurt, the reasons one took up arms—all of it was contributed to the enjoyment felt when with a sword in hand.

The Dragon may have offered amnesty, but a channelling man voicing such inclinations was certain to find himself stilled and shackled with chains; branded as a menace to society.

A slow baring of teeth, part smile…and part something else took over Valadin’s features as he added, “Besides if a weapon is jus’ a tool then ya must not think much o’ channellers. After all, these hands could do plenty more killin’ than an edge o’ iron or steel.”

Saidin moved as if in understanding of the conversation’s topic. It would be easy to take the Power into himself, feel its untamed force endow him with gifts such that neither nightmares nor dreams could rival. What would a man like Mehrin would do with Saidin haunting every thought and action?

“Dangerous fer a man who can channel to think o’ the One Power jus’ a tool I guess. S’what gets us labeled as mad men,” Val concluded, smile fading as he reached down to take up his coat once more. “If I may, ser, I’d be happy to see ya in the Warder Yards. Ya look like someone who knows what it means to handle himself. Could learn somethin’ from that myself…tha’s if yer willin’”

[Quibby]

Mehrin nodded to Valadin, noting the conclusion of a conversation in his words. "Likewise. All that nonsense about old dogs and new tricks is exactly that: nonsense. Never too old to learn something new, and if you are, then you're dead." Listen to you, all sage-like and preachy. No wonder he wants to leave.

... you're right. Damn.

Offering the man a deeper incline of his graying head, nearly a standing bow, Mehrin said, "Sorry for the lecture. Old people like to hear themselves talk. I thought I was better- or younger- than that. Oh, well," he added with a snort. "Live long enough, and you'll get to find out."

[Sean]

The stroll from the Gardens back to the main grounds was an uneventful, however the meeting with Mehrin had raised questions that continued to pester Valadin.

That the man knew warfare and suffering was no question—it was etched in the man’s words, bearing, and beliefs. Facing forced reflection upon things that he’d never considered before. The Grey Tower was a haven. It protected and nutured its channelers. Here, there was no prejudice and the existence of romantic philosophies of good and evil were encouraged. A gaggle of Novices eyed him surreptitiously or at least they must have thought so for when his eye turned upon them they broke out in a fit of giggles before an Accepted sobered their jovial mood with the promise of a trip to the Mistress of Novices.

Soon the humdrum of daily Dedicated responsbilties distracted his mind from the disconcerting seeds of doubt planted by the earlier day’s encounter. As Dark drew near and Valadin finally was alone with his thoughts he found that it was dissatifaction that plagued him the most.

Life had been hard him, but his body did not visibly wear the scars of his trials; a thing to take little solace in, but he did. For men like Mehrin…men who’d lived years carrying war everywhere they went the burden must be tiresome. What drove them to live? If not for the fact that they believed in what they were doing, why continue on serving the Light?

Beyond his windowsill the stark darkness of the night waited. Its chill could never penetrate the protective stone walls for all the Wards and torchlights that burned, but there was more. It was then, staring out into the abyss of the evening that Val realized the man he had met was merely a mask, a veneer meant to turn away prying eyes. If that was so then what lay lurking beneath the surface of the man?

Curiosity had never been a strong suite of his, but half tangled in his threadbare quilts he found that the answer called to him. In understanding Mehrin Mahrvon perhaps there was something to be learned of Valadin Manelle. Maybe…

OOC: Hey there mate. Trying to get back into the swing of the things. Would you be up for a Mehrin spar/lesson sort of thing? I remember we talked about doing something like that where he shakes of the rust and gets back to his old form (Weapon Skill training) Plus would like to Val to meet someone with a good deal of bloodlust to see how it looks from the outside.