The Grey Tower

There was a knock at the door. "Come," the Master of Training beckoned, and in stepped an Asha'man, cord of indigo around his collar. He strode over to Rav's desk, offered a letter with a stiff bow, then departed as soon as the letter was out of his grasp. Rav shrugged to himself, slightly bemused by the efficiency of the Asha'man's actions. He never much cared for Asha'man.

The letter was on thick, rich paper. 'Ravak Darrow, Master of Training' was formally written on the front by a beautiful hand. He frowned, turning the letter over, and the frown deepened. The Flame of Hama Valon was imprinted on the wax seal. What in the Light is the Amyrlin Seat doing sending me a message? With care, he cut open the top of the envelope with a dagger, then pulled the paper almost reverentially out. It too was on thick, cream-coloured paper, but the hand was different, and there were odd stains...

He read the note. And the world collapsed.

The letter slipped from numb fingers as he drew his hands up to his face. A sudden heat filled him, replaced by a sudden chill. Goosebumps covered every inch of exposed skin, and a icy chill ran down his spine.

How? a numb voice asked.

He leaned forward on the desk on both elbows, then proceeded to hit his elbows off the desk a few times. When he felt enough pain, his fists came down on the desk. Rav swept his arms right, then left, papers and folders and ledgers scattering across the bare wooden floor. He slammed down on the desk again, overturning the inkwell, causing a pool of black ink to expand across the table. He slammed down again, the bottom of his hands beginning to feel the trauma of the violent impacts. He slammed down again, and again, and again! and again! When the pain became too real, he rose from the desk and kicked it with the bottom of his boot. It barely moved. Crafted from solid oak, it was implacable, but the Shienaran kicked at it again. Then again. Then again, then again! And again!

He kicked and he punched and he swung his fists in anger. He grabbed the quarterstaff he never used and hurdled it at his study room door. The bow went next, then his sword-breaker. With his longsword he lobbed the blade like a spear, and it penetrated at least a foot through the door before stopping.

How? he asked again. HOW!

His heart was beating hard, but there was still a rage that had not quelled. He strode with purpose to the nearest bookcase flanking the fireplace and pulled it towards him. It fell, books scattering long before the shelves cracked against the displaced desk. Rav went to the other side, and did the same with the second bookcase, pulling it down and watching as his prized collection lay in a ruined mess on the ground. Next went the teaset and teapot and jar of bloody honey, the amber liquid and shards of glass streaking across two feet of Taraboner rug. He stopped, scanning the room for anything else to break. A throwing dagger came to hand and it sailed with a smash through the stained glass window depicting a Warder. Another dagger appeared, and he pulled the blade back to his ear before it dawned on him what his next target was - the stained glass window of an Aes Sedai, framed in light with the weaves of the One Power dancing around her.

Rav sunk back against the nearest wall and bawled. He wailed and cried until all he could taste was the salt of his tears. He cried out in heart wrenching agony until his lungs emptied, then he wailed again. That continued until all he could do was moan desperately and pitifully. At some point, he slid to the side and rocked on the ground, knees pressed against his chest in some faint hope of solace from the pain.

Why? he pleaded, but no answers came.

Ravak had never cared for the Band of Brothers, but he had run out of cares. He had run out of tears too. He felt like the Creator himself had taken a hand and scooped out every part of his humanity, leaving nothing but an empty shell. Ravak had no plan or thoughts beyond the drink in front of him, the drinks behind him, and the drinks yet to come.

There was a bloody big hole to fill, and a world of alcohol to drown himself in.

Dax had been busy in the Yards when he felt a spike of horrified distress over the bond. A moment later Katrie’s presence had shifted from the Tower to the Traveling Yards, and then she had been running, running toward him, the bond blazing with grief. The news had poured out of her in broken phrases and sobbed exclamations, her voice muffled by his chest as she clung to him for support. Thus he learned of the death of the Keeper.

His grief at Kaia’s passing confused him. They had only known each other a short time, and yet she had understood him in a way that sometimes even Katrie had not quite been able to grasp. It was far easier to ignore and focus on other things than it was to examine that spiky bundle of emotion. He pushed it back, and back, compressing it in his mind until finally he could pretend it wasn’t there at all. Katrie needed his strength, so he threw himself at providing it as the hours wore on.

Sometime late in the night a gray-haired Brown appeared, putting her arm around Katrie’s shoulders and speaking to her in quiet tones. The harsh edge to the bond smoothed ever so slightly and the younger Aes Sedai’s shoulders slumped as they talked. Dax stared out the window, mind wandering far away. Abruptly it came up sharp against something that no one surrounding them had so much as mentioned: Jaryd had not been Kaia’s only bondmate, and he had not seen the other all day.

Where is Ravak?

Kaia had ended their bond; that much had been clear even to the most unobservant in the Tower. To have a bond at all, however, required a relationship and dedication that would not end simply because a few invisible threads had been cut. How had the Warder taken the news? Had anyone been there when he received it?

“I need to- check on someone,” he said abruptly, turning to face the two Aes Sedai. Confusion rolled over the bond, and he touched Katrie’s face, meeting dark eyes with sober blue. “Where is Ravak?” He asked softly. Comprehension dawned then, and Katrie made as if to rise from the bed where Naera had settled her.

“No you don’t,” the older Brown said, tugging her back down. Nothing either of them said could convince Naera to allow Katrie to leave the Infirmary, and her insistence that Dax leave without her was just as obstinate. Finally, bemused, perplexed, and worried about a man he didn’t know if he could count a friend, the Tairen bid farewell and departed.

---

Judging by the condition of his office the Shienaran knew what had happened. Dax stood in the doorway and took in the destruction in silence. How much strength had it taken to embed that sword into the bloody door? He wiggled it experimentally and it didn’t so much as shift. After he had ascertained to the best of his ability that the mess had indeed been caused by brawny arms and not the One Power or some sort of Shadowspawn, he turned to leave.

A quarter glass and a dozen inquiries later, he determined that Ravak had left the Tower grounds shortly after sunset. Further questions and an idea of the man’s condition led the Warder to the Band of Brothers. Ravak was immediately apparent, sitting in a corner with a row of mugs on the table before him, his face buried in his hands.

Dax signaled to the barkeep to bring him a drink before he went to the table. Then he dragged a chair up and deposited himself into it with a significant lack of ceremony. “At this rate you will drink all of Lake Somal,” he said, cocking an eyebrow at the red-haired man. “If you’re going to drown your grief in alcohol, you should at least have company while you do it.”

A maid brought him a pewter flagon and the Gaidin took it, sniffing the contents experimentally. Light, how long had it been? He hesitated only a moment longer before downing half the beer in a single draft. “Talk to me.”

"At this rate you will drink all of Lake Somal."

It took the Shienaran a moment to recognise the words for what they were. It took a number of moments more to realise they had been directed at him, from nearby. Anger stirred inside his chest as his fists clenched against his forehead. No, actually it wasn't anger, that had faded long ago. It was the memory of anger, but it would do for now.

Rav lowered his fists in the way one might aim a crossbow. Sore eyes - Was that from tears or from glaring at the table so hard? Distant thoughts - sore eyes glared at the man fool enough to disturb his drinking. Somal? Peace, I'll drink the entire flaming world. A hollow boast, even within the open space of his mind.

When the vague shape of pink and brown didn't move away, Rav leaned forward, pewter pitchers falling from the table in a clatter of discordant sound. The figure began to take shape. "Talk to me," it said in a Tairen accent.

"Dax?" A genuine question. There was a flicker of white - teeth - as the Tairen grinned back. In response to that revelation, Rav let his head fall back onto the table. Something sticky soaked his forehead, wine he supposed. Was he drinking wine? What wasn't he drinking?

Time passed, possibly. Rav slept, possibly. These things were hard to judge. At any rate, Dakson Torellion the First was still there, sitting opposite, apparently his new drinking buddy. Rav figured he could deal with that.

"You said..." What had he said? Something about "talk! Yes. Okay."

Talk about what? Tangible thoughts were distant. He looked for close thoughts.

"I'm not in a good place." Not in the slightest. This was the Band of Brothers, right? He hated the Band. Nope, not a good place at all.

Something sticky touched his forehead again. Wine, maybe. Wine? Sounds good.

Rav had recognized him at least; Dax took heart in that as he took another drink. Beyond that, however, the Master of Training had said very little, his head sinking to the table in miserable silence. Dax knew that feeling all too well, and contemplated the relative merits of dumping a bucket of water over the man’s head versus giving him a hug. Eventually he opted for neither. Instead he drained his cup and asked for another. He sipped that one mechanically, barely noticing the taste as he waited for the other Gaidin to move.

Eventually Ravak seemed to come back to himself, slurring words the Tairen could not understand before finally managed to say “I’m not in a good place.”

Dax’s eyebrows went up as he downed the last drops of beer in his cup. He signaled for water and drinks, then pulled Rav’s head off the table, pushing him backward to rest against the wall. At least that way the man could breathe properly. “I know you cared deeply for Kaia Sedai,” he said. He felt oddly light-headed, and shook himself. “I don’t think you should be alone right now.”

Blurry gray eyes stared at him in silence, but before either could speak again the maid appeared with a tray. She had brought the drinks he asked for a well as a platter of sliced bread and cheese. She murmured her concern for Rav, and Dax reassured her with a smile before pressing a coin into her palm and sending her on her way.

Then he pushed himself around the table to lean over Rav, suddenly businesslike and unignorable. One big hand cupped the back of the younger man’s head, the other pressed the tankard of water against his mouth, ignoring his incoherent protests. “Drink.” Rav coughed and spluttered and swore, and water splashed down his front, but Dax did not stop until the cup had drained down the man’s throat. “I would not wish your hangover on my worst enemy,” he said, “but this will make it a little better at least.”

That necessary task accomplished, Dax returned to his seat and pulled his third mug toward him, turning it between his palms as he waited for the Gaidin to speak.

Rav was only dimly aware of Dax's platitudes, but the Shienaran was much more aware of the water being sloshed down his gullet. He tried to protest, but Rav wasn't sure where all of the water was coming from, or what was happening with his head. I was in a tavern? Maybe it was by the quayside. Hama Valon had a quayside, right? That, or he'd taken up Dax's challenge of drinking Somal.

The drowning stopped as suddenly as it began. He brushed water from his chin, cheeks and beard, then wiped the back of his hands on his shirt. It too was wet. That didn't make sense. He'd not been swimming.

Dax looked up from the other side of the table, nursing a mug in his hands. Rav started inspecting the tops of various mugs for his own drink, and took one that felt heavier than the others into hand.

Rav moaned. "I shoulda been there. I shoulda bin there for her." He leaned forward against the table. "She shouldn't've let me go, I could've been there."

The letter had been brief. He didn't know where 'there' was, but it didn't matter. Kaia Ariasca Sedai was dead. The same Kaia Ariasca who had accompanied him into the Blight on a mission to capture a Dreadlord. The same Kaia who had made him her Warder. The same...

There was a loud bang and Rav jumped up suddenly alert. A lot of heads were turned in his direction, including Dax's. The Shienaran glanced at his balled fists on the edge of the table, and grimaced. "I betrayed her trust, and for that, she'd dead." There was no doubt about that. Whatever had happened, he could have prevented, even if that meant his life. Always mine before hers. Always.

Dax grimaced at the guilt that weighed down the drunken Gaidin’s words. Should’ve been there… It brought to mind the first attack on the Tower, Katrie’s fear, and his own blind panic and rage when Seth had restrained him rather than taking them back. What would it have been like, if he had not been able to get back in time? Light!

He peered at Ravak thoughtfully as he drank again. “They didn’t bloody tell you what happened, did they?” he asked finally. The Shienaran shook his head, and Dax unleashed a volley of choice expletives, scrubbing at his face with his hands, then sitting back in his chair to scan the room. No one close enough to overhear.

“She and the M’Hael and another Asha’man were in the M’Hael’s study,” Dax said, his voice lowered despite the bubble of space that had formed around them. “The shadows themselves got past the red man's Wards and attacked, or so I was told. Not Shadowspawn, we know that for sure. No one sensed a bloody thing before or after, and someone in that room should have. Even once the things were dead it was difficult to see their bodies...and I saw them myself, so I know that is true.” He shuddered and took a gulp of beer, then went on to describe what he had managed to extract from Zeen about what had happened earlier that day. He chose his words as carefully as he knew how, glossing over what he himself had seen when he had insisted on entering Jaryd’s study, but even so he knew the story was brutal.

He stared into his empty mug a moment before adding in an oddly flat voice, “Jaryd said her manner of death was graven in his bones...that it could not have been prevented.” He had received many lectures about the benefits and dangers of bonding as a Drin and Ji'val, but the reality be had seen in the infirmary was....horrible.

"Light, the whole thing is horrible," he muttered, and waved for another drink.

The M'Hael. Another Asha'man. Just men, not Warders. Not me. But then what could he honestly expect. When good men failed, there were only worse men to take their place. Rav had been a good man, once, but it was Kaia who had said he'd left everything behind, ignored duties and responsibilities. I chose this path for us... for her.

Ravak felt sick, which had nothing to do with the array of empty mugs sitting before him.

"I need air," Rav muttered. He pushed himself up, felt the ship lurch to the left, and barely caught himself from hitting the deck. Getting onto hands and knees, the ship rolled the other way, but with the aid of the two nearest tables he pulled himself upright. The ship's cabin roiled wildly, and he didn't have the sea legs to handle it. He stumbled forward unsteadily, occasionally bumping into other people. He growled at a couple of them - not a kind thing for them to stare down their noses at him just cause they were sailors.

Eventually Rav got to a door outside, and the fresh air barely made an impression before he leaned against the wall and hurled up. The sound of vomit splattering against the ground made his stomach churn, causing him to be sick anew, but at least he was safe from the smell. He held himself up with two arms against the tavern's exterior for a few minutes, feeling as weak as a lamb. The hangover was going to be quite literally crippling.

Rav spat out the worst of the taste from his mouth. "Imma gunna need a lot of water," he groaned. His stomach was sore, his throat felt raw, and the taste-- gah! "Let's get back inside, they've gotta have water." The Shienaran stumbled towards the door, but Dax caught him with a hand against his chest.

"We ought to go back to the Tower. They have plenty..." Dax continued to talk, but Rav latched on to something else. Staring over the other man's shoulder, Rav looked back into the Band of Brothers, principally at a man making a proclamation to the bar. He sounded drunk, but that didn't factor into Rav's mental processes. "With Warders like that, what do you expect? How can they keep us safe? The Aes Sedai deserved to die, I say. And good riddance! Good riddance to bad rubbish!" The man raised a glass to the room, then stomached the contents in one go.

Ravak turned back to Dax, but the Tairen was also looking through the entrance towards the bar, and the drunk. There was the unmistakable glint of violence in the man's blue eyes, and Rav imagined that same light shone in his. "We have work to do," Rav said simply, and he staggered back into the Band of Brothers.

As soon as they rose from the table, Dax knew he had made a drastic error. The world listed about him, everything edges with odd sparks of color. The noise around him sounded both far too loud and yet also separated from him by a pillow of air, rushing like the sea at high tide. His skin tingled and flushed and when he tried to focus his thoughts flitted away like- like shadows. The Tairen steadied himself on the table and tried, despite his spinning mind, to understand what had happened.

Three drinks!

Half a decade of total sobreity.

His mind could not understand how the two were related, and trying to untangle the kinks kept him busy until he had made it outside. The cool air on his face helped considerably. Whilst Rav was sick, he leaned against the wall and focused on breathing. Three bloody drinks. His red-headed companion was saying something about water, and he wanted to go back inside. Bad idea. Some instinct reared its head through the fog and Dax lifted his hand, stopping the other Gaidin from proceeding. If they went back in, there would be more drinking, and not just of water. "We ought to go back to the Tower. They have plenty-"

He cut off as his ears caught the words being proclaimed from the bar behind them. The two men's eyes locked as the words fell about them like sharp bits of broken glass. The night that surrounded them began to deepen at the edges of the Blademaster's vision, crawling along the street to one side and the wall on the other as the foolish speaker continued his tirade. Dax turned to face the door, fists clenching as he looked for the one who had been unwise enough to speak ill of the Keeper. There.

"We have work to do," Ravak said at his shoulder and Dax nodded silent agreement. The bond lay still; Katrie slept. With no gentle gold of love and concern to hold him back and rage burning in his heart, he followed the Master of Training into the Band of Brothers. They worked their way through the crowded common room to the group that had been talking so freely without much resistance.

Ravak's fist caught the unsuspecting speaker across the face with an incredibly satisfying crunch, knocking him backward through the crowd in a shower of beer, food, and surprised curses. Whatever the Master of Training said, Dax didn't hear it. The Tairen's full attention was on the smug man that the loud mouth had been conversing with. The stranger arched a condescending brow and shook his head as he made to turn away as if Dax were not worth his time. As casually as if he intended to knock on a door, the Gaidin lifted his fist. Then he grabbed the other man collar and slammed his pale-haired head into the counter so hard the flatware on the opposite end rattled. Then he shoved the man away as if he were no more than a bundle of rags. "Garbage," Dax spat as the man collapsed to the ground.

A half breath of total silence fell over the common room as its drunken occupants struggled to comprehend the sudden violence. Then chaos erupted as the entire room -or as good as- surged toward them. Some clearly intended to offer support while others seemed more inclined to interfere. Rav's fist connected with a second man's jaw; Dax spun and his knee slammed into a third man's side, then his elbow jerked back into a fourth. The brute that usually guarded the door was coming toward them, the crowd parting like cheese under a hot knife. Dax looked the man up and down, then put his foot against the edge of the table between them and shoved as hard as he could. The heavy wood hit the fighter in the thigh and he stumbled and fell. Somewhere nearby he could hear Rav dealing similar damage, and felt his lips spread into a feral smile.

The flickering shadows of alcohol-fueled violence gathered darker and darker in the Tairen's vision until he could see nothing but the next approaching body.

With two moderately satisfying hits, the fight was over. The first was Rav's left knuckles hitting the opinionated man between his cheekbone and jaw, which sent him sprawling sideways. Collateral damage followed as he grasped onto a table to stop his descent. When that began to tip, he hooked onto a second and pulled that one down with him as well. The second hit was the man crashing against the ground, his head bouncing off the floorboards as mugs of beer and dirty plates of food scattered over him.

Rav looked up at the other faces in the tavern with a wide, pleased grin on his face. "Did you-, did you see--!" The red-haired Gaidin pointed and giggled. It was hilarious. Two tables, two! Who careened through two tables and then ended underneath them? Grey-blue eyes scanned the faces once more as a loud crack echoed from behind him. No-one else was laughing. Why not? Couldn't they see how funny it--

A lanky fellow near the front darted forwards first. The hooked-nosed man started to draw a long, thin dagger, good for making deep holes in people and not much else. As the steel was still being drawn, Rav acted instinctively. This time striking with his right hand, dragon tattoo glittering just above the wrist, the pickpocket buckled to the ground when his jaw shattered under the Shienaran's assault.

The stiletto blade hadn't finished resting before two more people stepped up, a mirrored pair of rotund labourers. They still had on their workman's aprons from whatever profession they undertook, smiths maybe, and both sported large arms made for carrying things Rav wouldn't risk lifting. Even sodden with alcohol, Rav knew he had an issue. Hands gripped around the wide squishy hilts of his swords and tugged. His belt yanked his trousers up awkwardly. Bloody swords are stuck! He tried drawing them again, trousers moving up into uncomfortable heights. Glancing down, Ravak realised he was only holding onto his scabbards - the swords were missing. "Oh burn me for a fool."

"You got that right," the guy on the left said. One meaty hand seized the Shienaran's shoulder. The labourer's face soured when he noticed just how much muscle there was underneath. Before his twin got a grip on him, Rav ducked and twisted out from the shoulder hold. That part worked out grand. The next bit was more of a whooshing, blurring sort of motion than he had intended. It started with the Shienaran falling into a pair of legs, and ended with him and his unintended victim - the other labourer - sprawled out on the ground.

From this angle, everyone seemed very tall and menacing, especially as Dax stepped into view. Rav raised a wavering arm up towards the ceiling. "A little help buddy?"

The world spun, shadows faded in and out and Jem laughed...and laughed....and laughed. The sound burned through the beer and the haze and cut at Dax like a razor's edge. Everyone who stood around him bore his brother's mocking face. Broad shouldered or slim, short or tall, dark or pale....they were all Jem, and he unleashed his rage on them indiscriminately. Multiple sets of hands wrapped around his arms, pulling him back. He shrugged them off and spun, facing his would-be captors with a growl. Five versions of his tormentor stared back at him. The big man cracked his knuckles as he looked from face to face, considering which to strike first.

There was turmoil a little distance off. Someone had fallen, and Jem -Blood and ashes, how many of him were there?- was leaning down, fists flying as he took out his frustration on someone smaller than he. The same as he always does. Hatred boiled hot as the Gaidin stared at the group, and he pushed past the handful that faced him with no further regard. Never again. He strode to the group crowded around the body on the floor. You will never hurt anyone again. Callused hands grabbed at arms and shoulders and bodies, forcefully shoving them to the side until he finally reached their victim.

The Tairen looked down through striations of darkness and found himself face to face with a blurry-faced man with red hair. He had half-expected to find a child, and stared down at the other man in disconcerted confusion for a moment as his mind struggled to catch up with what was happening around him. Why did he look familiar? Ravak. His name is Ravak. Something in Dax’s mind supplied the name, a thin whisper of sense against chaos and destructive anger.

The shadows faded a little as he contemplated that information. The fighter looked around once more, still trying to put the pieces together. Ordinary men and women looked back, some angry, some shocked, some mocking. Something heavy shoved him from behind and his hand lashed out, automatically removing the threat. Then he reached down and yanked Ravak to his feet. "Don't fall," he said shortly. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Cowards,” a meaty man with light brown hair sneered, “running back to your Tower for safe-” Dax’s first cracked against the stranger’s face and the comment ended in a choked off curse.