The Grey Tower

Maever Donovan Paving the stones flowed awkwardly to part the reeds, though Maever was not very good with the names of these sword forms. They were almost like the Old Tongue to him, and instead of learning their names he instead learned how the words rolled through his ears, alarmed his senses into responsive action, and remembered how they made his body move.

A body that only moved in the way it was told to. When an opponent came in from overhead, you stepped back and retaliated with three hawks take flight. If your opponent held his sword in his left hand, you did well to use morning salute. Unless, like all of Matty's characters, you were left handed also...

Maever's coat and medic's bag sat beneath a shady tree that cheerful warm morning, and the top couple of buttons of his neat yellow shirt were undone in an uncharacteristic show of skin. Sleeves were rolled up, and in the void all was calm. Maever threw in all his doubt, all his worry, and anything he heard from anyone else, into that small, dark place where he left the Healer behind, and became the weapon. His sword was an extension of his body, and when he moved it responded. Usually. It didn't flow with the smoothness of his peers, and the temptation to compare himself to a Drin was strong, but Maever practised his forms regardless. Otherwise, how else was he going to improve? I do be the wind, light and flowing, always changing... if he told himself this enough, perhaps it would come true.

No sweat. No tears. No strain. Maever was cool in the void, his heavy breathing the only indication of any fatigue. The Illianer's normally warm expression was considering and cool as he looked at a point in his near distance, an invisible figure he sparred against because he was too shy to ask one of the other men, and they did not care to spar with him either. Sometimes this invisible figure was his brother, or something his father. Other times it would be a fellow Asha'man who had not been pleasant to him as a trainee, or an Aes Sedai who mocked him where he required a softer touch. He would spar them in this way because one day he would be more than himself, something more complete and absolute, and at that point he would be real enough to upgrade to the imagination's inspirational, actual counterparts.

"Asha'man Maever!"

The Illianer heard his name and paused, sheathing his sword in a motion that showed he knew how to not cut his own limbs off. It was a Dedicated who stood a safe distance away from the range of his blade, getting his attention. The man removed himself from the void and gave the sturdy Dedicated a smile. "Fortune favour you, do everything be okay?"

"There's been an accident in the channelling grounds and they need a Yellow," the man said.

It didn't matter that other Yellows, other Healers were closer. It didn't matter what Maever was doing, he would be interrupted at any time of the day or night with such queries. Because when they called, he answered, and right then he went to grab his medic's kit and his coat. "Lead the way," he said to the Dedicated, shrugging his coat back on. The dragon pin glittered in the sunlight as he stepped out of the light of the tree.

Sometimes, there was not a need to change.

The issue was a common one. Maever saw no end of people who got a little overexcited with learning to wield a new weapon, typically new recruits into the Warder program who thought that they would become Blademasters overnight. The Illianer usually felt bad for them as they were hit with an unpleasant dose of reality, the toil and trouble it would take simply to keep up with their peers. He tried to offer them a kind word or two and maybe he would get a hint of a smile, but that realisation was often in the way of true displays of gratitude. But that was okay. Maever was happy to help.

On this occasion it was a sturdy looking lad, with that slightly petulant look one had where they knew they had messed up, but didn't want to point it out as if it wasn't clear by the limp and the bleeding leg. Maever was approaching a bottle of hot air swirling and swirling, looking for a way out. Sometimes it just needed a catalyst, and that was where the Healer usually came in. When those two dark eyebrows lifted and green eyes caught the Illianer approaching, Maever knew he was going to be given a tongue lashing from a Drin.

The other trainees, and the fellow in charge, moved aside so Maever could get close, with a flurry of bows or salutes. The Illianer paused as the Drin with the leg injury sized him up - they were of a height, but Maever was lean and trim, where this guy had a solid build that a few years of the Grey Tower would turn into something more substantial and meaningful. He could probably beat Maever at an arm wrestle without breaking a sweat and they both knew it.

"I'll be fine," the lad said stubbornly before Maever could even open his mouth. "It wasn't me anyway, it was Dylan getting in my flaming way!"

Dylan, a lanky Drin with a shock of brown curls, put his hands up in protest. "You're the one who was running around with a real sword, it's your own fault!"

"Bloody goatswill it is," the injured Drin retorted, "when I'm done here I'll show you a real sword injury!"

"You will do no such thing, you do be hurt!" Maever said tersely. "Now, sit down so I can Delve you please. You should no be standing on an injured leg." With a grumble the lad did sit down, and Maever crouched so he could take a better look. "A long and shallow gash, but it does hit a few major blood vessels. Do you be minding if I Delve you?"

"Sure," the Drin said, though when Maever put his hands up to Delve he leaned back. "What are you doing?!"

"I do be using Saidin to Delve you to examine your wounds," Maever explained. "That way I do be able to Heal them."

"Wait, with Saidin? You're gonna channel on me?"

"Of course, if you do be permitting," Maever said. "I do be a Yellow, and we do take our patients very seriously."

A small grin crossed the Drin's face, and the tilt of his strong chin warned Maever of incoming arrogance. He saw it a lot. "So I could refuse, and you couldn't Heal me?"

That wasn't technically true, and the Oathsworn began to explain, "It do no be an issue of "can no", but more "will no"..."

But the Drin heard what he wanted to hear. "Alright then, I don't want Healing." He sounded as if he had said one of the most intelligent things ever, and Maever did have to blink a few times in surprise.

"Ummm, you do no be wanting Healing? But you do still be bleeding," Maever pointed out, a little dismayed. The surrounding group of people were muttering, a few sniggers, though it was difficult to tell who they were laughing at. Maever had a fairly good idea though.

"Like I said, I'll be fine." The Drin shrugged, "thanks anyway."

Maever awkwardly remained perched, eyes wide still, regarding the dark haired Drin with astonishment. But this was quickly passing, as the Illianer felt his patience slip at last. The lack of deference he would have given to another Asha'man, the way he brushed him off after he had been sent for and interrupted with his own private training... Maever's eyes narrowed and he bit his tongue, lest he say something rude that he would regret later. He wasn't like other Asha'man, of course he wouldn't be treated the same. But was it so wrong to want people to acknowledge the hard work he had put in to earn his pins, or the fact that he had dropped everything, yet again, to help a stranger in need?

"No," he said after a moment. "This do no be how this will go, Drin. I do be wanting to help you, and I did take time out of my day to come here. Someone did send for me, either it was you or someone here who do be caring about your wellbeing, and the patient do no always be right. You did injure yourself through your own behaviour and you do no be in any position to decide what an Asha'man do be doing, now or until you do be bonded to one. If you do ever be raised. Do I be making myself clear on this?" Maever's voice was quiet, and he didn't speak for everyone to hear, but the group did fall silent in order to better hear his words. "I will Heal you, and then you will report to the Infirmary. Tell the first Yellow you do be seeing that Asha'man Maever did send you to learn some humility and to help with the patients there. Maybe seeing how some other people have injured themselves will temper your carelessness in the yards, and remind you that it do no be advisable to be rude to an Asha'man. Again: Do I be making myself clear?"

This was met with a nod, and Maever's eyes narrowed until the Drin said "yes Sir."

Maever smiled, the stormcloud passed, and his light eyes were bright as he tended to his patient. "Okay. Now, you will feel a warm sensation as I do be using Fire and Air in order to Delve you..."