Tavi of Calderon (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
student_of_impossibility) wrote2010-05-28 04:28 am
student_of_impossibility) wrote2010-05-28 04:28 am
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[OOM: Academy (A. Imp.)] Consequences of carelessness.
It was late at night when Tavi finally had a chance to sit and think. He had another practice session with Killian, and a message or two to deliver. Thankfully Max—the Max of his own time, that is—wasn’t in the room (as usual). It didn’t even entirely matter that it was a Max who probably didn’t come to the Bar yet, a Max who didn’t know what he’d done to Noriko.
Tavi still wasn’t sure how well he could face him, best friend or no. Even if they’d been their usual joking selves at the end of that conversation, it hadn’t driven away the undercurrent of thoughts. It really almost made it worse.
The night before, Tavi had simply curled up in bed, staring at the wall. Luckily the spar had tired him out, too, on top of running up and down more stairs. He fell asleep with his bruises still hurting and his lip still split—he hadn’t asked Max to fix them. It hadn’t seemed entirely fair, somehow.
Tonight, though, he was pacing in the otherwise-empty room.
The room itself wasn’t particularly cold, but Tavi shivered nonetheless as he paced. Something was wrong—very, very wrong—and he wasn’t sure what. He couldn’t put his finger on it, exactly. It wasn’t fear he felt either, or anger or anything in particular. But something was wrong. His mind kept settling on the spar with Noriko and his conversation with Max—
And with Mary Lennox.
If he knew what was wrong, if he had some idea of what was coming and what to expect, he could counter it. His mind went back to the maps he had spread out on the Bar floor, the counters he’d placed and the marks he’d made. Mary’s world was so easy to focus on and so hard to pick apart, and that was why he had spent so much time on it. The technology, the history, the geography and politics were all new; they had no emotions attached to them. It wasn’t hard for Tavi to look at it clinically, start plotting out how the alliances being made might ignite the whole world.
He’d tried to do the same for Alera. It wasn’t that it was so difficult to do. It was almost too easy. He knew he didn’t have all the information he needed, but he had what was public and a little more. Even that was more than enough to see it. Tavi had barely even begun putting down counters and those strange little figures before his mind had started showing the patterns in front of him—
He wondered, bleakly, if he even should have asked Max about the future at all. He wasn’t at all sure he needed to ask. It was all there, in the map and on paper and floating in the conversations and rumors of the Realm.
And even that was easier to think about than the sparring session with Noriko.
Tavi closed his eyes, jaw clenching as he grabbed his pillow roughly, crumpling it in his hands. Stupid, he thought angrily. So bloody stupid. I should have known better. I’m not an apprentice shepherd anymore—why did I think I wouldn’t have to hold back, even on someone half a foot taller than I am? The tiny voice in the back of his head reminded him of exactly why: she had lightning. Crafting, of a sort—whatever it might be called in her world, that was how he thought of it.
I thought it would take a Citizen to handle that. Not just--
Not just the furyless freak.
He’d never considered for an instant that he would be capable of putting anyone into a healing tub this soon—at the end of this term, maybe, sure. But now?
His stomach twisted a little with nauseating guilt as he remembered the bloody nose and mouth, on top of her already blackened eye—
And he cracked her rib.
Bloody crows, he liked her. She was something of a friend, never mind that they’d talked all of twice—and the second time he had cracked her rib.
This was what Killian was training him to do—to be able to hurt people like he’d hurt Noriko, and worse—and all because the Realm needed it. The Realm he could see crumbling no matter what the First Lord and his Cursors did, and the only way he had to protect it was to learn to hit as hard and as fast as he had today, only with intent to hurt.
Tavi wondered, chilled, what would happen if he wanted to hurt someone in earnest.
And to protect the Realm, he would probably have to want to.
I just wanted to come and study, to prove I could be useful without any furies—and Iam doing that. I didn’t think it would mean this. Not even when Gaius offered me patronage.
Amara and Gaius had known full well that patronage from him meant Cursor training. That Amara would have known he would be taught this was a little disturbing—she knew he was just a holder boy. And Tavi couldn’t fault the First Lord—he knew he could be valuable, and he knew that as long as Gaius held the Crown firmly then Alera would hold together, even just those five or ten years more that Max thought it could last at best. That was worth a lot.
He just wished, a very little bit, that someone had told him what being a Cursor would entail. He knew he would never have chosen another path, not after Second Calderon—
But he would have liked to know.
He and Mary had that much in common, certainly.
But as Max said… maybe if he’d known, something would have changed. And if he hadn’t chosen—had hesitated at the thought of it—he wouldn’t have gotten the dream of the Academy, or found the incredible friends in Max and Ehren he has now.
But if he’d know that, it would have erased the hesitancy over what training would entail. Wouldn’t it?
Crows take you, Max, why did you have to be right? It was unfair to direct anger at his absent friend. But he couldn’t see all the possibilities of what might have happened, couldn’t actually think of all the outcomes and follow that many threads of logic—let alone the random chance that could change it all. He wanted to know so badly, now, just where protecting the Realm would take him and what it might drive him to. He refused to believe the future was set in stone. It could always be changed.
But he couldn’t be sure if changing it from what Max remembered would be good—or if it would blow up in his face and make it all worse. Maybe he'd be utterly careless.
Like with Nori and sparring with her today.
If he’d known that would happen, he would never have done it—and surely, in the Bar, someone else could and would have taught her better than he did. But what if they hadn’t? She didn’t have any experience, and great furies help her if she wasn’t getting decent training at home. Trial by fire in the field wasn’t a way to train a team, not without getting too many people killed.
He had been so certain, in that instant decision, that he was making the right decision. Now he didn’t know. Max had been right—he would second guess himself too much if he kept thinking about the future. But then again, if he didn’t, then how could he prepare for what was coming, what gave him nightmares sometimes—
And even if he knew, he had no crafting. What if he couldn’t do anything at all?
Utterly frustrated, Tavi slammed his fist into the stone wall. Sinking down onto the edge of the bed, he tried to attribute the tears in his eyes to the pain in his knuckles.
Why can’t I know what’s wrong?
Tavi still wasn’t sure how well he could face him, best friend or no. Even if they’d been their usual joking selves at the end of that conversation, it hadn’t driven away the undercurrent of thoughts. It really almost made it worse.
The night before, Tavi had simply curled up in bed, staring at the wall. Luckily the spar had tired him out, too, on top of running up and down more stairs. He fell asleep with his bruises still hurting and his lip still split—he hadn’t asked Max to fix them. It hadn’t seemed entirely fair, somehow.
Tonight, though, he was pacing in the otherwise-empty room.
The room itself wasn’t particularly cold, but Tavi shivered nonetheless as he paced. Something was wrong—very, very wrong—and he wasn’t sure what. He couldn’t put his finger on it, exactly. It wasn’t fear he felt either, or anger or anything in particular. But something was wrong. His mind kept settling on the spar with Noriko and his conversation with Max—
And with Mary Lennox.
If he knew what was wrong, if he had some idea of what was coming and what to expect, he could counter it. His mind went back to the maps he had spread out on the Bar floor, the counters he’d placed and the marks he’d made. Mary’s world was so easy to focus on and so hard to pick apart, and that was why he had spent so much time on it. The technology, the history, the geography and politics were all new; they had no emotions attached to them. It wasn’t hard for Tavi to look at it clinically, start plotting out how the alliances being made might ignite the whole world.
He’d tried to do the same for Alera. It wasn’t that it was so difficult to do. It was almost too easy. He knew he didn’t have all the information he needed, but he had what was public and a little more. Even that was more than enough to see it. Tavi had barely even begun putting down counters and those strange little figures before his mind had started showing the patterns in front of him—
He wondered, bleakly, if he even should have asked Max about the future at all. He wasn’t at all sure he needed to ask. It was all there, in the map and on paper and floating in the conversations and rumors of the Realm.
And even that was easier to think about than the sparring session with Noriko.
Tavi closed his eyes, jaw clenching as he grabbed his pillow roughly, crumpling it in his hands. Stupid, he thought angrily. So bloody stupid. I should have known better. I’m not an apprentice shepherd anymore—why did I think I wouldn’t have to hold back, even on someone half a foot taller than I am? The tiny voice in the back of his head reminded him of exactly why: she had lightning. Crafting, of a sort—whatever it might be called in her world, that was how he thought of it.
I thought it would take a Citizen to handle that. Not just--
Not just the furyless freak.
He’d never considered for an instant that he would be capable of putting anyone into a healing tub this soon—at the end of this term, maybe, sure. But now?
His stomach twisted a little with nauseating guilt as he remembered the bloody nose and mouth, on top of her already blackened eye—
And he cracked her rib.
Bloody crows, he liked her. She was something of a friend, never mind that they’d talked all of twice—and the second time he had cracked her rib.
This was what Killian was training him to do—to be able to hurt people like he’d hurt Noriko, and worse—and all because the Realm needed it. The Realm he could see crumbling no matter what the First Lord and his Cursors did, and the only way he had to protect it was to learn to hit as hard and as fast as he had today, only with intent to hurt.
Tavi wondered, chilled, what would happen if he wanted to hurt someone in earnest.
And to protect the Realm, he would probably have to want to.
I just wanted to come and study, to prove I could be useful without any furies—and I
Amara and Gaius had known full well that patronage from him meant Cursor training. That Amara would have known he would be taught this was a little disturbing—she knew he was just a holder boy. And Tavi couldn’t fault the First Lord—he knew he could be valuable, and he knew that as long as Gaius held the Crown firmly then Alera would hold together, even just those five or ten years more that Max thought it could last at best. That was worth a lot.
He just wished, a very little bit, that someone had told him what being a Cursor would entail. He knew he would never have chosen another path, not after Second Calderon—
But he would have liked to know.
He and Mary had that much in common, certainly.
But as Max said… maybe if he’d known, something would have changed. And if he hadn’t chosen—had hesitated at the thought of it—he wouldn’t have gotten the dream of the Academy, or found the incredible friends in Max and Ehren he has now.
But if he’d know that, it would have erased the hesitancy over what training would entail. Wouldn’t it?
Crows take you, Max, why did you have to be right? It was unfair to direct anger at his absent friend. But he couldn’t see all the possibilities of what might have happened, couldn’t actually think of all the outcomes and follow that many threads of logic—let alone the random chance that could change it all. He wanted to know so badly, now, just where protecting the Realm would take him and what it might drive him to. He refused to believe the future was set in stone. It could always be changed.
But he couldn’t be sure if changing it from what Max remembered would be good—or if it would blow up in his face and make it all worse. Maybe he'd be utterly careless.
Like with Nori and sparring with her today.
If he’d known that would happen, he would never have done it—and surely, in the Bar, someone else could and would have taught her better than he did. But what if they hadn’t? She didn’t have any experience, and great furies help her if she wasn’t getting decent training at home. Trial by fire in the field wasn’t a way to train a team, not without getting too many people killed.
He had been so certain, in that instant decision, that he was making the right decision. Now he didn’t know. Max had been right—he would second guess himself too much if he kept thinking about the future. But then again, if he didn’t, then how could he prepare for what was coming, what gave him nightmares sometimes—
And even if he knew, he had no crafting. What if he couldn’t do anything at all?
Utterly frustrated, Tavi slammed his fist into the stone wall. Sinking down onto the edge of the bed, he tried to attribute the tears in his eyes to the pain in his knuckles.
Why can’t I know what’s wrong?