Smile Back [Donovan/Ravvus C support]

[Ravvus Wiseau]

It had been a few days since Donovan and Ravvus' narrow escape from the undead. The blond mage didn't realize how taxing the near-death experience had been until it had ended. Once he was safe and the adrenaline wore off, Ravvus lost consciousness within a minute. He woke up, a day after the incident, in a hospital bed. Upon awakening, he examined his body and realized his wounds had been healed. The burns from his fireball were gone and there was a faint imprint from the revenant's bite mark. As it turned out, the bite had been potentially more lethal of the two wounds. The revenant's maw had contained hundreds of harmful germs and bacteria. A poisonous gift which would have crippled, perhaps even killed, the mage had the infection not been quickly dispatched with a restore staff. Ravvus was thankful that the Ilian apothecaries had cured him of the potential plague. Ravvus was willing to die in battle. He didn't plan to, or even seek to, but if he had to go that's how he'd want his life to end. Snuffed out by a superior opponent in glorious combat. But sickness? That was an ungraceful end. The last way Ravvus wanted to die was in a brittle and weak state. A state in which he wasn't even capable of defending himself. The clerics of this trade hub had his deepest thanks.

Though Ravvus could leave at any time, he didn't want to do so until Donovan recovered. He didn't entirely know why. He felt responsible for the mercenary's wounds, he knew that much. But he didn't know why that compelled him to to watch over Donovan. The half-Western, half-Etrurian mage was not much for compassion. Generally, he was only concerned about someone's well-being when he wanted to fight them. The only exception to this rule was his sister, Reina. But he cared about her health because she was kin. Donovan was not kin. Ravvus didn't even want to fight Donovan. The mage briefly considered if his concern was a result of his failure, but he quickly dismissed such a notion. He'd redeemed himself enough by wounding the giant undead alpha. There was no reason for him to feel ashamed by his encounter with that monster anymore. Maybe Ravvus was just genuinely concerned for Donovan's well-being. He'd considered that as a possibility. The two had bonded briefly during the journey. Maybe.

The mage felt strange. He wasn't happy. He knew that much. He felt bad, tired even. Not even physically. But more so mentally. Perhaps even emotionally. He didn't know. He was experiencing a feeling he had little experience with and had no brace for it. He didn't even know what term to use for it. He rubbed his eyes and sighed heavily. He needed to check on Donovan.

Making his way through the trade hub, Ravvus arrived in the room where Donovan was being taken care of. The gaping wounds on the young man's body were bandaged and covered, facilitating the healing process. He looked peaceful as he rested. Free of stress, free of fear and pain. Free of guilt. Ravvus winced in frustration. This was foolish. Watching over this young man. Ravvus would not rouse him from death-like sleep by sitting next to him. He'd do better for himself by continuing his march to Edessa. There was nothing the blond mage could do for this green mercenary. Whatever responsibility compelled him to stay here was an inconvenience and nothing more. Least, this is what the mage tried to tell himself. Ravvus closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and exhaled.

[Donovan]

Donovan had woken up 2 days after the undead’s attack in the mountains of Ilia. He didn’t know where he was, or what had happened, at first, but the Hub had a good medical station, and the doctors had taken care of his serious wounds. The three remaining fingers, long stripped of flesh and only consisting razor sharp bone, on the entombed’s hand had torn asunder his armor and destroyed his shield. Worst of all, it had left him within an inch of his life. The healers had apparently felt certain that he would die when the cavalier that had saved his life brought him to their doors. But through their hard work and persistence, the mercenary was granted a miracle, and he pulled through.

Now almost 5 days had past, and the doctors felt like he was likely to remain for another week at least. Their most skilled healer having not yet had to deal with such a life threatening wound, they’d done emergency staff healing, only, so that their clerics and priests wouldn’t drain themselves of all their energy trying to heal the young man. He lay in a bed, with a vulnerary salve and bandages dressing his wounds, waiting for the days to pass when he’d be able to leave.

The mercenary had heard Ravvus, the mage he’d met that dark day, had survived. Though he’d also been wounded rather terribly, he’d gotten lucky enough to not have serious enough injuries to keep him bedridden for long. Or so Donovan had heard. He assumed that he’d have left town by now. Heading back into the mountains for whatever task he’d been trying to accomplish up there.

The mercenary heard a deep breath, and opened his eyes, expecting to see his healer coming in to check on him, but standing in his doorway was Ravvus, who looked like he was unsure whether he should stay or go.

“I heard you were up and about,” the mercenary weakly said. “Figured you’d have left town by now.”

[Ravvus Wiseau]

Ravvus' eyes flashed open. Donovan was awake and chatty, though he spoke in a quiet, tired tone. It seemed rather appropriate, fitting really, of the young mercenary's character. The blond mage wanted to smirk, but found himself unable to. ”I thought about it. I probably should have.” He shrugged his shoulders and avoided eye contact. Anxiety was creeping through his body. ”I just didn't want to leave until-” Ravvus cut himself off. Those words. They sat in the back of his throat. Something held him back from expressing concern. He rubbed his eyes again. His fingers migrated up his face. His thumb and pointer finger spread apart from each other, each ultimately resting on a temple. He looked at Donovan for a moment. The mage's expression was a mixture of concern and fear. He didn't like this. Being here felt wrong.

He walked through the room, continuing to avoid eye contact, and stood in front of a window adjacent to Donovan's bed. The blond man folded his arms and laid them on the window sill. ”How are you feeling? You took some pretty nasty hits back there. Did the clerics tell you how serious your wounds are?” The events that had transpired. Ravvus could see them now. The alpha tearing Donovan's shield off, then shattering his armor with one swing of its' sharp claws. It had taken a few seconds, if that long, for the creature to nearly slay the mercenary. Don had nearly died and Ravvus came close to joining him. It all felt like a failure on the mage's part. And he didn't understand why. He just wanted to fight. He just wanted to fight the undead. Why had the two mercenaries come back for him? Why did he feel responsible for their wounds? It didn't make any sense.

[Donovan]

The blonde mage was unusually shaken, though Donovan was not sure why. He hadn’t gotten the feeling that Ravvus had cared too much one way or the other for either George or the bed bound mercenary. But the fire caster with a fiery temper just looked, more than anything, guilty. Conflicted. He looked like he was almost afraid to be here.

Which wasn’t necessarily the wrong thing to feel. As much as Donovan felt responsible for George’s death, Ravvus was equally at fault. If he’d just run from the undead, instead of trying to fight them all by himself, then they wouldn’t have been overwhelmed. And if Donovan had just let him die, neither George nor the mercenary would have been put in harm’s way.

When the mage in the orange cloak asked Donovan how he was feeling, the mercenary grimaced, the pain in his chest was intense. “Well you know. I’ve definitely felt better. Getting hit by a giant undead monster, tends to be a negative experience. How about you? How’s that bite?”

“They told me I should be stuck in here for a week or two more. none of the clerics had the strength to completely heal me all at once, so they’ve been applying both staff healing and non magical methods. We got off lucky, though. If George hadn’t been there, I would have been slaughtered.” He looked up at the fire mage, his eyes a little hard. “Same is true for you, though.”

[Ravvus Wiseau]

Ravvus felt somewhat eased by Donovan's remarks. Good. The mercenary would be making a full recovery. The blond mage didn't want to deal with the guilt of indirectly crippling him. A faint smile broke across his face. Donovan's light humor helped alleviate some of the tension the mage was under. ”Yeah. Getting bitten wasn't too great either. Turns out the bite might have killed me if it had gone untreated. Guess I was lucky it happened with a healer nearby, huh?”

If George hadn't been there. The words rang out sharp and accusatory in the mage's mind. Ravvus knew that Donovan wasn't trying to assign blame. At least, he didn't expect such vindictive behavior of the green mercenary, but the words made Ravvus shiver with guilt. ”Yeah, if he hadn't been there.” His voice trailed off. He glanced back at Donovan. The young swordsman had an intense look on his face. A stern, serious facade. It wasn't quite a look of accusation, but more so one of comprehension. It was like the mercenary understood everything. He understood that had they behaved differently, George might not have died, but also accepted the reality of what happened. That they had lived and George had not and there was little more to say about the matter. It was funny. Ravvus had expected Donovan to have been the more shaken of the two mercenaries, but he seemed to be taking the events in stride. The mage himself, however, was barely keeping it together. He needed some kind of answer.

”Well, I'm glad you'll be able to recover. You've got a good sword arm.” 'But a crappy sword', the mage continued internally. ”If you keep at it and get a sword thats' a bit more reliable you'll be able to make a real living as a mercenary.” He paused for a while, unsure of what to say next. Or rather, reluctant to try and find the answers he desired. But there was no point in putting it off. Ravvus spoke up again. ”Why did you two come back?” The blond mage was meeting Donovan's stare now. ”You barely knew me and I don't know if I even had the chance to exchange a word with George. Don't you think it would have been more prudent to protect the caravan and Gheb, err Gra-” The blond mage pinched the bridge of his nose. ”Crap! The uh... the fat guy and his family, those people. Besides...” He turned away, unable to meet Donovan's eyes any longer. ”I probably could have taken the undead by myself.”

[Donovan]

The fire thrower looked at Donovan and seemed to understand the true intention behind his words. Ravvus was lost, unsure. Shaken. And somehow, this made Donovan’s normally carefree and forgiving nature crack. And through it came a shadow of the rage he’d locked away 3 years ago. He hated it. He hated feeling this way. Reminding him who he was at his core. Calculating, full of rage. And ultimately a failure. Like a wave, the self loathing and blame had crashed over him.

He watched as Ravvus hesitated to ask the question he had been staying in this Hub to learn the answer to. The mercenary’s long held mask barely remaining. ”Why did you two come back?” With that, Donovan could no longer keep up his facade. And for the first time in almost a year, the mercenary was honest. Completely and totally honest. His brilliant green eyes no longer smiling, or accusatory, or hard. All they showed was his rage and how utterly analytical he was of every move the mage made.

“You are right, Ravvus. I barely know you. George didn’t know you. He did not die for you. He died because of me.” The mercenary pulled the sheets from his bed, and slowly, painfully swung his legs over the side. “He was willing to wait for you. He hoped you would make it out, sure. But I was the fool who ran back into hell to buy you time. He just ran in to pull me out.” Donovan cautiously put the weight on his feet and stood. The blood from his wounds still visible through his bandages as he stepped, one foot in front of the other, towards the mage. Donovan was thin, but he was a very tall man, nearly six and a half feet tall, and he towered over Ravvus. “Because of me, that man died. Because of you, that man died. Do not insult his sacrifice by saying you could have made it out of that tidal wave of corpses with your life. We both know that isn’t the case. You are not as powerful as you boast. Just as I am not as fearsome as I convince everyone I am. And I’m too exhausted to lie anymore." The mercenary was struggling to stand, but his rage at everything was so great that he couldn’t lie in bed another moment. "It was your pride that killed that man. Just as it was my need to be some sort of fool hero.” He spat the word out with venom.  He was mad at the mage, sure, but he was much more livid with himself. He’d failed. Again.

[Ravvus Wiseau]

A sudden seriousness gripped the green mercenary. Donovan's first impression had been akin to that of a boy. A friendly and inexperienced fellow, not quite a man who understood the complexities and harshness of the world. But now, now Donovan was behaving differently. He moved with an intensity to him. Despite his wounds, the man raised himself from his bed and sauntered forward in a brief, dauntless march. Ravvus never imagined seeing this side of the mercenary. Hell, he didn't even think such a facade was something the green man could call upon. But there he stood. Tall and terrifying. He loomed over the orange mage with a pair of, practically, burning eyes. Ravvus had not noticed that Donovan was taller than him. Perhaps it was because of the way the two men carried themselves, as Ravvus had felt larger in stature to the green man. But the now, glaring, difference between their sizes struck fear into the mage.

The blond man, intimidated, tried to edge backwards, only to find himself up against a wall. The cold embrace of the hard wood only made the blond mage feel more scared. He skittered to his left, escaping Donovan's looming shadow. ”N... No! Don't you say that! I could have fought them! I could have won! I was going to win! I was- I was-!!” Ravvus cut himself off. He didn't know what he was saying. He didn't even feel like he had conscious control over his words. ”I didn't need-” Ravvus was spitting right back at Donovan.

”I'M STRONG.” Ravvus boomed.

His voice left a deafening silence in its' wake. ”I COULD HAVE SURVIVED! I DIDN'T ASK FOR HELP! I DIDN'T ASK FOR-” He cut himself off again. He felt weak. Utterly and totally weak. And what was worse, he felt like he was denying this overwhelming weakness. He was so lost. He couldn't allow himself to come to terms with the result of the mission. What if he'd won? What he'd been stronger? What if he'd been strong enough to fight for himself? To destroy the monsters? That's all he wanted. He didn't want to protect anybody else, just himself. He just wanted to be strong enough not to need someone else's help. And the fact that he wasn't shamed him.

Tears welled up in the blond mage's eyes. His body fell against the wall, before slowly sinking to the ground. ”I don't want this...” He spoke in a hushed whisper. ”I don't care whose fault it was... just so long as it wasn't mine. I don't want it to be my fault... I never asked you to risk your life for me or for him to risk his life for you...” He stopped, allowing silence to fill the air. ”I just wish I had been stronger...” His sad, sullen voice trailed off. The mage had completely ignored Donovan's sense of survivor's guilt, entirely focused on his own instead

[Edited: Briefly near end]

[Donovan]

The tall mercenary stood with ruthless severity in his eyes as the orange cloaked mage skittered away from him in fear. Ravvus, who had been so bold, so quick to boast had become a cowering shadow of his former bravado. “You could not have fought them off, Ravvus. You were not going to win.” He made sure the mage was looking him in the eye, “You were going to die.”

“I’M STRONG.” Ravvus’s voice filled the room, but the mercenary was not impressed. He was tired, had nearly died, and this young man had the gall to claim to be powerful. Invincible. It was not something he could stomach in his state. ”I COULD HAVE SURVIVED! I DIDN'T ASK FOR HELP! I DIDN'T ASK FOR-”

“You are not strong, Ravvus. You just aren’t. Magic allows you to have power men like me could only dream of. But it doesn’t change the fact that you are merely a man. You may be a great sage one day. But right now, you are just a man running towards his death. Too convinced of his own lies to realize they will get him killed.”

The mercenary released Ravvus from the coldness of his gaze and began to walk back to the bed. Standing was too much for him, anymore. “You need to embrace your weakness. Accept it. Use it. Make it a strength. Or you will die. A fool’s death.” He looked up at the mage from the side of his bed. “You deserve better than that.”

“I know I am not strong. Not yet. But I use what I have to help people however I can. And I still fail… You need to except that you are, as much as me, the reason he died. And just do whatever you can to not make those same mistakes again… We both need to do that. ” The mercenary was tired. Angry. Depressed. He hadn’t felt this terrible in years. And those were memories he didn’t want to think about. Not now. Not ever.

[Ravvus Wiseau]

The prideful mage was little more than a sniffling wreck. The tall, green mercenary towered over him, lecturing him about strength and death. On one level, the mage felt content. All of the pain and stress. Everything he'd ignored during his encounter with the undead, everything he'd been trying to placate over the past two days, it was all coming to a head. All of it flowed from him. Remorseless and unrepentant in its' ugly, raw birth. It was good to get all of it out of his system. Good to feel and accept the ugliness for what it was. It was shame and it was a part of him.

But that feeling of contentment was small. It was very, very small. Insignificant and tiny compared to the storm of emotion which possessed him. He lay there, on the verge of weeping as Donovan returned to his bed. He hiccuped and sniffled a few times, eventually realizing that he would receive no sympathy. Donovan was furious and steadfast in his position, unlikely to be swayed by tears. The rare show of vulnerability had been a wasted act. The mage grimaced and inhaled deeply. Ravvus slowly felt his tears leave his eyes. They did not fall down his face and decorate his visage with sorrow. They receded back into skull, finding protection and security within the mage's body. And there they would stay. He exhaled.

Ravvus picked himself up. That had been unbecoming. Losing control of his feelings like that. His body shivered with anxiety, reeling from the intensity of the situation. Though he trembled, the mage finally began to speak. "I AM strong..." His eyes burned like freshly kindled embers. "I've spent sixteen years of my life proving that to every chump who thought he could take me on. And when I was twelve I realized that I was good, damn good, with anima magic. And that made me even stronger." His voice slowly grew in volume and intensity. "If I die anytime soon, it will be with pride. I fight for what I believe in, I fight for myself. And if fighting for any of that gets me killed, then so be it." He raised a single, accusatory finger. ”Do not.” The finger quivered. ”Call me weak!” He pursed his lips into a bitter frown. ”I am not weak.” He maintained a hard, now blazing, gaze. It carried a strong weight, in spite of the quivering facade which delivered it. The mage let his arm fall and he stumbled backwards. He needed to breath. The confused and short-tempered man took slow, labored breaths.

In... Out.

In... Out.

Ok.

The mage rubbed his face, letting his hand slide down off of his chin. A heavy lump sat in the back of his throat. An after effect of having gotten so worked up. ”So how do we do that?” Don seemed to know more about coping than he, himself. Least, this is what Ravvus took from the mercenary's speech. As he spoke, the blond man looked away from Donovan, refusing to make eye contact. ”Accept our mistakes?” His voice was calm, but detached. Ravvus knew how to fight, how to explore. Coping, though? That was a new and alien concept to him.

[Donovan]

The mercenary listened as the yellow haired mage, as the man who had just been a sniveling wreck on the hospital room floor tried to pick himself up. His voice and body wavered as Ravvus asserted his strength and power. All Donovan heard were the prideful affirmations of a fool. He raised a finger and Donovan and spoke with true rage, “Do not. Call me weak! I am not weak.” Ravvus’ face was hard, filled with resolve, but Donovan stared back at the mage, unfazed by his sudden return to boldness.

The green clad mercenary was tired. Tired of the game. Tired of the lies. Tired of people thinking that they are a greater creature than they truly are. See honesty was important to Donovan. Sure he was a liar, but his mother had always told him that honesty was vital to a having a good soul. There’s nothing wrong with lying, Donny. Not so long as it’s to entertain people or protect them. It’s what we do for a living, after all. But there is one person you should never lie to; yourself. That’s how you lose who you are. That’s how you get yourself in over your head. You need to be willing to know your limits and accept them. Because without that, little fox, you’ll let that good heart of yours go to waste. The day his mother sat him down and said those words were forever etched into the essence of who Donovan was.

The mercenary sat there watching Ravvus trying to calm down, and knew that Ravvus hadn’t been honest with himself in a very long time. The orange cloaked mage was most likely a good man, but he ignored his limits - in fact, the man seemed to actively be lying to himself over what he was capable of. Donovan’s words on weakness seemed to have been completely lost on the mage. He would have rejected the mage’s notion of strength, trying to convince him of his follies, but Don had a feeling that would just push the man to do something foolish and Donovan was still too weak to fight against the man. Instead, he answered Ravvus’s question, “First we admit that we made them.” That was all he felt needed to be said. Ravvus would struggle enough with the first step.

[Ravvus Wiseau]

Ravvus reflected on Donovan's brief words. Admit. He had to accept that his actions got a man killed. That was difficult. That was for too difficult. He didn't want the responsibility, he couldn't accept it. Allowing one's pride to get a man killed, such were actions of a weak man. Such were actions of a fool. Ravvus had looked death right in the eye and smiled back, he'd crippled the towering undead alpha, he survived. He couldn't be weak. No, he was far from weak. But was he foolish? No, of course he wasn't. Ravvus was a natural mage, capable of accomplishing mind-blowing feats. And the more he trained, the better he'd become. Ravvus couldn't be a fool either.

So then there was nothing to admit to, was there? No, that wasn't right either. All of this thinking was starting to give Ravvus a headache. He shook his head. He had to admit to something. But what? The blond mage pondered for a time, trying to come to terms with his actions. Maybe, maybe all he had to admit to was not being strong enough. Yes, that must have been it. He simply wasn't strong enough. He was a powerful, wise man, but he was not the most powerful and wise man. He'd yet to learn magic like fimbulvetr, yet to master the elements. That was why this had happened, wasn't it? Because he wasn't strong enough. ”I confess!” He blurted out. ”I admit to not having the strength to protect myself!” That was it. What he needed to do was get stronger. ”But I will find that strength!” He would learn the other elemental magics. ”And when I do, I will return!” And when he did. ”I'll go back into that frozen waste and hunt down that scorched behemoth! The one who killed George, wounded you, and made me look like a fool!” It had all come full circle. Ravvus was back where he started. But somehow the mage had fooled himself into believing that this was what he had to do.

On some level, the mage knew that he was speaking nonsense, that this was but a means of placating his guilt. And he knew that Donovan knew that too. The green man did not share in his enthusiasm. He was not smiling, he was not amused, he did not believe the mage's pathetic lie. The mercenary still had much to teach Ravvus about coping and accepting responsibility. Knowing this, Ravvus left. He fled the room, refusing to give Donovan the chance to stop him. He fled the hospital and then barreled out of the hub, desperate to distance himself from the site of his failure. Tears rolled down his face as he ran, having lied to himself in a vain attempt to find comfort. But, lies though they were, the mage had spoken at least one genuine truth. When he had gotten stronger, the blond young man would return. When he'd learned fimbulvetr, he'd return make good on his promise. He'd find the scorched behemoth and put it out of his misery.

[Donovan]

Donovan watched as Ravvus stood in front of him struggling to come to terms with what he’d caused. He watched the little man's eyes grow dim and sad before growing fiery again. At that point, the silver tongued mercenary knew that his words had fallen on deaf ears. There was nothing more he could do. Nothing more he could say. So he did what he wanted to do; lie down. The hospital’s bed was comfortable, his wound was aching and his eyes were heavy. All the man wanted to do was rest. Swinging his legs back onto the bed, Donovan propped himself up and pulled the blankets over his legs.

The fiery wielding mage with the fiery temper confessed to not being strong enough. To needing to return to the mountain to find the monster that had put them in the hospital, that had killed the man who saved their lives. Ravvus got one thing correct, and that was that the entombed had made him look like a fool. Or as Donovan saw it, revealed him to be one. Anyone strong enough can convince others of their valor. But only fools refuse to see when they are outmatched as Ravvus was. Or, at least, that is how the mercenary saw things.

Donovan knew there was so much to say and yet no point in saying it. He knew, even as Ravvus sprinted from the door that he would likely never see the plucky mage again. Most likely, he would find the cold embrace of death in those mountains long before Don got the opportunity to finish this conversation. But the mercenary didn’t mind. He was a trouper, and all men and women of that world learned at a very young age that people flash in and out of your lives. Living their own story. Telling their own tales. At the end of the day, all that you could do was say goodbye. With that thought in mind, Don slide down from his propped up position and let the happy kind embrace of sleep over take him.

[End Support]