Work Text:
Ravella wished she knew how to help Maris. It was clear as day that someone, maybe several someones, had hurt her terribly, long before they ever met. People had all kinds of reasons for becoming Septas, many of them joining in response to some kind of fear, as well because of their faith. Ravella herself had always found great comfort in prayer, and a kind of dread at the thought of becoming some man’s wife, so it had seemed a natural path. With Maris, though, whatever her fears were, it seemed they were a long way from being laid to rest. Ravella had found that she needed to signal her every move, for Maris flinched hard when startled. It was of no great hardship to her to do so. She just worried about what it meant for Maris, about what had been done to her. With Maris’ permission, she draped her arm over her shoulders, and felt Maris shudder under her touch before relaxing into it, like setting aside her ghosts. She didn’t know what had happened to Maris, but day by day a picture opened out before her, in fragments and flinches and fears. She did what she could to help her, but she knew it wasn’t entirely enough. She couldn’t change anything. Maris still flinched, still froze in response to things Ravella couldn’t see. Maris felt so much guilt for everything, and all Ravella could do was hold her hand in hers and try and face something she couldn’t see and knew not by name.