Chapter Text
Jon winced as the wagon hit just another hole in the road. If it could even be called a road - it was more of a path, a mix of packed dirt and low grass winding through the forest. With gritted teeth Jon shifted, trying once again to get comfortable in the back. It was no use. The bed was cramped with all his belongings, even though his belongings fit into merely two small trunks and a satchel.
Once again, Jon glanced ahead at the driver who steered the horse-drawn wagon through the forest - a man from the nearby village who had reluctantly agreed to take Jon to his new home. There was enough space on the seat for another person, but the man hadn’t offered that Jon could ride in the front, and Jon hadn’t asked. He sighed, and nearly looked away again when he spotted it: a small cottage at the end of the path, nearly overgrown with ivy.
The driver stopped in front of it, and silently watched as Jon hauled his luggage off the wagon and fished some of his last gold out of his pockets. “Um, uh, t-thank you,” Jon stuttered as he handed it over. The man gave him a curt nod and left as if in a hurry. Jon tried hard to ignore the sting of it. It was hardly an unreasonable reaction, after all.
He turned towards the cottage, waiting for a spark of excitement to accompany this step into his new life, far away from all the things he tried so long to escape. There was nothing. Mainly, Jon was simply tired. He didn’t remember when he’d last slept properly.
Pushing aside his weariness, Jon pulled the key out of his pocket and shoved it into the rusty lock. The door creaked in its hinges as it finally opened. Jon stilled, still on the threshold, and took a moment to take it all in.
Somehow, the cottage looked smaller on the inside. One side of it was occupied by a kitchen. There was a hearth, cupboards painted in faded yellow, and a big table with some chairs. Except for the dust and the spiderwebs, it nearly looked inviting. The other side of the room was bleaker and mostly empty. There was a dresser, and a spot where Jon suspected a bed had once been. A door led into what was probably a washroom, although Jon doubted he would get running water out here.
Jon stared at the empty spot that was now missing a bed. Maybe they removed it because the old woman who had owned the cottage before him had died there, he thought bitterly, and then shook himself to get rid of the thought. It was no use thinking like that. This place was his now, and it had to be enough.
With gritted teeth Jon dragged all his belongings inside, leaving them piled by the door. He took his cloak off and set it onto a hook by the entrance. He couldn’t help but shiver, then - it was spring, and the coldness of the winter still clung to the bricks of the cottage after it had stood empty for months. Rubbing his hands, Jon made his way to the hearth, relieved when he found a bit of mostly dry firewood stored next to it. He piled a few pieces into the hearth and hesitated.
He could do this the hard way, of course. He should do this the hard way, probably. But he always struggled to get a fire going, and he was cold and tired and miserable, and reaching for his patron was as easy as breathing.
Beholding answered in an instant. From one moment to another its power surged into him, buzzing in every cell of his body. It often terrified Jon just how close it was; like Beholding was always watching, waiting, ready to answer to him. And ready to push, of course, should Jon’s control on it ever slip. Every time he used his magic he felt it: the infinite urge of Beholding to push into every fibre of his being, until there was nothing of him left. And then beyond, out of the dimension it was contained to and into this world it could not yet fully possess but that it craved with a desperate determination.
It really was no wonder the villagers wanted nothing to do with a mage like Jon. If this power terrified Jon, he could only imagine how awful it must be for the people around him.
Luckily, despite everything he had done to him, Elias had trained him well. When the pressure of power increased within him just another notch, Jon gritted his teeth and pulled it back. Beholding fought him like a wild animal in a trap, but Jon’s control didn’t falter. Instead, he raised his hands above the hearth and channelled the raw power of Beholding into a different form.
A flame erupted in the hearth, wild and flickering. It burned so hotly Jon could feel it even from the distance, and the wood immediately caught. Soon enough he had a fire going, and pushed back the power still surging in his veins.
When Beholding’s grip on him finally eased, it left him with nothing but exhaustion.
Jon staggered on his feet, his vision blurring. It was always exhausting to use Beholding's power while keeping careful control of it, but usually he handled simple spells like that better. But again, he did not remember the last time he slept. It was no wonder it left him utterly drained this time.
Head swimming, Jon stumbled to his belongings to pull a bedroll out of the pile. Despite the warmth that slowly emitted from the fire he was now shivering violently. He wrapped his cloak around his shoulders and collapsed onto the bedroll. Within seconds he was asleep, and for once he did not dream.
Jon startled awake at a knock at the door. With his heart in his throat he stumbled upright, nearly tripping over his cloak that was tangled between his legs. Instinctively, he reached for the well of power within him, the dark abyss that was Beholding, until it prickled at his fingertips and sang in his veins.
Only then did he realise where he was: the dusty old cottage he had chosen as his new home, far away from Elias’ clutches. Sunlight streamed in through the windows, brighter than he expected. His few belongings were still piled next to the door, unpacked. The fire had burned down overnight. There was no threat in sight.
Slowly, Jon lowered his raised arms. He gulped down the power that pushed against him, that desperately wanted out, and stayed still until finally he was sure it wouldn’t come bursting out of him. Jon crept to the door, as quietly as he could.
The knock came again. It didn’t sound particularly threatening. With shaking hands, Jon opened the door.
A man was on the other side. Upon seeing the door open, his lips split into a bright grin. Jon blinked at him, first in confusion and then in mistrust. People did not smile at someone like Jon.
“What do you want?” he groused.
The man’s smile didn’t falter. “Hi,” he said cheerfully. “People down in the village were talking that someone just moved here. ‘A mage dwelling in poor old Gertrude’s cottage’, Rosie has been telling everyone. I thought I’d come and check how you’re settling in. See if you need anything. Bring some supplies, all that good stuff.”
Jon’s heart clenched when he said mage, but then so many other words left the man’s mouth that, to Jon’s immense surprise, weren’t ‘get out’ or ‘fuck off’. By the end, his head was swimming. He looked up at the man, taking him in in more detail. He was tall, with a broad chest and wide shoulders. His dark hair was cut short, curling around his ears. The startling smile was still on his lips. It made Jon’s stomach feel funny. “I- I’m sorry, who are you?” he finally managed to stutter.
“Oh, I’m Tim. Tim Stoker. I run the bakery in the village. I brought you this.”
Without further preamble, Tim thrust a basket into Jon’s hands. Jon looked down at it in confusion. It was covered with a yellow patterned cloth, and emitted a truly delightful smell. Fresh yeast and apples and cinnamon, a mix of sweet and savoury that made Jon’s mouth water. Still in disbelief, he raised the cloth to see a myriad of baked delicacies nestled inside the basket.
Jon’s eyes stung. He was helpless against the swell of emotions rising in his throat. People did not smile at someone like Jon, and they especially didn’t bring him baskets full of fresh bread and apple tarts.
He slowly breathed through the feeling. Finally, when he trusted his voice again, he looked up at Tim. He was still smiling, but it was softer this time. As delicate as one of the apple tarts. “Um. I’m- thank you,” Jon managed to croak. “That’s very kind of you.”
“No problem. Hope you like it.” The smile finally slipped off Tim’s face. He bit his lip, eying Jon carefully as he thrust his hands into the pockets of his trousers and shifted his weight from one foot to another. “So, uh, are you?”
Jon frowned. “Am I what?”
“A mage?”
The soft and warm feeling in Jon’s chest was immediately replaced by ice, choking the air out of his lungs. He took a trembling step back. “Is- is this a trick?” he spat out, voice trembling. “Did- did Elias send you?”
Tim’s brow furrowed. “Who? No, I’m not-”
Jon didn’t wait to hear what he had to say. Panic had gripped him, and before he could do something unforgivable like losing control of the power resting within him, he slammed the door in Tim’s face.
Jon took a few slow, deliberate breaths until the panic receded. He gulped down the bile rising in his throat, and cursed into the quiet of the cottage. Only then did he realise that he was still clutching Tim’s basket.
Tim was still there when Jon burst open the door, as if he hadn’t moved in the few minutes it had taken for Jon to pull himself together. He opened his mouth to speak, but Jon interrupted him, desperate to move the conversation along.
“I- I should give you back the basket before you leave,” he stuttered. He paused, glancing back at the old kitchen cupboards he hadn’t dared to open yet and his still unpacked trunks by the door. “I- I’m not sure I have anything to put this in, though.”
Tim laughed, as brightly as if the last few minutes hadn’t happened. “That’s fine,” he said, waving Jon off. “You can keep it for the moment.”
“Oh. Uh, a-are you sure?”
“Yeah. Don’t worry. I’ll pick it up next week. Or you can stop by the bakery to give it back, if you want.”
Jon nodded, a little dazed. Tim flashed him one last smile and then he was gone, strolling down the path back towards the village. There was a spring in his step, a lightness to his whole being, as if he hadn’t just met a being who could probably kill him with a twist of his wrist and was in constant danger of releasing an ancient evil power into the world. Utterly baffled by this whole interaction, Jon did the only thing that seemed sensible at the moment: he closed the door, sank down onto one of the creaky chairs and took a big bite out of one of the tarts.
It was sweet, buttery and perfect.
True to his word, Tim came back the next week. This time, Jon merely flinched when the knock came. He immediately relaxed a little when he recognized the rhythm of it. He dropped his spellbook onto the kitchen table that had been covered in books and scrolls and parchments and all manner of potion ingredients in the past week, and crept to the door.
Once again, Tim was smiling when he opened the door. Once again, there was a basket in his hands that emitted a smell that made Jon’s stomach growl. If not for the identical basket in Jon’s kitchen and the baked goods he had consumed over the week, he would have thought it had all been a dream.
“You- you didn’t have to bring more,” Jon said instead of a greeting.
Tim shrugged. “I’m a baker. I see someone in need of feeding, and I feed them. That’s what I do.”
“I- um, thank you.” Too overwhelmed to protest, Jon accepted the basket as Tim shoved it into his hands. He stepped back into the cottage, glancing back to the kitchen. “Uh, I’ll just get the other-”
Before Jon could stop him, Tim slipped into the cottage with him. He cast around a curious look, raising an eyebrow as he took in the general chaos of Jon’s unpacked things by the door and the bedroll he was still using to sleep for lack of a proper bed. Then, he saw the kitchen table and his eyes lit up.
“So you are a mage,” he said triumphantly.
Jon tensed, but the panic that had gripped him last week was absent. Tim still didn’t sound malicious, or angry. He sounded glad, and the utter confusion Jon felt at that seemed enough to keep the panic at bay.
“I-um, don’t touch that,” Jon snapped as Tim picked up a jar of herbs from the kitchen table and held it up to inspect the contents.
“What, is it a magical herb? Is it going to explode?”
“No. That’s- that’s not how magic works. There’s nothing that’s inherently magical.”
“No?” Tim looked at him in confusion.
“No. Magic, it’s just… pure, unadulterated power granted by the patrons.”
“What’s all this, then?”
Jon hesitated for a moment, but Tim looked so genuinely interested that it spilled out of him before his common sense could kick in. “A skilled mage can learn how to transform that power into something other than destruction. Into spells, potions. Something that’s useful. You can channel magic into all kinds of mundane ingredients, and they respond to it in a unique way. Combined in the right way, you can do all manner of things.”
“Oh.” Tim’s eyes lit up. “A bit like baking, then. Putting the right ingredients together.”
“I- I suppose.”
“And you know all that because you are a mage?”
Jon bristled that Tim still needed to ask. “Obviously I am,” he snapped.
Tim nodded, apparently satisfied now that Jon had finally said it out loud. He set down the jar and turned towards Jon, hands on his hips. “I have a proposition for you.”
“E-excuse me?”
“I want to hire your services. I need help to find someone.” Tim looked serious, all of a sudden, in a way that put his earlier smiles into a different context. It wasn’t like they hadn’t been genuine, but Jon now saw that the cheerfulness was just one part of Tim. Something he wielded expertly to hide the deeper, darker parts of himself.
Jon's throat suddenly felt tight. "I don't- I don't do that," he protested.
“I can pay,” Tim said quickly. “I mean, I don’t have a ton of gold, but I can always add a lifetime of free baked goods.”
Jon’s eyes narrowed on the basket he was still holding. He swallowed down the feeling rising in his throat. He wasn’t exactly sure what it was, but it tasted too much like betrayal. “Is that why you brought this?” he bit out, hoping he could conceal the hurt in his voice.
Tim’s face fell. “No! Christ, no. Sorry, that came out wrong. This wasn’t a bribe or anything. I did just want to be nice.” He let out a long sigh, his shoulders sagging, and buried his face in his hands.
“Tim?” Jon asked carefully.
“My brother is missing,” Tim admitted, voice small. He lifted his hands from his face. To Jon’s horror, his eyes were shining. “He disappeared a couple of months ago. I went through all possible options, but I’m at the end of my rope. I need help to find him. I need to know if he-”
Tim abruptly cut himself off, but Jon didn’t need him to finish that sentence. He knew exactly how it was going to end.
Jon gulped. For just a moment he hesitated. He did mean it, when he said he didn’t do this sort of thing. But there was something about Tim - the kindness in his eyes, the smiles he’d given Jon, the obvious care he put into his baking - that made it impossible to simply turn him away. Not when Tim looked like he might cry.
With a sigh, Jon placed the basket of baked goods on the table and pulled out a chair for Tim.
Tim looked at him, dumbfounded, until Jon gestured impatiently at the chair. “Sit,” he said, frantically trying to clear some space on the table. “And tell me what happened.”
Tim did as he was told, collapsing onto the chair. He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a shuddering breath. “His name is Danny,” he started, a smile creeping onto his lips despite the circumstance. “He’s my little brother. He’s… an adventurer, you could say. Always chasing after lost places and buried treasure and all that stuff.”
“And one day he didn’t come back?”
“Yeah.” Tim paused, rubbing his eyes. “He stayed with me one night as he was travelling East. He didn’t tell me exactly where he went, just that he heard of an abandoned place near the mountains he wanted to check out. He said he was going to stop by on the return trip, but he never did. That was two months ago.”
“And I suppose it takes less than a month of travel to reach that place?”
“Just two or three days by horse, he said. He promised to be back within a week.”
Jon nodded, biting his lip. That was a long time for a person to be missing. He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to Know all the horrible things that might have happened to that poor man, but Beholding was already pushing against the corners of his mind, like an itch that wanted to be scratched. For once, Jon thought, he might use that awful power for something good.
“Do you have something from him?” he asked. “A- a trinket, o-or a piece of clothing? It’s- it’s fine if you don’t, it just makes it easier to focus on the important information.”
“Oh, yeah.” Tim took off a bracelet that was strapped around his left wrist. It was plaited leather, with a wooden pendant worked into the middle. A delicate carving of a bird. “He brought me this from one of his trips,” he said quietly as he slid it over the table towards Jon.
Carefully, Jon picked it up. The leather was smooth beneath his fingers. He could Feel the sentimental value of it, like warmth emitting off a cup of tea, and nodded in satisfaction. This would work.
He let out a breath, and let Beholding into his being.
Using magic for other purposes often was a challenge - to take the raw power of his patron and shape it into what he wanted. It was taxing, both mentally and physically. But this - this was as easy as breathing. There was no need to shape that power, to mould it into a different tool. Knowledge was just what Beholding was, pure and unaltered, and the pictures filled Jon’s head at once.
It was always overwhelming, to let the accumulated Knowledge of an ancient power into his mind, but Jon gripped the bracelet tight, and let it guide him. Soon the assault of random information fell into the background, and he focused instead on what he was here for.
The image of a young man popped into his head. He had the same smile as Tim did, but he was younger, with longer hair and a scar on his chin that spoke of his living as an adventurer. In the tangle that was Danny’s life, Jon pinpointed the visit Tim had mentioned and followed that strand of Knowledge. He saw a hug as he said goodbye to Tim. A long and uneventful journey on horseback, through the forest until eventually the ground sloped up, and trees were replaced first by long grass and then barren rock. And finally, an entrance carved into the mountainside. Columns lining the doorway, engraved with a script Jon couldn’t decipher in the haziness of this vision. And then, suddenly - nothing.
It was like walking head-first into a door. Like being thrown into a basin of ice cold water. It came so abruptly that he felt his control on Beholding slipping - the pressure inside him increased, suddenly and vigorously. In a panic, Jon threw the metaphorical door inside his head closed and the vision disappeared.
When Jon opened his eyes, he was lying on the ground. His head was throbbing. It was always so much easier when he could carefully ease out of a vision.
“Fuck,” Tim swore somewhere above him. Jon blinked until he came back into focus. Tim was crouching at his side, holding his wrist to take his pulse. With an awful, bitter clarity, Jon realised that he couldn’t remember the last time someone had touched him not with the intention to hurt, but to make sure he was alright. It was too much to bear for the moment.
“I’m fine,” he gasped, pulling his wrist out of Tim’s grasp. He sat up, taking a few deep breaths.
“What happened?” Tim studied him with such genuine concern that Jon had to look away.
Jon frowned, trying to figure out the answer to that question. He never had a vision cut off so abruptly before. There was just one thing he knew: this wasn’t just the case of an adventurer getting attacked by bandits or having an accident while climbing the mountain. Something was very wrong. Something that went beyond the disappearance of Danny Stoker.
Despite the nagging voice in the back of his head that he should leave this alone, Jon couldn’t help the curiosity burning in his veins. The desperate need to Know. He had run so far from Elias, but it seemed that there were things he simply could not escape.
“I- I don’t know. I don’t know what happened to your brother. But… I do know where to go.” Jon looked up at Tim, the first person who had been kind to Jon in so long despite knowing what he was, and made a decision. There really was just one way forward. “I’ll find him.”