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When Jason finally finds it, the sun is already starting to set on the horizon. The little cabin is nestled under a low hanging wisteria tree. Its red stone is nearly hidden beneath layers of green ivy that twists over itself. Jason has been searching the better part of a day through the woods, relying on poorly dictated directions from the neighboring town and vibes. He’s always been good at feeling the undertones of residual magic in the air, and this place is painted in magic.
The air has an almost sickly sweet quality to it, and Jason isn’t sure if it's from the Wisteria or the magic itself.
The flowers of the tree brush Jason’s cheeks as he ducks under it and makes his way towards the door. He’s not sure he’s ever seen a wisteria tree this large before, and wonders if it’s been enchanted, or if the mage himself is simply good with plants.
He can hear someone moving about inside as he approaches but as soon as he rapts on the wood the noises stop. The ensuing silence is almost... eerie.
“Hello?” Jason calls out, and something thuds like it’s been dropped. “I can hear you in there,” he says, “I’m looking for the Mage Drake? I was told I could find him here.”
There’s another thud followed by low murmured curses that Jason strains his ears to make out.
The door cracks open suddenly and a pair of icy blue eyes glare up at him from the dark of the home. “He’s not in,” the boy says. Jason can barely make him out from where he’s shadowed and hidden behind the bulk of the door. Shorter than Jason by at least a head, possibly a few years younger, and dark hair hanging past his chin.
“Are you his attendant?” Jason asks. “When will he return?”
The boy visibly bristles. “Sure,” he says through gritted teeth, “his attendant. He’s gone away. Won’t be back for months. Sorry you wasted a trip out here. Now if you’ll excuse me—” He starts to close the door and, panicked, Jason shoves his foot in the crack.
“Please,” Jason pleads, “it is of utmost importance that I speak to him.”
The boy kicks at Jason’s boot while baring his teeth in a smile. “So sorry, sir. You just missed him! Maybe if you hurry up the road you’ll be able to catch up! Which means you should go! Right! Now!” He punctuates each word with a harsh kick, but these boots were gifted to Jason from his father’s paramour. The finest leather worked to perfection and at the toe— “Ow!” —Steel crafted to reinforce and protect.
“I beg you,” Jason tries again, “the situation is most dire. Please.”
“He’s not here!” The boy insists, not redirecting his energy into trying to force the door closed over Jason’s foot. “Come back later!”
Jason grits his teeth. He had been warned of tricks, of a mage who hid away from the world and refused to use his powers to better people. A selfish but powerful wizard who would turn even the most pitiful child away— whether he could help them or not.
Jason braces his other foot at the base of the door and hefts his weight. “I really must insist.” He leans into the door with all his strengths and it swings out from under him. He stumbles into the doorway and the boy is thrown back, crashing to the floor.
Jason opens the door fully, standing as tall as he can and straightening out his shoulders. “Take me to your master, boy. I will speak to him.”
The boy sprawled on the floor before him sputters. “You— I— who do you think— don’t call me boy!” He makes his way to his feet and brushes away the dirt from his trousers. He glowers up at Jason. “I told you. He’s not here. Now leave before I make you.”
Jason pauses and strains his ears to hear further into the cabin. He can hear a boiling pot, the soft sound of the wind in the trees behind him, and nothing further. He deflates.
“Is he truly not here?” He asks the boy, casting a look further into the home and seeing no movement.
The boy huffs. “It’s just you and me, pal. And soon— just me. Get out.”
Jason takes a moment to let the failure sink in. Truly his last chance— and he was too late.
Jason feels his legs begin to fail him as he sinks to the floor, shaking. He won’t even be able to make it home in time to say goodbye to his family— the Rot has progressed too far. He’ll never see them again and they’ll never truly know what became of him. Perhaps he should have asked his father for help- but what was Bruce to do? He didn’t know magic, didn’t trust wizards, and would have worked himself into an early grave to save Jason from his fate.
No, it had been clear from the beginning that this was a problem Jason would have to solve on his own— and he’d failed.
“Uh, dude, seriously. Get out.” He can feel something nudging his thigh even through the Rot, but it feels distant like his entire body is numb. “Oh, geez.”
The boy sinks to a squat in front of Jason and appears to examine him for a moment before heaving a great sigh.
“What, uh, what did you need the Mage Drake for, anyways?” He asks, thoroughly looking like he wished he were anywhere but here. Honestly, Jason feels the same. He wishes he were curled up by the fire with a book from the grand library. Wishes his family were sitting around him conversing quietly as the day wound down.
Jason closes his eyes against the sting of tears. “I have a curse, one that’s killing me. I ventured here because I heard great tell of what powerful magic the Mage Drake had. I hoped he might help me.”
The boy’s face twists. “Yeah, uh. Mage Drake isn’t exactly well known for being ‘helpful’.”
Jason lets a wry smile build on his face. “Yes, I heard that as well. I brought gold, enough that I thought he might turn an interested ear to my plight.”
“How much gold are we talking here?” The boy asks, finally showing an interest other than that of kicking Jason out of his home.
“The inheritance of a second prince,” Jason says, “or what I could carry of it, at least. It would have been mine either way and I figured my— my father wouldn’t mind if I wasted it on something so fleeting as my own life.”
The boy stares at him, mouth agape. “You— prince? You’re the prince?”
Jason shrugs. “For however long I remain alive, yes.”
The boy visibly pulls himself together and stands, holding out a hand for Jason. “Well, uh, sorry you wasted a trip out here. Seeing as Mage Drake isn’t here and I’m just his, uh, what did you call me? His attendant? I’m just a mere attendant so I can’t help you or anything. But at the very least I can offer you some tea. It’d be rude not to, honestly.”
Jason takes the boy’s hand and manages not to stumble when he stands. “I wouldn’t want to impose any longer I should— I should go.” Go and find some corner of these woods to rot away in.
The boy keeps a grip on Jason’s hand and pulls him further into the house. “Nonsense, you’re already here. What’s a little more imposing? Besides I’ve already offered the tea, it'd be a social faux pas for you to decline, especially if you’re a prince as you say.”
Jason supposes that’s true, and it may as well be the last tea he ever tastes again. Even if it’s not Alfred’s, it’ll have to do.
He lets the boy sit him down at a small wooden table and manages not to jump when an orange tabby jumps up in his lap and starts kneading at his pants.
The boy makes a face. “Sorry, that’s Bart. He’s insatiable. Tim, by the way.” He says, apropos nothing, and it takes Jason a moment to realize that must be the boy’s name.
“Jason,” he says, “second prince to the Wayne throne.”
Tim makes a very polite smile at that. “Right, Wayne. Of course. Doesn’t he... not like magic?”
Jason watches the boy flit about the kitchen, dumping out the pot of something boiling into a large basin and then refilling it with a clean pitcher of water. He starts throwing a cacophony of herbs and what look to be berries and seeds in a pace Jason can’t quite keep up with.
“He doesn’t trust it,” Jason says eventually. “It’s something he doesn’t fully understand so it makes him wary. I didn’t want to worry him with the curse. I thought I could get it fixed myself. Apparently, I can’t even find a damn wizard.”
“Well,” Tim says, coming to stand by the table and scratch behind the cat’s ears, “you found his home, at least. That counts for something.” Jason snorts. “So, what kind of curse are we talking? Something deadly, by the way you tell it.”
Jason figures there’s not much point to hiding it when Tim will likely be the last person he sees; so he pulls the glove from one of his hands and holds it out to allow Tim to examine the flesh.
Tim’s eyes seem to spark as he leans in to get a closer look at Jason’s hand— careful not to touch.
“You’re Rotting,” he says, awe in his voice. “I’ve seen this a few times with Undead but this is—”
“I died,” Jason tells him unceremoniously, “I came back, but clearly not well.” Jason flinches as the nail from his fourth finger flakes off and hits the table below.
“And your soul?” Tim asks, picking up the nail to look at it closer. “Intact, I presume? You don’t mind if I keep this right?”
Jason doesn’t have even a moment to voice whether he minds or not before Tim is pulling out a small vile and dropping the nail in, corking it shut. “My soul— ow!” Tim reaches forward and pulls a few strands from Jason’s head.
“Sorry,” he says, not sounding very apologetic, “thought I saw a bug.” He moves back to the pot and Jason swears he sees Tim sprinkle the hairs in. But surely that can’t be right.
“Rot, Rot, Rot....” Tim mumbles to himself before snatching something that appears to be a viscous syrup and pouring it, in its entirety, into the pot.
“Pardon me,” Jason says, trying to act as though this is all fine and natural, “exactly what kind of tea are you making?”
“Oh, it’s a special blend.” Tim waves him off, moving the pot to hang back over the fire. “Nothing you’ve heard of I’m sure.” He stirs the concoction a bit and mutters some words Jason can’t quite make out.
“Sorry? I didn’t quite catch that.”
“Hm?” Tim glances over at him and Jason could swear his eyes were glowing. “Oh, don’t worry. I wasn’t talking to you.”
It seems like in no time at all the pot Tim is watching and stirring is at a full boil. Tim takes a ladle and spoons some into a delicate looking teacup before setting it in front of Jason.
“Drink,” he says, and it feels like an order.
“Uh, I don’t-”
“Drink.” He says again, firmer this time, so Jason lifts the cup and places it to his lips.
It is the strangest sensation he’s ever had in his mouth. The liquid seems thick until his tongue tries to chase the flavor and then the liquid is thin and slipping down his throat. It has a heavy, almost metallic flavor with a sickly sweet floral quality to it. Jason means to take a small sip and tell Tim he’s really not all that thirsty but thank you for the tea but he can’t quite seem to set the cup down. He takes bigger and bigger drinks of the almost scalding liquid until he’s drained the cup in its entirety.
Jason sets it down on the table and means to ask Tim what exactly is going on when his vision starts to blur and his head feels a bit fuzzy and—
By the time Jason opens his eyes it’s dark outside. There’s a window against the far wall letting moonlight stream in and there are a few candles set on the side table illuminating a soft flickering orange glow. Jason is laying on a plush couch; Tim’s orange tabby curled up and purring on his chest.
Tim himself is folded up in a large armchair adjacent from the couch, watching Jason. The moonlight seems to catch on the blue in his eyes, and Jason is struck with a horrible feeling.
“You—” But as he starts to sit up he realizes the ache, the burn of nothing that he’s become so accustomed to, is gone. Jason stares at his gloveless hands, skin whole and intact. His right hand is missing the nail on its fourth finger, but the skin is healed over like he lost it months ago. “You’re the mage,” he says with wonder. It’s understandable he didn’t see it before. With all the tales he never imagined Mage Drake to be a man even younger in years than himself.
Tim hums, then waggles his fingers. The cat slips from Jason and bounds across the room to snuggle down in Tim’s lap.
“Why did you hide it?” He asks, marveling at his repaired body as he sits up.
Tim keeps his focus on the cat, running his hand down the length of its back, then repeating the action. “You’ve heard what they say. I’m a selfish man, I keep all of my great powers to myself and use them only for my own gain.”
Jason shakes his head. “I don’t believe that. You helped me, didn’t you?”
Tim smiles and peeks up at him, a small private thing that Jason finds he might like to see more often. “Maybe I did it for the gold.”
“You didn’t.” Jason doesn’t need to check to know the gold is still there in full in his knapsack.
Tim hums again. “It’s late, so I suppose you may stay until morning. But then I really do want you gone. This selfish old man likes his privacy.”
“You’re younger than me.” Jason points out.
“Rumors are what they are.” Tim shrugs. “It’s better this way.”
Jason searches Tim’s face for any clue but all he can find is something quiet and resigned. “Why?” He asks. “Why isolate yourself and hide away? You could help so many people.”
Tim curls in upon himself, squishing the cat against his chest though it makes no moves to get away. “Do you know the Lord and Lady Drake?” He asks.
Jason tries to wrack his brain but he’d never been good at networking or caring about the other important families in the kingdom. “No,” he says. “Your parents?”
“They were so pleased when they found out I had the Talent. That magic came so easily to me.” Tim turns to look out the window, the moonlight casting soft light on his face. “They pushed me to be better. And then they pushed me again, and again, and again. Until I feared one day I would break.”
His eyes glow in the moonlight, soft pale blue looking out at the night. “I told them I couldn’t keep up. That the strain was making me sick. That it was killing me. They didn’t listen.” He turns to lock eyes with Jason. “I left, and I swore to myself I would never use my powers for another’s gain ever again.” He seems to deflate. “I just want to be left alone.”
“Thank you,” Jason says, trying to keep Tim’s eyes from leaving his, “for helping me. I am in your debt.”
Tim shakes his head. “No. No more debts, no more favors, no more gold. I helped you because it was the right thing to do. Not because I want anything in return.”
Jason smiles. “Then, after I’ve returned to my family and let them know of my renewed health, may I return to visit you?”
Jason swears Tim’s cheeks flush; though it’s hard to tell in the dim light. “I don’t know why you’d want to. I’m terrible company.”
He wishes Tim were closer so he could take his hand. “Still,” he says, “I would like to see you again.”
This time he knows Tim’s cheeks are a bright red.
“Whatever.” Tim stands and deposits the cat in his chair. “I’m going to bed. Don’t be here when I awake.”
“I’ll return in two weeks time,” Jason says, but Tim just shakes his head and retreats further into the house.
Once Jason returns he’ll be able to tell his family everything. Now that he’ll be able to get away with one of the stable horses without earning his youngest brother's wrath for his secrecy it’ll be a much quicker trip.
He wonder’s how his father will feel when he tells him of his intentions to court one Tim Drake.