Work Text:
The little bell on the door rang, capturing the wood elf’s attention. He hurriedly shoved the book back into the shelf he was placing it on, rushing immediately after to the desk at the head of the shop. He let out a sigh as he took his place, silently cursing whatever gods may exist for allowing him to be the only worker here. Ever since his mother had gotten ill, he’d essentially inherited her bookshop, and he knew she wouldn’t be getting any better. The place would be his soon. It wasn’t as if he was looking forward to it, though he hoped that when the day came, he’d get the chance to hire someone to help him out at the counter.
“Welcome to the Whittled Wood bookshop!” He recited, almost from muscle memory by now. “How may I help you?”
The man striding through the doorway didn’t say anything, and the wood elf grimaced. Well, if he was going to be like that, he would just go back to shelving books. They’d gotten a large shipment in recently—a donation from an old man who had told him “You never know when there may be a customer on his way who will want these”. Looking back, it had been sort of cryptic in how he said it, but he tried not to let it bother him.
He made his way back toward the shelves, straightening out the book he’d placed in a rush moments before. Ex Altiora. He frowned, trying to remember languages his mother had tried to teach him as a child. He knew the prefix ‘alt’ often meant high or deep, but the rest was lost on him.
“Excuse me?” A voice behind the wood elf asked, and he jumped a bit. He turned around to see the man who had walked in the door standing behind him. The wood elf paused to observe his features. He was an elf as well, most likely a high elf or a drow, with dark brown skin and rather striking green eyes that couldn’t be natural. He was rather short, and his hair, which fell just beyond his shoulders, was pulled into a loose, but well-kept, ponytail. Several scars were visible on his skin, and the wood elf tried not to look at them for too long. He was, the wood elf admitted, rather attractive.
“I need help finding a book.” The man continued.
“Not sure you’ll find one here,” The wood elf joked.
The man narrowed his eyes in confusion. “Of course I’ll find one. This is a bookshop.”
The wood elf shook his head with amusement. “Sorry, I was joking. What do you need?”
“That book you just shelved,” The man began, “may I see it?”
The wood elf handed it over. “We just got that one in, actually. There was a man—”
“Yes, yes,” The man cut him off. Rude. He continued to rifle through the pages, stopping at one in particular. He stared at it for a while, and the wood elf craned his neck to see it. On the page was a wood-cut image of an expansive starless sky. Something about it made the wood elf dizzy, so much so that when he tried to tear himself away, he found himself crashing into the man, the book tumbling out of his grip and onto the floor.
It didn’t take long for the wood elf to regain his senses and scramble upward, stammering out apologies. “Christ, I’m so sorry, here, let me help you—” He reached out his hand, and surprisingly, the elf took it, and it seemed to take quite an effort for him to rise to his feet.
“Here, let me just…give you the book. Free of charge, I’ll pay—”
“No need,” The man said, picking up the book and placing it on the counter. “How much?”
The wood elf still felt guilty for letting him pay after what had happened, so he decided it couldn’t hurt to take it down a bit. “25 gold.” It was half the price, but he’d cover it.
The man eyed him suspiciously, but nodded as he pulled out a small bag of coins and counted out what he needed.
“What do you need that book for, specifically?” The wood elf asked, hoping to make conversation. What could he say? He wanted the bookshop to be cosy and friendly to anyone who came in, even if this particular customer seemed a bit more like the rugged adventurer type.
The man, surprisingly, responded. “I’ve been sent on a quest,” he said simply. “The queen of a neighbouring kingdom needs it, so I’ll be getting it to her.”
Neighbouring kingdoms. Quests. All of this brought a rush of excitement to the wood elf’s chest. “How far is it?” He asked, hoping his eyes weren’t too wide in excitement.
“Oh, several hundred miles.” The man sighed. “I’ve been walking for…I’m not sure anymore. I have— had companions, but they’ve all…” he paused. “They’re gone.”
“I’m sorry,” The woof elf replied softly. By now, the man could probably leave the shop if he’d wanted to. He had his book, and he’d paid for it. But he seemed to want to talk, so the wood elf continued. “I know what it’s like to be alone.”
The man let out a sad chuckle at that. “Awful feeling, isn’t it?”
The wood elf nodded. “Yeah.” He paused, then held out his hand. “I’m Martin Blackwood. You?”
“Jonathan. Sims.” The man replied, adding his last name as somewhat of an afterthought. “Most people call me Jon, though.”
Martin smiled. “It’s a nice name. Though it sounds a bit pretentious.” He added teasingly.
Jon grinned as well. “ Your name sounds like that of a wandering poet or a minstrel.” He replied, and Martin felt heat rise to his cheeks.
“I am,” he admitted. “Sort of. I write poetry.”
“Oh!” Jon said. “Well, then, I suppose I was right. Truth be told, I meant it as more of a joke. I’ve never cared much for poetry myself.” He paused. “I’m sure yours is…decent, though.”
This, at least, was enough to make Martin chuckle. “No, not really.” He sighed. “I’ve been trying to learn magic, though. Incorporate poetry into it. I mean, who said that bards have to sing, or—or play instruments?” He could tell he was probably beginning to ramble, so he tried to rein it in a bit. “I, um, actually know a few spells. Easy ones. But still. It’s…something, yeah?”
Jon nodded. Martin could practically see the gears shifting and turning in his head as an idea rose to the surface. Then, “would you want to join me?”
Martin stared at him. “I’m…I’m sorry, what?”
“O-on my quest.” Jon explained. “I told you I’ve lost my companions, and…well, you know magic. I could teach you more. I mean, I don’t know bard magic, but I’m sure there are some universal spells. We could—”
“Jon,” Martin interrupted. “That sounds lovely. It really does. But…I’ve got to stay here at the shop. And, for gods’ sake, I just met you! How do I know that you won’t take a knife to my neck when I’m not looking? How do you know that I won’t?”
Jon sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You don’t. I don’t,” he admitted. “Sorry, this was…incredibly stupid of me. Of course, you have your own life to live.”
“Yeah,” Martin chewed at his lip anxiously, a habit he’d picked up over the years. “I don’t want you going out alone,” he admitted. “I saw how you needed help getting up earlier, it’s…I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but you clearly need some assistance, and I don’t want to hear the news that a local adventurer has died from falling into a pit or something.”
“What would you have me do?” Jon asked, his voice questioning rather than irritated.
“Stay here for a bit.” Martin told him matter-of-factly. “It isn’t exactly a very… popular bookshop, but you’re bound to find someone who’s willing to travel with you.” He gestured toward the table and chairs near the front window. “And if you want to read for a bit, well…” Martin chuckled. “We’ve got plenty for that.”
Jon hesitated. “Alright,” he agreed. “I’ll stay for a while.”
“Jon?” Martin called out softly. It was near midnight, and Jon was still here. Martin, looking back, wasn’t exactly sure how long he thought Jon should have stayed for. Truth be told, part of him really just wanted the company. The bookshop was a quiet place, and while being alone didn’t always bother him, he still missed having someone to talk to.
The two had chatted a lot throughout the day. Martin had learned about Jon’s two travel companions—a tiefling named Daisy and a dragonborn named Basira. Daisy had died in an explosion, presumably, as no body had been found, and Basira had left not long after her passing. Martin had, in turn, told him about a few childhood friends of his—Tim and Sasha, a pair of elves that his mother had told him to play with and he’d gotten along quite well with. Both who had, unfortunately, passed away as well. They spoke of their childhoods—how Jon’s parents had died, and he’d been raised by his grandmother, and how Martin’s father had left him and his mother with the bookshop. Martin told Jon of his mother’s health—the main reason why, aside from having just met the man, he wasn’t slamming the door to the bookshop shut and never looking back. It wasn’t that he hated the place. But his mother clearly didn’t care for him, and though he begrudgingly loved her—she had raised him—part of him wanted an excuse to leave her for good.
But now the afternoon was done, and Jon was asleep in his chair, head resting peacefully on the table. Martin smiled and tiptoed upstairs, returning momentarily with a blanket to cover him in. Martin neatly folded his glasses beside him, gazing at him fondly for a moment before he went up to bed for the night. It really was a shame he’d never see Jon after he left. Or maybe he would. Maybe he’d come back to the bookshop after his quest was over. Maybe he’d open the door, lock eyes with Martin, cross the room and pull him into a hug, and then—
Martin immediately suppressed the thought with a small shake of his head. What had he just been saying? He didn’t even know Jon! Only that morning he’d been shelving books, never having even heard of the man, and now he was imagining a life they could have together.
Maybe he’d let himself picture it, just once. He’d stand at the counter, chatting away with customers coming in to read a good novel once in a while. He’d smile and laugh, and then Jon would come downstairs with a cup of tea. Martin would thank him for it with a quick peck on the cheek, and he and Jon would continue the conversation with the book-buyers. When the day finished and the last people left, he’d carry Jon upstairs—which likely wouldn’t be difficult at all, as Martin was quite a bit bigger than Jon in stature—and the two would laugh over dinner about how one of the customers said something funny. Martin would gaze at him for a moment, his laughter pausing, and think how lucky he was to have him. Jon would ask him what he was thinking about, and Martin would shake his head and say he was just happy to be there.
Alright, so it was a lovely idea. But it would never come to pass, Martin told himself. There wasn’t any reason to dwell.
“Mum,” he called as he stepped into the room above the shop. “I’m home.”
He wasn’t greeted with a reply. He sighed as he realised his mother was probably asleep. Silently, he walked towards her room, cracking the door open to see that she was, in fact, laying in her bed, sleeping peacefully. His face twisted into something between sadness and relief to see her there. Alive, still. But always there, always hanging over him like an angry stormcloud.
He closed the door, making his way back to his own room. He kicked off his shoes and laid down, too tired to get ready for bed. Moments after he closed his eyes, he was asleep as well, slipping into an unconsciousness filled with dreams of two elves and their cosy domestic life.
The next day brought equally little luck. Few people came by the shop, and each one Jon tried to strike up conversation with was less than eager to converse, and even less eager to follow him out into the unknown on a quest. Martin had hoped he’d find someone—the bookshop was a frequent attractor of adventurers like him, surely at least one was looking for their next quest. But nobody had seemed eager to join him, and by the end of the day both of them knew that Martin’s plan, no matter how well-intentioned, was not likely to work.
Jon approached Martin as he flipped their “OPEN/CLOSED” sign to the corresponding side, finally closing up for the evening. Jon cleared his throat, and Martin turned around to face him.
“Hey,” he said, feeling a strange fluttering in his stomach from standing this close to Jon.
Jon paused. “I appreciate you letting me stay here. But I think you and I are both aware that I’m probably going to have to complete my quest alone.”
Martin was aware of this, but he tried to protest anyway. “It’s only been a day!” He pointed out. “Maybe tomorrow someone will come along and—“
“And drop everything to travel hundreds of miles to another kingdom with me?” Jon shook his head. “Martin, you know that’s not going to happen.”
Martin sighed defeatedly. “Yeah. I know.” He paused. “You’re not leaving now, are you?”
“That was the plan,” Jon admitted.
“No.” Martin shook his head. “Absolutely not. You can leave tomorrow, but I’m not going to let you go off on your own at night. Just…stay here again. Please?” He added.
To his surprise, Jon nodded. “Alright,” he said quietly. “One more night.”
This time, Martin insisted that Jon did not fall asleep at the reading table, instead offering him the sofa upstairs. He wondered if his mother would even notice—she hardly left her bed during the day, let alone at night, and it was getting rather late by the time the two finally went upstairs. Still, Martin poked his head into her room to check that she was asleep—not that he’d make a different choice if she weren’t. She could yell at him all she wished, but Jon needed a proper place to rest.
Jon was asleep the minute his head hit the pillow, but Martin had no such luck. He couldn’t stop thinking about how, tomorrow, Jon would be gone forever from his life. It really shouldn’t have bothered him, he reasoned, as, once again, he’d only just met him. But he couldn’t deny that he still felt the beginnings of—he’d call it what it was—a crush on him.
He turned over, burying his face in his pillow and letting out a quiet, exasperated groan. Gods, I’m really in trouble, aren’t I?
The next morning had a cloud hanging over it, both literally and figuratively. The sky outside was overcast, possibly suggesting a storm. Martin had tried to tell Jon maybe he ought to stay another night to avoid the rain, but he had shaken his head and told him that no, he really did have to go this time. Jon had gone downstairs early to avoid Martin’s mother, who had gotten up to eat breakfast and make snappy comments at Martin. Martin had brought down some breakfast for Jon, trying the entire time to think of another excuse to make Jon stay, even if he knew that it was a hopeless endeavour, and not one he should try to pursue either way. Jon had a quest to finish. Who was Martin to interfere?
The goodbye wasn’t tearful, but it certainly was melancholy. The two stood awkwardly by the door, Jon clutching his satchel which now held Ex Altiora and Martin fidgeting with a loose strand on his shirt sleeve.
“Don’t be a stranger, alright?” Martin said quietly, plastering a small smile on his face.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Jon replied, before taking Martin’s hand in his own and kissing it. Martin’s face burned, and he was sure it was fully flushed pink. In that moment he wanted little more than to brush Jon’s hand aside, lean in, and kiss him properly, but instead he pulled him into a tight embrace, wrapping his arms around him and wishing they’d stay there in that bookshop for the rest of their lives.
When they broke apart, Jon smiled awkwardly, and then after one last “Until we meet again, I suppose,” he was out the door and walking down the worn dirt road, limping slightly.
And then Martin was standing in the doorframe, alone once again.
…
He’d known what the physician was going to tell him as soon as she closed the door to his mother’s room, a sympathetic look on her face as she approached the living room. Martin’s mother was gone. He’d known it was coming for years, now, and he’d had his chance to say goodbye. It wasn’t as if she’d cared much to hear it, but he’d gotten to nonetheless. He wondered what her final thoughts had been. Maybe they’d been of him. Maybe they’d been regret over everything she’d done to hurt him. Or maybe they’d been of how worthless of a son he was, and how she wished she’d done better to make him turn out properly.
Martin still hadn’t fully accepted what had happened. It felt too soon, too sudden. He’d read about grief, how it came in stages, and he wondered if this was denial—feeling as if the news hadn’t properly hit him yet. After all, his mother had been his only constant in life. And, for a moment, just that morning, he had hoped maybe Jon would be one, too. But he was long gone. Wasn’t he? Martin sat upright as he pondered this. With his mother gone, nothing was left to tie Martin to the bookshop. He could stay here, mould it into the cosy, friendly little place he’d been dreaming of. Or he could follow Jon. He couldn’t be too far away, now. Martin had time. Or, he would, if he hurried. Maybe someday he could come back, re-open the place with Jon. But right now, his priorities were packing everything he needed and hoping he wasn’t too late.
Martin sprinted through the bookshop, quickly making sure the sign read “closed”. It certainly wasn’t going to open for a while. He knew he probably should think this through further, but he was short on time and couldn’t spare any on hesitation. He hurried outside, slamming the door as he went. He didn’t expect anybody to be outside at this hour who he could ask about where Jon went. And yet, his expectations were subverted, as an old man stood near the docks, waiting for something that Martin couldn’t see.
“Sir!” He called. “Have you seen someone? An elf, dark skin, could be drow? Adventurer type, had a book with him? He left this morning?”
The man nodded slowly. “I’ve seen him. He went into the forest. There’s a path that goes toward the mountains, and I’d assume he’s going to follow it.” He eyed Martin curiously. “Why do you wish to find him?” He asked.
Martin wasn’t sure how to answer. “I care about him,” He told the man after a moment.
The man chuckled. “A common mistake.” He sighed. “Well, go on. You’re wasting time.”
Martin nodded. “Alright. Thank you.” And with that, he tore off again, towards the forest. He’d never been much of a runner, but the possibility of missing his chance pushed him forward. He found himself envying a druid girl who he’d met a few years ago—she’d been able to transform effortlessly into quick animals, or, better yet, flying ones. I’d really benefit from that right about now, Martin thought to himself.
He was running through almost the whole rest of the night. He’d had to stop a few times to catch his breath or drink water, but he’d tried not to spend too much time on breaks. Jon had had the entire day at his regular pace, and Martin had a lot of ground to cover to make up for the distance.
He found Jon that morning just as the sun brought itself over the edge of the mountains. He’d been sprinting for much longer and much farther than he probably ought to have, but none of the cramping or exhaustion mattered to him when he finally saw Jon turn around, the sun catching on his dark hair and his eyes widening when he recognised who was behind him.
“Martin!” He exclaimed, catching the tired wood elf in his arms—not an easy feat, as Jon was still quite a bit smaller than Martin. “What are you doing here?” He asked incredulously.
“I came to…find you.” Martin explained through heavy breathing.
“But the shop, your mother—”
“Dead.” Martin interrupted.
Jon stiffened. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not…it’s not your fault.” Martin shook his head. “I just…I didn’t want to be alone. You don’t want to be alone. So…now neither of us are alone.”
Jon pulled back from their hug a bit, smiling up at Martin. “That’s true.” He agreed, and Martin was reminded of that moment before he had left, when he’d found himself wanting to kiss him, when he’d decided not to, because what did it matter, if Jon would just be gone moments later?
This time, though, once he’d gotten a tiny nod of affirmation from Jon, he didn’t hesitate.