Chapter Text
Truthless Recluse knew coming down from his tower was a bad idea. While he couldn’t see into the future, his inferences were hardly ever off the mark, and from the moment he stepped out of his front door, he could feel that he was making a mistake. But against his better judgement, he swallowed that lump in his throat and descended anyway. His task was of greater importance than its potential side effects.
Lo and behold, he was once again correct. Meeting with the Sage of Truth in the square… As much as he hated the cookie for all he did, recklessly spreading the truth to cookies who had no need for such knowledge, his words stuck with him. Echoed in his mind as the recluse gazed down at the school no larger than his fingertip from his vantage point. This is what he was afraid of: descending his tower and interacting with the world below ailing him with longing of something long lost.
He’d spent decades, maybe even centuries, haunting the Peak of Truth, awaiting the arrivals of fools looking to add cards to their hand. During those years, he forcibly buried any and all memories of his past self in the garden. The life he had bore no meaning to the Truthless Recluse of the present. But in that square, gazing into the bi-coloured eyes of the Sage of Truth that held so much life…the firm lock on his past ever-so-slowly began to click open, one pin at a time.
The second time he descended the peak, he once again sought out the sage.
“You’ve returned! Is it possible that even the Truthless Recluse himself wanted to sit in on one of my lectures? I fear you just missed today’s again, unfortunately.”
Truthless Recluse gave him a flat look.
The Sage of Truth covered his mouth to stifle a giggle. “All right, all right. You look like you have something on your mind. Care to share?”
The recluse’s grip tightened on his staff. Did he really want to vent his woes to his antithesis—and not to mention they were basically strangers.
“Oh don’t look at me like that. I’m offering, am I not? Come, my office is far from any prying ears.” The sage turned on his heel and walked off, confident the other would follow.
And he would be correct.
Truthless Recluse kept his eyes pinned to the floor as the pair walked through the grandiose school, not wanting to add more fuel to the fire of his crumbling resolve.
Finally, they entered the sage’s office. It was neither big nor small, just enough space for him to comfortably go about his day. A dark oak desk took up a majority of the floor space, the walls lined with books and scrolls that looked like they hailed from several different eras. A small tea cart was parked beside the desk, holding a kettle, portable stove and tea cups on the top, and at least twenty different types of teas on the bottom .
“Do you have any preference on tea, my friend? I’ve got all kinds,” he knelt down beside the cart as he spoke, sifting through his collection.
“I don’t drink tea.”
The sage whipped around, the cart’s contents swaying from the momentum, looking utterly scandalized.
Truthless Recluse’s brow twitched upward. “The Peak of Truth is not abundant in luxuries.”
“Then you ought to come down more often so I can show you exactly what you’re missing!”
There was no response, the proposition in those words forming another lump in Truthless Recluse’s throat that he couldn’t swallow down. He should leave. If this interaction continued, the only outcome could only be him consumed by despair. He sucked in a breath, a declaration of his departure gathering on his tongue, but the words fell away when the scent of the tea the sage had made hit his nose.
The sweet smell of vanilla overwhelmed his senses, rooting him firmly in place. Another pin clicked into place. When the recluse first ascended the peak, one of the first things discarded from his old life was his flavour. He couldn’t recall how it happened, only that somewhere along the way, his dough seemed to dull, with no discernible scent. He never dwelled on it; even if he wanted to, he didn’t have the energy. He didn’t know why the tea reminded him of his flavourlessness, and he banished the thought from his mind.
The Sage of Truth, seemingly none the wiser, smiled brightly at his guest. “Tea’s ready! I made some vanilla black tea. It’s quite subtle, but I get a faint whiff of vanilla around you, so figured you might like this,” he explained as he cleared a few papers off his almost comically messy desk.
“There we go, come have a seat!” The sage declared after a good minute of shoving loose papers and the odd book into haphazard stacks on either side of his desk.
Still in the throes of his crisis, his rigid dough refused to move an inch.
“...Is something the matter?” The Sage asked, tilting his head to the side.
“I…” Truthless Recluse grimaced at how pathetic he sounded. This wasn’t like him. How could he be so easily unravelled by something as simple as a cup of tea?
His limbs finally unfroze allowing him to scrape his nails down his arm to bring him back to the present. He was a guest of someone he couldn’t even call an acquaintance. He couldn’t be acting a fool. He ignored the unfettered concern on the sage’s face and finally sat down.
Seeing his refusal to say anything, the sage sighed quietly and placed the teacups in front of both of them.
The silence blanketed the room in the most uncomfortable way possible, neither quite wanting to be the first to speak. The sage took ginger sips of his tea while Truthless Recluse white-knuckled his staff, eyes trained on the desk, pointedly not looking at the tea. With every second that ticked by, Truthless Recluse wished more and more he had the ability to teleport if only to get him out from under the sage’s worried gaze. The lump in his throat about ready to start choking him.
Across the desk, the sage finally had enough, and placed his cup down just loud enough to get the other’s attention.
“Okay, I think that’s enough brooding for one day. Penny for your thoughts?”
Truthless Recluse’s fingers twitched. “I believe I made a mistake.”
“Oh?” The sage leaned in, propping his chin on his interlaced fingers. “What, pray tell, was this mistake that ails you so?”
“Meeting you in the square the other day.”
“The other day? My friend, it has almost been three.”
“...Ah. The passage of time is not very apparent on the peak.”
“Interesting…” The sage muttered a few things to himself before violently shaking his head. “That’s a topic for another time,” he said slightly louder before returning his attention to his guest. “Anyway, why do you think our meeting was a mistake? That meeting has led you to me once again, I would be more keen on calling it ‘fate’.”
“You are excessively optimistic.”
The sage laughed. “Can I consider that to be a compliment?”
“I wouldn’t.”
Another laugh. “I think I will regardless. But you still didn’t answer my question.”
Truthless Recluse didn’t answer right away, his brain still cycling through every possible response he could give. The Sage of Truth waited patiently all the while, quietly sipping away at his tea.
Eventually, the recluse sighed, and resigned himself to oversharing. He knew it was stupid and he should just stick to the bare minimum to get through the interaction, but when would he next get the chance to talk to another cookie?
“I have been guarding the Peak of Truth for several lifetimes now. I have little memory of the cookie I was or the life I lived before I ascended the mountain. I accepted, and even welcomed this, as I have nothing to mourn,” he took a deep breath, his eyes still refusing to meet the sage’s, “But after I returned from meeting you, I find myself wistful for a life that is no longer mine, even though the memories still elude me.”
For once, the Sage of Truth was well and truly at a loss for words. Faced with his silence Truthless Recluse finally peeled his eyes off the floor and looked at the sage, whose concern-filled expression was not unlike a small cat that had just been doused with water.
“I do not need your ruth. This conversation was not my intention.”
“Then what was your intention?”
“I want it to stop.” His blunt reply made the sage’s eyes widen in surprise.
“Is that what you want? Or is that just what is comfortable?”
To that, the recluse had no answer. Or if he did, it was not one he was willing to voice.
“If you want my opinion,” he continued, “I think perhaps you finally realized you missed having someone to talk to, even if it wasn’t consciously. Even in my own agelessness, I couldn’t possibly imagine spending centuries in confinement as you have condemned yourself to. Cookies need community to thrive.”
“Socialization is meaningless.”
The corners of the sage’s lips curved into a soft smile. “My friend, if you truly believed that, would you be sitting here with me right now?”
Silence once again fell over the room, only it was significantly less soul-crushing this time around—for the sage, anyway. The recluse hadn’t confronted his own emotions in centuries. It had been so long since he genuinely felt any emotion other than his perpetual state of melancholy. But this cookie in front of him managed to reintroduce him to several in the short time they had been in his office. By all accounts, he should leave immediately, scrub the memory from his brain like he has in the past and continue his simple existence on the Peak of Truth.
Only… He wasn’t sure he’d be able to anymore.
The recluse was brought back to the present by the sound of ceramics clinking. His eyes refocused to see the sage placing his cup back down in front of him, steam wafting from it anew. The smell as well, that had been dulled by his original cup going cold, returned stronger than ever. The sweet, gentle aroma of vanilla filled his lungs, doing nothing if not making his predicament worse.
“It would make me immensely happy if you were to at least try a sip before all of it goes cold. Good tea should not be wasted, you know.”
Fully resigning himself to his fate of no longer being able to return to his life as he knew it, he took the warm cup in his hands and took a sip.
The flavour was like nothing he’d ever tasted before, yet was so incredibly familiar all the same. On the mountain food was a rarity, but even if some fool climbing the peak happened to leave some behind after being chased down, he would never eat it. His detachment from the cookie world included its food; he didn’t want to indulge in anything that would dampen his resolve.
He had half a mind to curse the sage for making him break vow after vow, but he welcomed it at the same time. He couldn’t tell if he hated it or not.
The Sage of Truth watched him, a smile dancing along his lips. “Do you like it?”
Truthless Recluse nodded once as he placed the cup back on its saucer.
“I guess you’ll just have to come back again, I have many a different flavours for you to try.”
“I think I would rather stick with this one.”
The sage clutched his chest to feign offence. “You need to learn to live a little, my friend, it won’t do if you stick with just the first thing you try.”
“Then should I go find another lecturer to talk to?”
The sage’s jaw went slack. “That is completely different and you know it!”
The recluse simply shrugged, taking another sip of his drink. “Sounds about the same to me.”
“You’re impossible.”
“And here I thought you believed there was no such thing as impossibility.”
“That was in my lecture today! You were listening?”
“I had to make sure you weren’t sharing too much that would incite your listeners to try and climb the mountain.”
They continued going back and forth in a similar manner until the tea was finished. After the pot was empty, The Sage of Truth escorted Truthless Recluse back out to the square, a lighter silence keeping them company rather than suffocating them for a change.
“Until next time?” The sage asked at the tree line.
“Hm. Perhaps,” was all the recluse offered as he disappeared into the darkness.