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“Geralt, slow down.”
“Geralt we have to stop.”
“Gerrrraaaalllllt.”
Geralt huffed and turned around to glare at Jaskier behind him who had stopped in the middle of the road.
“Why?”
“Because Geralt. Flowers.” Jaskier spread his hands out to indicate the field surrounding them on either side of the road, full to bursting with weeds and spring flowers.
“You heard the man. Flowers.” Renfri said, taking Roaches reigns from Geralt and guiding the horse off the road into a patch of lush grass. Roach immediately went for the grass, tail swishing as she ate. Geralt grumbled to himself but followed, his protests about reaching the inn before dark falling on stubborn ears. Renfri smirked at him from her spot on a downed tree and gestured him over to her. He sat with a huff, digging his elbow into her side. Her smirk transformed to a smile and she poked him, encouraging a shoulder nudge that would have sent her toppling if it weren’t for the hands on her shoulders.
“Stop it, I’m trying to measure.” Came Jaskier’s irritated voice from behind them. Renfri felt something tickling at her ear and grabbed at it, tossing what turned out to be a long vine away from her.
“Hey! I was using that!” Jaskier hurried to pick it up again, coming into view, his arms laden with flowers and long stems of grass. Renfri raised a curious eyebrow as Jaskier sat himself in front of her on the grass, laying out the flowers and vines he had picked. Geralt leaned back against the fallen trunk and, clasping his hands behind his head, closed his eyes and tilted his face into the weak rays of the sun, seeming content to rest until Jaskier was ready to leave.
Renfri watched as Jaskier picked up a daisy and weaved grass around the stem, adding small flowers and leaves into the weave as he worked. “Here,” He said and held out a fist full of sunflowers. Her favorite flower. She took them and held them in her hands. They felt small and fragile in her calloused hands, not meant for something as tough as she. Jaskier handed her a vine and slowed his movements, letting her watch what he was doing as he taught her. Renfri was reluctant at first, but eventually held a beautiful crown in her hands, a row of bright helianthus side by side, woven together with vines and grass. She hands it to Jaskier and he beams, clad in his own flower crown of daisies and babies breath, before placing it on her head.
Renfri was not a feminine woman. She wore trousers and boots, not typical of a woman. Her hair was short and so was her temper. She carried a sword and dagger with her, she drank ale and beer. Not the typical choice of alcohol for a woman. She fought and stole and swore and slouched. Certainly frowned upon for an princess.
She wore this delicate, dainty flower crown and felt more like a woman than she had in a while. Certainly more like a princess- but not in a bad way. When she drew her sword and peered at her reflection in the flat of her blade, it was still Renfri staring back at her, ex-thief and monster slayer and princess.
She turned to Jaskier and he laughed, delighted. “Stunning!”
She had to agree.
She looked good in a crown.