Chapter Text
“These, my friends, are Forget-Me-Nots.” Sacajawea had smiled.
It had all started several dusks ago, when Octavius found himself with Jedediah in the North-American hall. The cowboy had decided that he wanted to spend time with their tracker friend that night, and Octavius had wholeheartedly obliged. Rather than getting into trouble with some deadly escapade, they were just looking at flowers. Something peaceful.
“I like these quite well.” Octavius grinned, observing one of the incredibly small and delicate blossoms as Sacajawea handed him a sprig. Well— the flowers weren’t small to him, per say; in fact, this was the closest thing to a normal-sized flower he had seen in decades. They were vividly blue, with an exceptionally bright yellow-blonde center.
And they reminded him of Jedediah. His sky- blue eyes and blonde hair.
The Roman had turned his head to the side, to look at his best friend instead. Arguably a better sight than even the blooms in his hands.
Jedediah’s hair stirred on by a gentle breeze from the nearby air conditioner vent. The artificial sunlight of Sacajawea’s exhibit glowing on his skin. The cowboy glancing all around him at the billowing grass and ginormous flowers, towering several lengths above their heads. The way he was leaning back on his hands, taking it all in with splendor.
So many flowers, and yet, Jedediah was the most colorful thing in the room.
If only, he could tell his friend so, Octavius had lamented.
“Sometimes it’s called scorpion grass.” Sacajawea added. “Because of how the stems curl— but this is Wood Forget-Me-Not specifically. It’s non-invasive.”
“They’re darn pretty.” Jed beamed. “I remember seein’ these lil things bout’ everywhere in my life— mostly in rivers— but they were a helluva lot tinier back then. Cute, even.”
“I would go as far to say they are cute even now.” Octavius grinned.
Their friend had continued on with the next plant nearby, handing this particular clipping to Jedediah as well.
“This is a wild strawberry leaf.. and a morel mushroom..”
Deep inside his chest, Octavius felt a gentle twinge, an almost.. poke? He inhaled awkwardly for a mere moment, before passing it off as a temporary stitch in his side.
If only he had seen that it wasn’t.
———
Now, Octavius freshens up within his quarters, several evenings later. Observing his reflection in a large, abandoned hand-mirror that Larry had offered after digging it out from the lost-and-found.
For several nights now, he has felt worn thin. A tickle growing in his throat and lungs, as if he were near to fall ill. But that is impossible; never, has an exhibit come down with a cold. Well— other than non-contagious illness, that is. The occasional bout of food sickness or even one-night-too-many spent drinking moonshine.
But never anything viral— or bacterial.
He coughs again, with far more fervor this time.
There is a knock upon his chamber door.
“Y-yes?!” He chokes out, glancing up.
“General Octavius— your friend is here, and wishes a word..”
A second voice radiates through the door.
“Ockie! Come on kemosabe we got Dino-duty tonight! You gettin’ beauty sleep in there or somethin’?” Jedediah, sounding to all the world excitable and joyous.
He smiles for a moment, a creeping heat blushing across his nose, before another cough racks through him. Octavius senses something heavy in his throat and—great. He truly is coming down with something.
“Hey woah Oct— you good in there, partner?” Jedediah sounds concerned.
“Yes— yes only—“ He hacks. “—Only I have had some turnt wine— is all! Nothing to worry abo—“
Octavius doubles over now, choking and struggling in air.
“Are you sure? Sounds like a damn mammoth chokin’ on bubble gum!”
He grips the side of his table in desperation, heaving breaths in from his elbow only to keep coughing on whatever is in his throat and—
Something hits his tongue, smooth and flat. Sticky from his saliva, and quite well-sized.
The General spits in disgust and confusion, until whatever it is flutters to the floor.
It’s blue.
Blue?
A flower petal, nearly the size and shape of his palm.
Forget-me-not.
“Octy? Do I— should I go get somebody? You alright? Can you let me in there, partner?”
“Jedediah.” He breathes. “I think you should go on without me I— I am going to lie down now.”
———
Octavius has seen this only once before, and he has no name for such a phenomenon. That is, no name other than Cupid’s arrow.
In life, one of the several soldiers under his legion had fallen ill over a lengthy journey, and it had begun with complaints of a tickle in his throat which rolled to a cough. Before Octavius even had a grip on the situation in days time, the soldier was choking up vivid purple flower petals, though of a different species entirely. Up until that point, he had never seen such a malady. It quickly took hold and before he knew it, the man had run out of breath in the midst of marching, throat filled to the top with petals. Suffocation. No medics capable of easing the suffering.
Octavius never did learn the name of the illness, nor how it took hold. But he had heard whispers of it being about love: that the man had been struck down by Venus and Cupid themselves. He had never questioned it, superstitious to get involved in the will of the gods.
So why on earth, now, is there a petal in his hands? How could he contract such a curse? What does it mean? Is it even the same thing? He cannot remember inhaling the flowers he saw mere nights prior— unless Jedediah thought it rather funny by stuffing one down his throat in his sleep?
As another cough rolls in, intends to find out what is wrong.
————
“My liege, if I may be so bold as to request a lift to the library?” Octavius asks, helmet held respectfully in his hands as he addresses the Night Guard.
Larry smiles, leaning down. “Sure Octo— hey, where’s Jed?”
“Ah— rather busy— that is all. I will travel alone this evening.”
“Okay.. uh. Why the library?”
“You know as they say: In libris, libertas. Or rather— in books, freedom.”
He means it too, more than the guard seems to recognize. If he can find the cause of his illness, there is potential it could be brought to a close. Especially in the way modern medication has been developed.
“..Oookay.. sure.” Larry shifts him into one pocket.
A resounding crash makes the pair of them turn just as Rexy goes stampeding about the hall, chasing after Dexter who has stolen the rib bone. From the pocket, Octavius can hear the guard sigh with anger.
“Okay— HOLD ON— let me handle these bozos and— hey Ahk, can you take Octavius for me?!”
Octavius finds himself plucked from the pocket once more, and passed off to the mummy in a rush. Though he isn’t upset; Ahkmenrah is far less likely to ask questions about what he is reading, or meddle in the Roman’s business. Larry goes hurrying down the hall, flashlight held aloft and ready to punish the two rouge exhibits.
“Ah— well— hello my little friend. Where is it you and the Guardian Of Brooklyn were intending to go?” Ahkmenrah smiles, like sunshine.
“Greetings and— the library, if you would?” He grips Ahkmenrah’s thumb for balance.
They begin in that direction, down a longer corridor that caters to the guests of the museum; a small gift shop, entrance restrooms, the stairwell to the planetarium, and of course the library.
“And what is it you need in the library— can you— can you read English?” He asks. “Or must I assist?”
He can read English; only, not as well as Latin. But Octavius is not worried about being able to understand the meaning in the books he hopes to find.
“I am researching a rather.. odd topic and— I merely hope you are capable of helping me gather the books from their shelves? I believe I can do the rest on my own.”
“Of course. What’s the topic you seek?”
The pharaoh unlatches the main door to the library, and flicks the light on. The whole room has a different feel compared to the rest of the hallway; where the visitors hall is typically stark white and clean, the library is a jumbled mess of modern shelves.
“I need anything you can find on diseases of the throat. Particularly— respiratory illness?” As he talks, the itch in his chest is all the more prominent. But Octavius refuses to let it show.
Ahkmenrah begins thumbing through the shelves, searching for titles that could match.
“May I ask why?”
Octavius crosses his arms, prepared to lie through his teeth this early in the night.
“I have noticed how I am unaware of how I died in my previous life and… and I was simply curious if anything matched. Though in the state that medicine was within Rome I would not be shocked if it were just a mere normal death for the time…”
“Understandable. Though— would you not prefer books on your past life instead?”
His lips pull taught, and Octavius shakes his head. “No, thank you my liege but— the thought of reading about myself would spark memories I would rather not actively return to..”
The pharaoh nods again. “Understandable as well.. you seek a strange habit tonight though, Octavius. I— I would rather forget how I died, not chase toward it..”
He frowns up at the mummy, who’s eyes have widened significantly. Though the general has never directly asked what caused the death of Ahkmenrah— he has always suspected foul play. Something about it often remarked him as eerily similar to the death of his own father, Caesar. Octavius shakes the thought away, absentmindedly rubbing the side of his chestplate.
“Alright. Here.” Ahkmenrah lowers him to the floor, a spread of books placed out and easily accessible. Octavius dismounts the hand, hopping onto one of the several books.
“Thank you, my liege!”
“I trust you can return to your diorama alone?”
“Yes. You may be off.” The general waves a hand in signal for his friend to leave, once the library door clicks again, Octavius turns down to the books with a grim expression.
——
Before he can get even seven pages through, Octavius is bent over coughing again. Another blue petal landing between the pages of the book he stands atop.
So, it wasn’t a random occurrence?
His soul suddenly feels heavy, alongside his lungs.
He grabs another page by the edge and walks to turn it, taking more effort than it should.
The page falls over, and this time, he is met with something promising. Several historical artworks of figures with flowers falling from their lips; most depictions of ancient artworks from Asia, but others show what he now recognizes as renaissance paintings or even ancient Egyptian carvings with the same depiction. There’s a caption on the side of the next page.
(Hanahaki Disease)
—-Historically known as ‘Cupid’s Arrow’, ‘Pushing Up Daisies’, “Being Bewitched/Enchanted’, alongside several other names or references, Hanahaki disease is the official name for a condition in which the afflicted coughs up flower petals after suffering from unrequited love. Said growth within the lungs often spreading throughout the body causing suffocation or difficulty breathing.—-
—-There have been hundreds of depictions of the illness found across time and almost all cultures. But it is believed in modern day that the idea of Cupid’s arrow came from the belief that an arrow piercing the heart could also cause flowers to bloom in the victim’s torn open lungs. It is also thought to contribute to the worldwide association between flora and romantic gesture.—-
Octavius squints. He had known what it means to be struck by Cupid’s arrow, of course. But this definition implies that the people of Rome and Greece were far more aware of the condition than he ever was. And sure, Octavius had only truly seen the one case, but how had he missed this? Clearly he had never been around it enough in life to pay attention. He had been too busy managing Rome. That, or, in this new body, he has no memory of the condition.
He continues reading on, spurred on with hope that he is not losing his mind.
—-There is not one specific breed of flower that inflicts each victim, in most cases, the color is representative of the longed-after person. Certain flowers, also appear to convey meaning as well, though they very far and wide across reports. The well-known ‘Language of Flowers’ stems from historical reports of consistencies across cases.—-
—-Victims of this debilitating disease suffer from unrequited love. The only cures found as of modern day being either returned affection or in early cases, surgery. In the case of surgical removal of the infection, the victim’s romantic feelings dissipate, often causing prolonged sensations of apathy or even depression. Returned affections must be romantic; strong friendship is not enough to rid of the affection.—-
—-In many reports, Hanahaki can be contagious across touch. If you believe yourself afflicted, speak to a doctor and attempt to avoid spreading the infection.—-
—-Failure to receive returned affection or proper care will result in death.—-
Octavius’s knees give out and he hits the paper, chest heaving.
Death?
DEATH?
Not again, not—
No. No time to panic.
He still has time to figure it all out. Surely the person he’s fallen for is none other than…
… Jedediah.
A stubborn, wild blonde cowboy, who has never admitted or actively shown romantic affection to anyone in his long second-life. The same cowboy who blushes at the mere idea of phallic pathways in Rome or Roman statues. His best friend. His beautiful best friend—
He chokes, gripping one hand to the center of his chestplate as a wheeze racks through him. Air rushing in and out of his gradually tightening lungs, something lodged in his throat.
Another blue flower petal is freed, hitting the parchment of the book like a sign of what’s to come.
He will not place guilt upon Jedediah’s shoulders. He will not make a man try to fall in love with him, who is surely uninterested. Most importantly, he will not spread the infection to anyone else. He only prays that Jedediah or the others haven’t already contracted it, just from the sheer amount of nights he clearly has been suffering from it.
His burden to bear alone.
Octavius prepares himself to die again.
But first, he has to learn exactly what he’s drowning in.
————
“My dear friend— I wish to speak with you if you will?”
At his words, Sacajawea glances down, kneeling to speak to him and offering a hand.
“Octavius?”
He shakes his head.
“No— no thank you Sacajawea— I… I wish not to be ‘manhandled’ tonight..”
In truth, he is avoiding the spread of the infection. Only finding the information he needs before he plans to run off and face the coming storm alone. The tracker’s eyebrows rise, and she pulls her own hand back.
“Alright… what is the problem? Why do you need me?”
“This.” He holds one of the blue petals aloft. “The uh… the Forget-Me-Nots?”
“Yes?..”
“I wish to know more about them I—- I find myself… connected to them… in a way.”
She smiles, sitting down fully on the linoleum floor to discuss properly.
“I see. Yes. What about them?”
“Anything. Everything.”
“Well… Octavius I have told you the basics. This type is native to North America… especially locations west of here. It is a non-invasive species and no concern in modern day. Most often, it is found alongside rivers, bodies of water, or streams..”
“Yes. I remember quite well.”
“There is more, I suppose.” She smiles. “In the language of flowers— it symbolizes…. Faithfulness. Remembrance.. and most often true love—or high respect. That is how they earn the name. Forget-Me-Not. A symbol that you shall not forget someone, keeping them in your heart always.”
Gods, how could they ever be so perfect?
There is no one he is sure to forever remember like he is Jedediah. No one that occupies his memories in such a way. No one else he respects more— is more faithful to. He would remember Jedediah blind— in darkness— by sound alone. If he had so much as held the cowboy’s hand a single time, he could identify it forever onward. Until time itself stops.
And Jedediah is who, he supposes, he will remember when this is through. When he is no more.
“Thank you… I… this has been very enlightening..” Octavius stifles a cough.
“Of course, Octavius, do come back if you wish to know more about other flowers.. and I will offer you a sprig to take with you.”
“I appreciate that… but I rather do not think I will need to take the offer— soon enough..”
————-
“General! There you are!— We were just beginning drills and require your guidance—!”
Octavius brushes past his soldiers and centurions, coughing into one elbow.
“General Octavius? General— are you listening?”
“Men— I am unwell— I wish no one to my quarters for as long as I do not withdrawal this order: No one may enter my quarters for any reason— not even those from the west or the Night Guard himself. And— place Fabian in charge.”
“Sir—!”
Without another order, the general stumbles away into his private rooms, sliding down the backside of the door once it is properly sealed. Another hack vibrates his chest, and a blue petal flies to land on the floor. All that he can think of is Jedediah as his eyes run over the blue shade of the petal. Innocent in this; Jedediah would never mean to hurt him. And he will not cause guilt. He will not place pressure. He will not force someone to love him.
A teardrop slides down his face, hot and painful, landing only when it hits the metal of his helmet. Even as he hates to admit it— Octavius is scared to die again.
Idly, he turns toward the rest of the dark interior, taking it all in.
A bed and a sitting room; a place for the end.