Work Text:
Mayflower
The first time Lark sees Rosethorn is on her first day at Winding Circle. Dedicate Mallee is leading her past the fields where the temples grow some of their crops when Lark sees a field of sunflowers and stops. There, amidst the half-grown plants, stands a woman clad in Earth Temple green, feet barefoot and head uncovered. She’s standing in the field, eyes closed, and Lark would think she was meditating if not for the serenely determined look on her face. With her broad shoulders and russet hair, she looks to Lark like one of the statues of plant goddesses she’d seen on her travels: not Mila, or whoever they worshipped here, but one of the harvest goddesses who actually did all the work in the fields while the fertility goddesses just stood around and looked pretty. The woman radiates strength, and as Lark watches, the sunflowers appear to grow taller, and in unison, the flowers turn to face the woman, as if she were a second, closer sun.
“Who is that?” Lark asks.
“Oh, that’s Rosethorn,” Mallee explains. “She’s an ambient mage like you, but with plants. They act odd around her, but you’ll get used to it.”
“Somehow, I don’t think I will,” Lark murmurs to herself, turning to face Rosethorn even as Mallee leads her away and towards the dormitories. “I think I’ll remember this.”
Jasmine
Yasmin thinks the whole situation is adorable.
“Look at you!” she laughs, eyes flashing with delight. “You’re blushing like a maiden at her first harvest dance. ‘Does she like me? Does she even like women? How do I make the first move when we’re already such great friends?’” Yasmin laughs harder. “Every time we meet for tea, you can’t stop mentioning her, how she’s so talented with her plants, how you’ve never met an ambient mage like her before….you’re so calf-eyed over her I can’t help but laugh!”
Lark grumbles something unintelligible into her tea, making Yasmin laugh harder.
“You could always offer to teach her dancing, and then show up in your practice clothes...I think that would make her get the hint fairly quickly.” Back when Yasmin and Lark had been in the same dance troupe, they had often practiced in just undershorts and breastbands, and while it certainly is comfortable, Lark doesn't think it would be entirely the right approach.
“I’m not trying to seduce her, I’m trying to court her! Or see if she is open to being courted by a woman. Or if she is open to being courted by me. Or...oh sweet Ashtara, I feel so nervous!”
“So light some incense to her for luck with your ladylove, take a relaxing bath, and meditate on it. You know as well as I that working yourself into a tizzy over this will just make things worse until you wind up blurting out something unintelligible and awkward.”
“You mean like you did in front of that guzheng player in Tiansheng?”
“I was overwhelmed by the music.”
“You were overwhelmed by how awkward you were and how nice she looked in that dress.”
Yasmin glares, and Lark sticks her tongue out at her friend. Laughing, the two women continue to drink tea and chat well into the night.
Honeysuckle
“What do you think of my new garden?” Rosethorn asked, leaning on her heavy spade, pride and a touch of nervousness evident in her voice.
“It’s lovely! I admit I don’t know too many plants, not yet, ….oh, but there’s madder, and safflower, and basketflower and blaeberry....what’s that one with the pretty purple flowers over there? I don’t think I’ve seen that one before.”
“Butterfly milkweed. Mostly to bring in pollinators, but it also makes the green dye Earth Temple uses for robes.”
“So that’s what it looks like! Oh, Rosethorn, it’s lovely!” Lark’s face lit up as she finally realized what was going on. “These plants - they’re all dye plants!”
“You shouldn’t have to go to the marketplace for the ones you need, not when I can grow them easily enough.” Rosethorn’s voice was gruff, but she was blushing under her wide-brimmed straw sunhat. “It’s for you.”
Lark’s sudden embrace knocked the hat clear off of Rosethorn’s head. Neither of them particularly minded after that.
Heliotrope
Lark smiled as she put the finishing touches on the warm winter coat. It was good sturdy wool that she’d spun and woven herself, lined with the softest cashmere she could find. The outer layer was a deep shade of dark green, just the perfect shade to set off the reddish tones in Rosethorn’s auburn hair, and along the hems and cuffs, she’d embroidered a riot of flowers.
She’d borrowed a book of plant meanings from the earth temple library, and had spent hours poring over which plants to embroider, along with the right protective sigils to match the flowers’ meanings. There were sprigs of white heather for protection, gladiolus for strength, buttercup for fortune, celandine for joy, laurel for success, peach blossoms for longevity and generosity, phlox for harmony, sweetbrier for easy paths, elderflowers for compassion and healing, scarlet lilies for ambition, and sunflowers for good thoughts.
The inner lining was similarly embroidered, but where the outer embroideries were signs of things she wished for Rosethorn, the flowers on the inside would reflect just how much she loved Rosethorn, or at least, Lark hoped they would. Neither she nor Rosethorn were much for big romantic gestures, and things were still so new and fragile, Lark worried that a big public display would be inappropriate. So instead, she stitched her feelings into the soft pale green cashmere. Hibiscus for how beautiful she found Rosethorn, the way the magic shone through her and the way her eyes lit up when she was happy, and the way her smile always had a hint of mischief to it. Magnolia for the way Rosethorn loved nature and how at home she was outdoors, and how she had taught Lark so much about growing things. Dandelions for how fun it was to flirt with her, even as awkward as they had both been at first, and geranium for how determined they had been to get to know each other. She added primroses to convey the depth of her love for the other woman, blue roses for how she had fallen hard and intensely for her, and purple tulips to express how Lark would always love her. As a private joke, she embroidered larkspur entwined with red roses along the inside collar, symbols of joy and true love, as well as a private pun on both of their names.
Finishing the final flower, she gave the coat one last look before carefully folding it and placing it in her clothespress. She would give it to Rosethorn tomorrow, as both a winter solstice gift, and a nameday present, in hopes that it would keep Rosethorn warm and safe, and remind her of just how much she was loved.
Gardenia
Lark sighed happily, snuggling against Rosethorn. It was a warm spring day, the perfect day to relax in the sunlight and enjoy the way everything was fresh and new, the world waking up after a long winter dormancy. A light breeze stirred the grass as she gently ran her fingers through Rosethorn’s short-cropped hair.
“What, are you a cat instead of a lark now?” Rosethorn grumbled affectionately, her head resting against Lark’s chest.
“Your hair feels nice. I’m a spinner - I can’t help combing through things with my fingers. It’s relaxing, isn’t it?”
They were the best kind of tired - Lark had decided that she was going to show Rosethorn how to do cartwheels, and hadn’t taken no for an answer as she dragged the shorter woman outside to practice tumbling on the soft spring grass. Rosethorn had responded by taking Lark to one of the grassy hills on the temple grounds and showing Lark something thing she’d learned as a child: how fun it was to roll down a grassy hill, getting dizzy and giggly from spinning before stumbling uphill to roll down again.
Eventually they had gotten tired, and grass-stained as they were, had decided it couldn’t hurt to just lie on the grass and relax, enjoying the feeling of lying against each other. Neither of them were in temple robes: Rosethorn had stripped to the undertunic and knee-length breeches she wore under her robes so that she could stay cool and still kilt up her robes if she needed to work in the garden; Lark was in a loose skirt and gauzy top from her days as a dancer. The feeling of Rosethorn’s skin against hers was a pleasant distraction, and she kept carding her fingers through Rosethorn’s hair, gently massaging as she did, noting how her grumbling had turned to a contented purring.
“Now who’s the cat?” Lark laughed, as Rosethorn let out a happy murmur at the feeling of Lark’s fingers on her scalp.
“Yes, well...you’re good at this,” Rosethorn said, grumbling only barely present in her voice. “You can keep doing it if you want.”
“Oh, how generous. Well, you know I can never turn down a request from you...”
“Exactly.” Rosethorn sounded downright smug, and Lark laughed, her hands moving down to start massaging Rosethorn’s shoulders, smiling as the shorter woman let out a pleased sigh. A warm day with just a hint of breeze, the scent of clover in the air, lying in the grass with the woman she loved….if it wasn’t perfection, it was gods near close.
“I’ll do this as long as you want me to.”