Work Text:
The soft sigh of a breeze, cool against her warm skin, whispered of an evening storm. Promising a reprieve from the scorching summer sun and unrelenting temperatures. Gan found she didn’t mind summer. It didn’t bother her as it had last year, when she’d bore a different name, and wore a title as lovely as the fine silks of long forgotten dresses. Her unique disposition allowed her to labor away without concern for the sun, while others had to seek shade or the comfort of the cool river waters. Though, she enjoyed the latter with the company of friends or when she needed a reprieve from the labors of her work.
Today, however, with chores complete for the morning, she’d found solace atop a hill braiding together wild flowers into crowns. Something she hadn’t done since she was a child. She’d been inspired by the sweet scent on the air and the stunning beauty of them cast across the field as well as the fine embroidery on Felicity’s newest gown. Gan wove bitterweed and blue bonnie asters together with daisies, cone flowers, and now, to her delight, goldenrod. She looked up to the black dog before her, Remus, his blue eyes the color of the forget-me-not in her hand. His mouth full of long green stems tipped with the distinct fuzzy blooms of the goldenrod she’d requested. Pollen painted his nose and sleek black fur in swaths of hazy yellow and she smiled. Remus had only found her half an hour ago and already he had gathered enough blossoms for her to have crowns for nearly all of Soulford.
“Thank you,” she said, as he laid the flowers down beside her and then looked back to her expectantly. His tail undulated back and forth, disturbing a cluster of pink flowers she didn’t have a name for. “Surprise me,” she grinned, and Remus, tail wagging excitedly, bounded off into the lush green of the field, disturbing sprays of catchfly and oxeye daisies as he went.
Gan watched him run, carefree, down the hill and into the wood line before she returned to the work in her hand. She wove in the forget-me-not she held, its blue petals brilliant against the delicate white of the daisy it was nestled against. She imagined Felicity wearing it, woven into her golden curls, complementing the colors of her newest summer dress. Maybe, Gan thought, Felicity would have a way to preserve the flowers. Allow them to keep their colors and their shape for longer than a day. No, Gan thought, that was the beauty in a flower crown. They were fleeting and lovely and meant to be treasured as a memory. She tied off the ends of the circlet and set it aside.
Evey’s wreath came next and Gan thought of her beautiful dark hair and warm features. She took up the goldenrod and cleaned the leaves and roots from their stems before she began to braid them together with sprigs of blue bonnie asters and daisies, long stalks of purple coneflowers, and rich red and yellow coreopsis flowers. She would look like a queen, regal, elegant and tall.
Remus came back with lilacs this time, nearly half a bush by the looks of it. Gan wondered how on earth he’d managed to pry it from the main plant much less drag the whole branch up the hill. He sat it down beside her, the purple flowers smelled heavenly, and she inhaled deeply. Remus barked, once, then twice before he ran off, back down the hill without her saying a word. She sat stunned and then she laughed. Cody was, if nothing else, infectiously enthusiastic. No wonder Felicity was so in love with him. His kindness knew no bounds and how he looked at the blonde, made Gan extraordinarily happy. She had come to love her family here. Molland, Evey, Felicity, Cody and even Logan had become a part of her that she knew she would have forever.
The thought nearly choked her and she swallowed past a knot in her throat. Gan knew their memories would never leave her even if she left them because she hated the idea of any of them being in harm's way because of her. The threat of the Motherless still loomed at her back, breath hot against her neck, and she feared what would happen if more of them came for her and if she continued to resist. It had occurred to her, more than once, that she should leave and allow Evey, Molland, Cody, and Logan to stay as happy memories. Safe from whatever malintent the Motherless had for her.
Wind stirred the flora and fauna around her, whipped the sweet scent of the lilacs into the air, and pulled her from her woeful thoughts. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small knife and began to cut lilacs from the oversized branch. The busy song of an Orchard Oriole called from nearby and she looked up in time to see its rusty red breast flit across the sky. A jay cried from the wood line, the thrum of a woodpecker proclaiming his territory, and the ever present hum of bees filled her head. She lost herself in the calming monotony of trimming flowers.
Remus was back again, this time, with several branches of red yarrow in his mouth, a bumblebee clinging desperately to a cluster of equally fuzzy flowers. When the black dog stopped it clumsily took flight and was lost to the yawning blue sky. Gan laughed and took the flowers then held up a crown for him.
“One for Felicity,” she said, and slipped it over Remus’ head. “One for you, as Cody,” she added the second circlet, “and one for Remus,” Gan smiled and placed a small tiara of daisies on his head; secured over his upright ears.. Remus sat before her, content for a moment, panting, and, she imagined, happy. She chuckled as she looked at him, tongue lolled out, flowers of all shapes and sizes hung about his neck, and he didn’t complain. He sat, wagging his tail, taking a break and, for a moment, she truly thought he was a dog.
Remus looked up, tongue tucked back in his mouth for a breath, as he swung his head around and looked. He heard something that she could not but did not seem alarmed beyond the pull of his attention. Then he was gone, leaving her and the plethora of flowers behind. Gan returned to her work. She lost herself in winding delicate stems together, adding in the fragrant lilacs and wondering if Mildred could make jelly from the petals. Lilac jelly on bread was a treat but she wasn’t sure the seamstress was a capable cook. It wasn’t in her trade and she’d never eaten anything that Mildred had prepared, beyond tea. Maybe Molland knew how to or maybe even Felicity. Canning was like alchemy, in a way.
“You’re still here,” his voice startled her, she hadn’t heard him approach, and she looked up to the tall Garrin. He didn’t wear his usual Garriford uniform, his duties done for the day, no doubt, but Logan, she knew, was always on patrol.
“I am,” she stated, biting her tongue against a sarcastic remark as she returned her attention to her work. It was hot, even if she couldn’t feel it, and he’d come to her peacefully, and she wouldn’t goad him for a laugh even if he made it easy. It wasn’t worth the bickering the summer sun would contribute to. Logan shifted on his feet and, for a second, she wondered if he would leave as soon as he’d arrived. She wished he wouldn’t. In the last few months she’d come to enjoy his company, even if it was spent in silence.
“May I join you?” he asked, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant and she patted the ground beside her. Logan sat down and she pulled a spray of blue bonnies from under her pile of goldenrod. Gan struggled with the spray, several small blue flowers stripped from their stems, and she frowned at the nearly bare stalk. “Here,” Logan took the bedraggled branch from her and placed, with his other hand, a small bouquet of fragrant gardenias in her lap. They were beautiful and smelled heavenly.
“Thank you,” she said, breathlessly, stunned that he even had the flowers to start with. “They’re lovely… I thought all of the gardenias had finished blooming,” Gan ran her hand over the white velvety petals, tracing the edges before she added several to the crown she was working on.
“A few late blooms lingered,” Logan said, as she worked.
“Did Remus send you up here?” she asked and she glanced up at him, briefly, and saw that he watched her work. His brilliant green eyes focused intently on the simple pattern she wove with the stems. She smiled.
“No, Cody did… I saw him wearing a flower crown and giving one to Felicity just down the road. He pointed me in your direction,” Logan explained, he idly scratched the side of his face, the hint of a beard growing there as swiftly as the sun crossed the heavens. Gan finished the circlet in her hands and set it aside before she reached back and unwound her long braid and began adjusting her hair. Curls framed her head, slightly damp from a hint of sweat she hadn’t realized had formed on her brow. Still a far cry from the evident heat that Logan wore. She wondered why he’d elected to sit with her, she wasn’t in the shade, and she knew the sun to be hot. Perspiration dampened his own face. Gan pulled her mind from her own curiosity and reached for the garland she’d just made. She placed it on her head and spent several long minutes weaving a braid around it, securing it in place. Logan continued to watch in fascinated silence. She wondered what he was thinking.
“I’m making you one next, if you’d like,” Gan said, Logan blinked at her, a touch of pink colored his cheeks and she couldn’t tell if it was from the summer sun or something more.
“You… you don’t have to,” he insisted, being polite, she knew.
“I know I don’t… but I’d like to,” she hummed, and gathered up several stalks of red yarrow and the gardenias he’d brought.
“Then, yes, I’d like one,” he admitted, and she couldn’t help the smirk that graced her features. Logan, for all his seriousness and bravado, was still delightfully human and child-like. He wanted to be included, though she’d never had the intention of excluding him. She had, however, not expected him to be so eager to receive her gift.
“One flower crown fit for our noblest of Garrin’s coming right up,” she chimed, and wondered if he knew the meaning of the heavenly-scented blossoms he’d brought. It seemed unlikely that he knew anything about the language of flowers and how the fragrant gardenia was a symbol of secret love. A huff of a laugh left her nose. No, she thought, he wouldn’t know. Still, all the same, she wove them into their matching crowns, adding lilac and goldenrod to it, embellishing it with blue asters, forget-me-nots, and tufts of decorative grasses. This one, she observed, had been her best work.
Gan stood, once the wreath was finished, and brushed off her skirts. Logan looked up to her, a question in his gaze.
“Now, Sir Logan Garriford, please, take a knee so that I may bestow you with the best crown I have ever made, ” she announced with a sweep of her hand, she held the circlet up high and a hint of a smile graced Logan’s features.
“Your wish is my command, my lady,” he obliged and the title of lady on his lips made her heart skip. It was a title she never thought she’d hear again and having it spoken, even in jest, shot her through with a bolt of grief so impactful she almost dropped her smile. She didn’t. Instead, she focused on Logan, the man she’d come to respect and admire, against all odds, and stepped up to him. He knelt before her, head bowed, reverent even in their play, and she was struck in equal parts of awe and wonder at him. The heartache was forgotten and replaced with unbridled joy. She was happy here, with him, and all of her friends.
“Do you vow, Sir Logan of Soulford, to protect this crown in all its flora splendor?” she said, in mock seriousness.
“I do,” he pledged.
“Do you vow to cherish it for the rest of its fleeting life and beauty?” she queried.
“I do,” he promised, and she could hear the laughter in his tone.
“Are you laughing, Sir? This is a very serious matter, you know,” she resisted giggling as well.
“No, no, I’m not laughing. I would never mock your crown or your craft, continue, my lady,” he insisted, but she didn’t have to see his face to know that he was smiling.
“Very well then, one last vow,” Gan said, as she held the fragrant wreath above his head. “Do you vow to always pick the freshest blooms whenever I, Gan Ainm, request them?” she asked.
“I do,” he stated, and with that she lowered the flora circlet onto his head.
“Now, arise, Sir Logan Garriford, newly appointed guard of the flower field and proud owner of the best flower crown in all of Soulford,” she announced, and Logan rose from his knee. Gan gestured to the meadow, splashed with brilliant swaths of endless, sweetly scented, blossoms. “It’s a lot of responsibility,” she said, as she looked up at him. His eyes swept the grassland, drinking in the landscape, and Gan took the chance to truly look at him. Simply saying that he was handsome would have been an injustice but Gan had no words to describe how he looked in this moment. The gardenia’s were beautiful in his dark hair, bangs curled and damp with sweat, clung to his forehead as did several blue asters that hung low in the crown. His impossibly green eyes were lit with a lingering smile and her heart ached at the sight. Then he looked at her, caught her staring, but she smiled, genuinely, at him and curtsied.
“Your field is lovely,” he said, and Gan looked back out to the meadow, unable to hold his gaze.
“It is,” she exhaled, as a cool breeze brushed her cheeks and ruffled her skirts. She inhaled deeply, closed her eyes, and drank in the blissful sounds and smells all around her.
“If you’ll permit me, Gan Ainm, I’d like to add another vow,” he said, and she looked at him, curious. The wind picked up, nearly unseating Logan’s flower crown, and he held onto it, as the trees bowed and sang the praises of the air.
“I permit it,” Gan said, and watched as Logan knelt on a single knee again and took her hand. Her heart fluttered in her chest at the contact. The meadow stilled and the breeze was silent.
“I also vow to protect the creator of the best flower crown in all of Soulford,” he said, and Gan felt her throat tightened. “I vow to protect you Gan Ainm, as the owner of your treasured crown, as your Garrin, as Romulus, and as Logan. If you will allow me,” he confessed, and Gan thought that she might cry. He had disarmed her totally and completely, stripped her bare, and tore down her defenses in an instant with the beauty of his honesty. She hated him for it and hated to admit that was exactly what she needed to hear - that he would protect her.
“I do,” she choked around the knot of emotions that threatened to drown her. Tears welled in her eyes despite her best efforts to keep them down. Logan stood, a look of concern creased his brow and he stepped closer to her.
“Did I say something wrong?” he asked, worried, and gripped her hand a little tighter.
“No, you didn’t. Quite the opposite, in fact,” she laughed, and looked up at him. He didn’t seem convinced. “I promise, these are happy tears… now help me pick up these flowers before I make an even bigger fool of myself,” she said and, reluctantly, released his hand and knelt to pick up an armful of lilacs and goldenrod. Logan did the same and they began walking back toward town.
“I meant it, Gan,” Logan said, once they were down the hill and in the shade of the trees that lined the road.
“I know you do, thank you,” she said, a smile on her lips as she glanced his way. “Now, tell me Logan, do you know the language and meaning of certain flowers?” Gan asked, as she looked to the gardenia’s in his crown.
“No, I don’t,” he confessed.
“Ah… I didn’t think so,” she said, with a wry grin.