Work Text:
Today is perfect. A sweet, misty, cool spring morning brings chill air and a sense of peace to everyone in the castle. No one is rushing, no one is panicking, and instead, everyone is walking calmly, taking peeks out of the windows to where the king of Exlanda is tending to his flowers. Each flower is reaching up high into the sky for the water Echor brings and the weeding he will take care of. The petals caress his fingertips when he passes by.
Wind whistles through the branches of the overhanging willow tree guarding the garden. It’s a soft melody accompanied by the singing of the various windchimes Echor had made as a child. He hums softly to it whilst he carries in the watering can, gloves, and basket. People watch from the windows, smiling down at the king who carries much weight on his shoulders, but he doesn’t mind. It doesn’t matter when he has his flowers, the beings he has been caring for from the moment he understood what life truly means.
Water spills forth from the end of the watering can as Echor leans it ever so gently over the flowers. Their petals seem to reach up to catch the water before allowing it to trickle down to the grass and to their roots. Echor kneels in the dirt and grass lining the fields of flowers after allowing the beauties their fill of drink. Time to get rid of those pesky weeds.
Echor acknowledges the life within the weeds, but they sap away the life of everything around them, so, unfortunately, they must go. The gloves Echor has brought with him to prevent any scratching to his hands are beautiful. A soft red, stern fabric holds the shape and is decorated with a print of his wife’s and husband’s favorite flowers: pink tulips and blue cornflowers. It was a gift for their first anniversary.
Knowing that the gloves will protect his skin, Echor pulls them on and sets off to deal with any weeds that have sneaked into his precious garden. The basket begins to fill with the various pests until he sees a dandelion. Out in the fields Echor used to visit with his family in Latiundo, he loved seeing dandelions. They were always so vibrant and beautiful. He loved plucking them from the ground as presents for Jhaan and Lipta when they returned home. Part of Echor wants to leave it there and allow it to grow. But it isn’t meant to be there, so instead, Echor pulls it from the dirt and sets it aside. Perhaps he will gift it to his loves tonight.
A wave of wonderfully cool air whisks Echor’s hair from his face, sending his braid flying to the side. Grinning, Echor stands and begins to dance, arms extended, taking in the gorgeous sweet air. The wind sings a magnificent tune that he cannot help dancing along to. He swings his body around with a laugh, taking in the sweet spring air. When it ebbs into a near-silent beat, Echor slows to a stop, though the smile on his face doesn’t fade.
Kneeling, he begins pulling the weeds away from his flowers, humming all the while, adding his tune to the beat the wind has provided him. When, finally, the garden is perfect once again, Echor holds the dandelion in his hand and bows to seemingly nothing. Then the wind sweeps around him and Echor knows, it has bowed back.
A perfect day.