Work Text:
I.
The pink rose stood out on my black lapel. Had I been ashamed to wear it, it would have been impossible to display discreetly.
I was not ashamed to wear it. Bernadetta trusted me.
Did she know what this flower meant? Even if she’d read the books on flower language, seen the pink rose captioned trust, she couldn’t know the whole. Bernadetta didn’t feel safe around men, but she trusted me.
What was more, the embroidered rose was pretty. No one, not even Lady Edelgard, had ever guessed that I might want to look pretty. Even just the smallest bit.
II.
After the war, Bernadetta traveled to Brigid to document the flora, as she’d dreamed. She sent me a letter with another sweetly stitched flower enclosed: a white camellia.
This time, I had to know. When she returned, I greeted her wearing both camellia and rose. I asked, “What are you waiting for?”
Bernadetta blinked. I turned away, embarrassed. She grasped my arm. “Wait. What do you mean?”
I touched the camellia on my lapel. “It means ‘waiting.’”
“Well,” Bernadetta whispered. “I guess I have been waiting for something. But not anymore.” And she stood on tiptoe and kissed my mouth.
III.
“This must come as a shock to you.” The words came out in an uncontrollable flood. “I know I will not make a beautiful woman. I can leave—”
“H—Helene,” Bernadetta stammered. “Please don’t!” She drew a flower language text from her bag and opened it to magnolia: natural beauty. “I want to make you this one next. Because you are. That’s why I started giving you flowers. I wanted people to see it, ‘cause it seemed like only I did.”
I could not call her genuine passion a mistake, however I felt. Otherwise, I’d be no different from her father.
IV.
I gathered my courage and checked how the headband of black hellebore looked in the mirror. It elevated me, so much it felt undeserved.
“It’s not in the flower language books,” Bernadetta said, joining me before the mirror. “Does it mean anything?”
It felt wrong to say no. “We could make our own.”
“I like that!” She hummed in thought. I pondered: night? Deadliness? Mystery? Finally, she said, “Persistence.”
“Why is that?”
“Because it flowers in winter, while all the other plants sleep in the snow.”
“Then you should wear one,” I said, “for that describes you best of all.”
V.
I came home to Bernadetta in the parlor, holding a cloth zinnia. I knelt before her, my skirts pooling. Zinnias were for commitment.
Bernadetta twisted the stem in her hands. “You love other people.” I nodded. “So do I. It makes me happy. My loves, and yours. This doesn’t mean—” She held out the zinnia. “I want to make a promise. I travel all over Fódlan, to help Edelgard. But I’ll always come home. Always. ” Her voice shrank. “If you want.”
I took the zinnia and tucked it behind my ear. “I’ll make a home you deserve. That’s my promise.”