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Reinhard von Müsel did not like flowers.
"They're all going to die soon anyways," he had complained to his sister as a child.
Annerose, who had been planting vibrant red forget-me-nots in the small garden behind the Müsel house, paused to glance at her younger brother.
"Reinhard,” she gently scolded, “a lifeform's longevity should not influence how you choose to treat it." She plucked a small flower and walked over to crouch in front of the blonde boy who stood at the entrance to the garden's pathway.
"We, too, are but a small speck in the vast expanse of the galaxy." Gently taking her brother's right hand, she placed the red forget-me-not in his palm. "But we love and nurture our treasured ones in the short time we all have."
Annerose plucked a red petal from the flower in her brother’s open right palm. "And when our loved ones leave us," she said, placing the petal into Reinhard's left palm, "they leave us with traces of our time together."
She looked up to beam at her brother with his furrowed brow and pouted lips.
"Rather than worry about when these ephemeral gifts will pass on, we must choose to treasure them while they are still here, and find the beauty in the present," she finished. She gazed into her brother's face for a moment longer before standing up and wiping her hands on her skirt.
"With that in mind," she began, pointing at the decaying flower beds in the small garden, "the departure of our gardener has afforded us many empty spaces to fill with new beauty. Would you like to help me plant some flowers, dear brother?" She offered him her hand.
The pout never left Reinhard's young face, but he took Annerose's outstretched hand nonetheless with an "I guess."
. . .
Reinhard von Müsel did not like flowers.
The thought came to him again during the early days of his friendship with Siegfried Kircheis. From the moment Kircheis introduced himself to Reinhard, amity came easily, and soon, the two were inseparable-
-until Kircheis caught sight of Annerose in the garden of the new Müsel house.
Unlike Reinhard who had stopped at the entrance to the small garden (still larger than the garden of his new home) years prior to gaze from afar, Kircheis walked up to where Annerose knelt by a bed of yellow hyacinths to lean down and ask, "what are you doing?"
She looked up with her ever-present smile to meet the wide eyes of her brother's friend. With a point of her spade, she explained, "I'm replanting these flowers to ensure that they get proper sunlight."
Once again, unlike Reinhard from years prior, Kircheis's eyes gleamed with curiosity. "Don't they just need water and sunlight?" he asked with a cock of his head.
Annerose placed her spade down and turned to fully give Kircheis her attention. "While that is true, each flower requires different resources. Some require more sunlight or water than others."
Kircheis's wide eyes suddenly dipped with his furrowed brow as he looked across the small garden and noticed some flowers wilting more than others. "But how do you know what each one needs?"
Annerose picked up the spade again and with a smile as bright as the sun, said, "by being attentive, you can notice when your flowers need something, and work to fill that need." She pointed her spade down at her wilting bed of yellow hyacinths. "For example, this one needs a lot more sunlight, so I'm moving it away from the shade of this tree," with her spade, she pointed overhead to the plum tree whose leaves offered shade to the dying flowers.
Kircheis looked at the large flower bed then back at Annerose. After a quick moment of thought, he asked, "do you need help?"
Annerose let out a light chuckle that was akin to the sound of wind chimes. "You're quite kind, Sieg, but I couldn't possibly take your precious time away from my brother."
As if sensing the tiniest frown making its way onto the redhead's face, Reinhard, who had silently followed behind his friend, stepped up and said, "we can both help."
He felt that he had made the correct decision the moment both Annerose's and Kircheis's faces bloomed with happiness.
Together, the three worked through the afternoon and planted a circle of hyacinths away from the shade of the large plum tree.
Within a few days, the wilting yellow hyacinths began to bloom again.
And from the next moment Kircheis visited the Müsel household, his attention often turned to gardening with Annerose, with Reinhard quietly following along, not quite enjoying the activity, but enjoying the company.
. . .
Reinhard von Müsel did not like flowers.
Kircheis found his blonde companion in the garden, kneeling in front of a bed of wilted white lilies, soil caking his knees and hands with tracks of tears down his face.
"Reinhard?" Kircheis asked hesitantly as he approached the blonde whose shoulders were slumped with his head hanging low, a sight that did not behold Reinhard von Müsel. "Are you ..." he trailed off. How could he finish that sentence? How could Reinhard be "okay" after Annerose had been ripped from his arms and whisked away at the behest of the Emperor.
Reinhard turned at the sound of Kircheis's voice. He sullenly looked down at the dying white lilies. "I can't save them," he whispered.
Kircheis knelt down by Reinhard's side and took his hands in his, paying no mind to the soil that stuck to his hands.
"I can't let them die," Reinhard whispered, "because this is all I have of her." His hand grasped his redheaded companion's as if it were a lifeline. An ugly sob tore through his chest as he leaned over to embrace him, body shaking.
"I don't know what to do, Kircheis," he whispered his confession. "How will they live now that she's gone?"
Unspoken were the words 'how will I live now that she's gone?'
The two sat in front of the wilted flower bed for what felt like minutes but also years, Kircheis quietly rubbing soothing circles on Reinhard's back.
Once Kircheis felt Reinhard's sobs dissipate, he spoke, "do you need help?"
There was no response at first, the only sound being the cicadas and the sound of Reinhard's breathing. Then, after a symphony of silence, Kircheis heard a soft, "yes."
The redhead slowly got up, bringing the blonde with him. Leaning back down, he gently dusted off the soil caked to the blonde's knees.
Together, the two spent the afternoon in the garden with Kircheis recalling Annerose's wisdom, and Reinhard following his directions.
The white lilies didn't survive, but the red gardenias bloomed.
. . .
Reinhard von Müsel did not like flowers.
Or, maybe, he did like flowers?
The day Reinhard and Kircheis moved into the dorms of the Imperial Officer Academy, Kircheis had brought with him a small box filled with pots of flowers from Annerose's garden (her garden, even if she no longer tended to it). "A little bit of Annerose," Kircheis had said to Reinhard, rather than "a little bit of home." Home was wherever the other was, after all.
From that moment on, Kircheis became the sole caretaker of the assortment of plants that painted their otherwise dreary dorm with brightness. Despite years of helping Kircheis care for Annerose's garden, Reinhard still didn't quite have a green thumb.
"How did you manage to kill that?" Kircheis had asked, trying to withhold a chuckle upon seeing Reinhard's dead succulent sitting atop his desk one day.
Reinhard had pouted and turned his head the other way. “I'll focus on conquering the galaxy, and you can focus on making the world more beautiful one flower at a time."
Upon processing Reinhard's words, both teenagers had blushed and looked away; a silent agreement to not mention it floating between them.
Years later, the pair moved into their first apartment, and Kircheis decided to expand to caring for new plants and not just the ones from his youth.
And it went well, until he flew too close to the sun.
"Why is your hair like that?" Reinhard asked, staring at Kircheis's frizzy red curls.
Kircheis gave a grimace hidden within a smile. "I'm caring for an orchid." At Reinhard's confused expression, Kircheis elaborated, "it's a flower."
"And why would caring for a plant," he gestured vaguely at Kircheis's hair, "do that?"
"It needs a certain level of humidity to thrive. Unfortunately," Kircheis gestured to his own hair as well, "the orchid and my hair don't quite agree on the level needed to thrive."
Reinhard hummed in response.
Later that night, Reinhard heard a quiet knock at his bedroom door. Opening it, he found the sheepish face of his redheaded companion.
"Could I stay the night in your room?"
Reinhard couldn't stop the soft "oh" that immediately left his mouth in response.
Kircheis waved at his hair. "Fleet Admiral Merkatz is visiting to lead a seminar tomorrow, and I'd appreciate it if my hair didn't stick out more than it usually does," he chuckled.
"Of course," Reinhard said, opening his door to let Kircheis in.
"Thank you. I apologize for the strange and sudden request," Kircheis said, stepping into the bedroom.
In the nights that followed, the instances of Kircheis spending the night in Reinhard's room increased, and soon, the redhead’s own room became more of an arboretum than a bedroom, with a blossoming red orchid sitting at the room’s center.
And so, Reinhard von Müsel liked flowers.
. . .
Reinhard von Lohengramm stared dejectedly as the final petal on the red forget-me-not fell into the pot's dry soil.
He recalled his sister's words from years past:
"And when our loved ones leave us, they leave us with traces of our time together."
Reinhard slowly reached for the fallen petal.
Wasn't it cruel of fate to leave behind traces of his love when he had left Reinhard for a place that he could not follow?
That was the last time Reinhard von Lohengramm cried.
. . .
Reinhard von Lohengramm loved flowers.
Why else would the sole indulgence Reinhard requested for his new abode be for there to be a garden?
How else could his staff and officers describe their shock the day they walked into a meeting to be met with a golden cloud sitting atop the Prime Minister’s head?
Feeling the weight of everyone’s gaze, Reinhard explained, with a fond quirk of his lips as if sharing an inside joke, "I'm caring for an orchid.” There was a slight pause before he affectionately added, “it's a flower" with a faraway look in his eyes.
However, with the last syllable of his explanation, his upturned lips quickly relaxed into his usual comfortable scowl, and his officers proceeded to deliver their daily reports.
Rumors began to spread throughout the Empire of the gentle regent who still found energy to tend to his flowers despite his busy schedule. In the moments when his hands were touching the earth (much to the dismay of his attendants), it was said that a warmth melted through his frigid blue eyes.
According to rumors, later proven true, the flowers and plants that were replanted in his new home were the only belongings that were moved from his prior abode. The remaining items in his shared apartment with the late Fleet Admiral Kircheis were left untouched, frozen in 488 IC.
The now-Kaiser’s love for flowers could also serve as the only explanation as to why he had lashed out at his red-headed aide when he attempted to move the red orchid the first time Reinhard fell ill. To Emil, it was the first time the gentle Kaiser (at least, in his eyes) had ever raised his voice at him in ire.
Days later, pushing aside the concern of his attendants and doctors, the Kaiser pulled himself out of his sickbed despite his fever in order to care for the orchid, insisting that it couldn’t miss its watering.
As if by coincidence, the Kaiser’s fever broke that day.
Perhaps flowers loved Reinhard von Lohengramm as much as he loved them.
. . .
When historians note Kaiser Reinhard von Lohengramm’s final moments, they recall the room filled with his loved ones.
Any historian worth their salt would be remiss to not mention the red orchid that kept its place at his bedside table to the very end. And as if sensing that Reinhard’s soul had left for Valhalla, the orchid wilted and followed within the hour.
However, in the days, weeks, months, and years that followed, the flowers that Reinhard painstakingly replanted and cared for flourished and grew, serving as a physical reminder of the beautiful change the young Kaiser had brought to the galaxy.
The short life of Reinhard von Lohengram could be painted with a garden.