Work Text:
The floor of the Circle was covered with a carpet of flowers.
When Ren first stepped inside, there was amaryllis, white camellias and chrysanthemums, geraniums in purple and pink, dill and chives and yellow jasmine. He pledged himself to his lady, then, kneeling in pink and purple and yellow and white.
(Amaryllis for pride, camellias for adoration and chrysanthemums for truth, geraniums for foolishness, dill for guards and chives for usefulness and jasmine for grace.)
Ren didn’t know much about flowers, but Lizzie was happy to teach him. In the window boxes of her cottage, she showed him how to carve holes into the dirt and press the little seeds into them; how to water them, to make sure they had a good place to grow. They planted basil and hibiscus and hyacinths, lavender and lilies.
(Basil for good wishes and hibiscus for delicate beauty and hyacinths for constancy, lavender for distrust and lilies for hatred.)
At his tower, the two of them planted goldenrod and gladiolus, sunflowers and snapdragons and irises.
(goldenrod for encouragement and gladiolus for integrity, sunflowers for adoration and snapdragons for graciousness and irises for faith.)
At the castle, Bigb and Cleo helped them plant a garden. They planted chrysanthemums and columbines, hydrangeas and roses and rhododendrons.
(Chrysanthemums for truth and columbines for stupidity, hydrangeas for heartlessness and roses for love and rhododendrons for danger.)
He helped Martyn plant snapdragons and sorrel and hyacinths, a tiny garden in the dirt behind the Southlands.
(Snapdragons for deception and sorrel for affection and hyacinths for jealousy.)
And their gardens were blooming and nothing was perfect, not in this world, but they were getting there.
But then- but then-
Bigb killed Cleo. Bigb killed Cleo, and then she burned down the Faerie Fort, and then everything fell apart.
The gardens in the Shadow Fort simply couldn’t compare. Violets and belladonna and bluebells, camomile and carnations, myrtle and marigolds and poppies.
(Violets for faithfulness and belladonna for silence and bluebells for humility, camomile for patience and carnations for disdain, myrtle for good luck and marigolds for grief and poppies for death.)
And everything was so, so far from perfect, but at least they were somewhere close to alright.
And Lizzie was red, and then- and then- and then-
And then she was dead.
Ren stumbled into the ruined circle.
He could taste the ashes on his tongue. If he closed his eyes, he could still see the trees burning. He could feel the fire in his chest.
There were flowers growing from the blackened ground. Marigolds and morning glories, nasturtiums and rhododendrons and roses. Belladonna and butterfly weeds and daisies, carnations and coreopsis. Forget-me-nots and heliotropes and hyacinths. Thyme and tulips.
Ren lay down in the dirt, surrounded by flowers in every color under the sun. For the first time since his lady had gone red, he let himself mourn.
(Grief and affection, victory and danger and love. Silence and letting go and innocence, aching hearts and cheerfulness. Memories and devotion and sorrow. Courage and passion.)
And somewhere in the aftermath of everything, Ren and Lizzie planted flowers in the warm brown dirt, under the light of the afternoon sun. They planted yarrow and lilacs and larkspur, honeysuckle and heliotropes, and every flower in between.
(Yarrow for everlasting love and lilacs for joy and larkspur for lightness, honeysuckle for love and heliotropes for devotion, and every flower that could possibly say what they needed to say to each other.)