Work Text:
Ren didn’t know what he was looking for.
He felt like he’d been wandering for forever. Through the fields, his bare, bloody feet on soft green grass.
Beneath his feet were flowers. Hundreds or thousands of them, stretching on for forever in a thousand different colors.
He found himself picking them, as he walked.
He was looking for something. He knew that. He just didn’t know what he was looking for.
He found himself picking flowers. He would need them, wouldn’t he? When he found what he was looking for. He didn’t know what he was looking for. He knew he needed flowers.
Amaryllis, white camellias and chrysanthemums, geraniums in purple and pink, dill and chives and yellow jasmine.
Amaryllis for pride, camellias for adoration and chrysanthemums for truth, geraniums for foolishness, dill for guards and chives for usefulness and jasmine for grace.
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.
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.
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.
Snapdragons and sorrel and hyacinths.
Snapdragons for deception and sorrel for affection and hyacinths for jealousy.
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.
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.
Marigolds for grief and morning glories for affection, nasturtiums for victory and rhododendrons for danger and roses for love. Belladonna for silence and butterfly weeds for letting go and daisies for innocence, carnations for aching hearts and coreopsis for cheerfulness. Forget-me-nots for memories and heliotropes for devotion and hyacinths for sorrow. Thyme for courage and tulips for passion.
Yarrow and lilacs and larkspur, honeysuckle and heliotropes.
Yarrow for everlasting love and lilacs for joy and larkspur for lightness, honeysuckle for love and heliotropes for devotion.
He knew the names of all the flowers. He didn’t know his own name. Didn’t he?
Ren. That was his name. His name was Ren.
He knew what the flowers meant. He knew their names. He didn’t know how.
No, he did know how. Someone had told him. Taught him.
He didn’t know who. He didn’t know who had taught him. He needed to know. He needed to know who.
So he walked and he wandered and he picked the flowers, still looking, looking, looking.
It felt like another eternity before he finally found her.
There was a wide circle of grass, empty of any flowers.
And there she was, laying in the center. What he’d been looking for. Who he’d been looking for.
Lizzie. Lizzie, Lizzie, Lizzie. Lady of shadows, lady of shade, his lady. His lady, his love. His Lizzie.
She looked… almost peaceful, in death. Like she was sleeping. Like he could wake her up with a kiss.
He nearly laughed. If true love was enough to save her, she wouldn’t have been dead. She wouldn’t have gone Red at all. He was stupid to think he could really keep her safe. Especially in a world like theirs.
The sun was low in the sky, like it had been the entire time Ren had been in the in between. It turned everything almost golden in the late afternoon light.
He knelt beside her. He didn’t even realize he had moved. Carefully, he brushed a lock of hair behind her ear.
It seemed wrong, that she was just laying like this. It seemed wrong that he had left her there. She deserved a proper burial.
He was prepared to dig her grave with his bare hands, but-
He had- he had a shovel.
He didn’t know how long it took. It didn’t matter. The only things that mattered were his hands and his shovel and the dirt.
The only thing that mattered was her.
Once he’d dug the grave deep enough, he set her softly down in the dirt.
He spent a moment carefully arranging her hair and her skirts, then he pulled himself away and climbed back out.
He sat, for a minute, with the flowers he’d picked. He selected a few, weaving them together the way Lizzie had taught him. A queen deserved to be buried with a crown, didn’t she?
He placed it on her chest, over her heart. He stayed in the ground for a few more moments than he needed to. He pressed his lips to hers, for one last kiss.
Then he was climbing out of the grave and filling it back up with soil.
He didn’t stop once she was fully buried, fully out of his sight. He stayed there, kneeling in the dirt, placing and planting his flowers for her.
Amaryllis, white camellias and chrysanthemums, geraniums in purple and pink, dill and chives and yellow jasmine. Basil and hibiscus and hyacinths, lavender and lilies. Goldenrod and gladiolus, sunflowers and snapdragons and irises.
Chrysanthemums and columbines, hydrangeas and roses and rhododendrons. Snapdragons and sorrel and hyacinths. Violets and belladonna and bluebells, camomile and carnations, myrtle and marigolds and poppies.
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. Yarrow and lilacs and larkspur, honeysuckle and heliotropes. Every flower under the sun, for everything under the sun. Every feeling under the sun.
Pride, adoration and truth, foolishness, guards and usefulness and grace. Good wishes and delicate beauty and constancy, distrust and hatred. Encouragement and integrity, adoration and graciousness and faith.
Truth and stupidity, heartlessness and love and danger. Deception and affection and jealousy. Faithfulness and silence and humility, patience and disdain, good luck and grief and death.
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. Everlasting love and joy and lightness, love and devotion. Everything under the sun.
He could feel the dirt under his fingernails. He’d dug one grave. Didn’t they say you were supposed to dig two?
He picked himself up off the ground. Do it again. Six feet down. Six feet deep. Six feet under.
He dug, and he dug, and he dug and he dug and he dug. He dug until he was as deep as she was.
The sun still didn’t stray from its position in the sky. It stayed in place, unmoving and uncaring and uncanny. It would be late in the afternoon for forever.
When he was done, and the second grave was dug, he collapsed in the soil.
This was where he belonged. In the ground, with her. With her for forever.