Work Text:
He says it’s an Ostwick tradition, one he hasn’t celebrated in decades, and Dorian hates the sad smile he gives him, wants to forget ever seeing it, but can’t. The Inquisitor weaves flowers into a crown with utmost care, but doesn’t take it, choosing instead to place it on his lover’s brow.
Later, when Dorian presses the embrium into one of his books, Herbert laughs while saying that the point of traditions was repeating them every year.
He says it is an Ostwick tradition, and it is not a lie, but something close to it, and Beileag can’t help but notice that Tonio’s grin slips as he tangles lilies and forget-me-nots into her braids. She still remembers the large dusty tome of flower’s meanings from her Circle’s library, and so when she looks into a mirror, his bright yellow daffodils catch her eye. She scoffs and turns to take the matters into her own hands.
Zervan finds them with small blue flowers haphazardly stuck onto their heads, and he is too surprised to run for his life, as he should.
She says it is an Ostwick tradition as she bends over her table to focus on yet another flower crown. At this point, Lem looks exhausted, her hand moving on muscle memory more than her thoughts, and Cullen just shakes his head and resolves to help.
Half of her ward ends up with crooked crowns full of mismatched flowers, but none of them mind.