Chapter Text
The Knight hung in the air ominously, a silent vigil over the slumbering Asgore. He had cursed and struggled on the way to the Shelter with every bit of strength he had, but their magic had successfully kept him contained until he could be pacified.
He was safe now. No harm would come to him tonight. The plan was still waiting, after all.
…They were getting tired of waiting.
In the silence, the Knight's thoughts wandered. Looping and turning over the day's events in their mind, eventually coming to rest on him. The Flower Man. The only creature birthed from the dark to truly stand up to them, besides the Lonely Prince.
And unlike the third hero, he had been willing to chase down the Knight alone. He had kept pace and caught them off guard and put up as much of a fight as he possibly could.
Futilely, of course. Their blade could cut through the darker than dark. No illusion, no play pretend could hide from the truth seen through obsidian glass. The darkness was their domain, and their will was final. A “man” could perhaps face down a knight, but what was a flower to a baseball bat? Nothing.
…And yet. He lingered in their thoughts. There was something… sickeningly familiar about him. More so than the Prince, something…
Something that brought to mind fuzzy thoughts of an old friend. An obnoxious but easily humbled boy with a big heart and bigger hopes, who just couldn't understand the deck was stacked against everyone from the start-
The Knight summoned and examined their blade. Not a scratch beyond the chip the Girl had inflicted two nights ago. The golden flower hadn't made the slightest dent.
But his face as he fought against them, his arm somehow holding the blade back through sheer determination, declaring his “dream” stronger, with conviction the Knight had seen in few Darkners and fewer Lightners…
Their eye caught a spot of gold on their shoulder in the reflection of their sword. A single petal, somehow surviving to the Light World, caught on the spikes of their armor. They twirled it between their fingers and flicked it, watching it fall weakly through the stale Shelter air.
Everything about the Flower Man was absurd. Imaginary. Wrong.
Yet some small, frustrated, near forgotten little voice within cried out, asking why he had to be wrong, why did beautiful, warm things have to be lost, why did dreams have to be given up on, why, why, why!?
It wasn't just their clash that rang through their mind, it was everything about that dark world. All of it.
The Knight had arrived unseen before the fountain's sealing - Kris had given the word to make the second right as they had sealed the first. But they had watched the heroes climb the castle just prior. Witnessed their epic battle against the flowers.
When was the last time the Knight had been able to feel the sun, illusory as it was? When was the last time they had gotten to see such beautiful rainbows? The golden flower had shown especially, ridiculously bright… and yet, they could not bring themselves to look away.
The Card Kingdom, the Cyber City, the Dark Sanctuary had all been so cold. Chill was no deterrent to the Roaring Knight. They thrived in ice and storm. But this…
It was familiar. It was homey. Warm, floral and sweet. It suggested hazy memories of goat fur and sweaters and flannel and butterscotch and leaves and chocolate.
She hadn't thought about such things in a long time. She missed them. She couldn't have them. They weren't for her. Not anymore.
But she wanted them, she was tired of waiting, she wanted to smash things open, to rip and tear and FIGHT until she could MAKE such dreams come true, until she could finally live again the way she WANTED, to live FREE-
The Knight, in their will, slipped past the Shelter doors. They wove through shadows along the empty streets, lingering only for a moment by a string of holiday lights.
The door to Flower King was unlocked. Upstairs, the only remaining sign of struggle was a bit more dirt on the tile floor than usual, broken glass clumsily swept into the corner, and a conspicuously empty space in the lineup of flowers on the counter, with two sharing the same case.
And, of course, to the knowing eye, the tape on the golden flowers’ stem. It leaned forward against its glass, already drooping from the weight.
Pitiful recollections of a broken TV, drenched by the rain, came to the Knight's mind.
As well as memories of busted instruments and ugly tears and shared apologies. She had never been one to hold her temper. But she often regretted losing it after.
The Knight could not explain their desire to steal the CRT away to the Shelter, as difficult and slow and stupid a task as it would have been, had the heroes not appeared to carry him it to the school closet.
The golden flower’s glass was painstakingly lifted with the utmost care and set aside. (It had to be, lifted by hands so skilled in shattering.) Drawers were thrown open. A wood stake and twine were found. Old instructions were remembered for how to tie a plant to a splint so it would grow straight. (The knot was tightened too forcefully at first, but loosened by slipping a clawed finger into the loop. The flower’s stem did not split. It was a stubborn thing.) The glass was replaced.
The task complete, the Knight hovered hesitantly in the midst of the flowers. They had no business here. They turned to leave.
But stopped at the top of the stairs. Spun back around, letting their head loll unnaturally sideways in contemplation.
The Roaring Knight was nothing if not a being of will. They wanted to be here.
They wanted to be there again. To see the oxymoron of a Dark World lit by suns, crafted not by their hand but by their accomplice, their squire, who somehow was playing a more active role than themselves. Who was getting to play, the Knight’s determination flared with jealousy.
The true motive of the Roaring was not the apocalypse, but what would come after. All would be destroyed to be built anew. Better. All would be drenched in the dark because the dark could comfort, could be shaped to be the most beautiful dream of all.
And the Roaring was inevitable. The Prophecy was unchangeable. There was no such thing as “deviating” from a path that encompassed all you could possibly be. The next fountain being earlier than planned meant nothing. And who was here to stop them?
It wasn't like they had anything better to do.
She had always thought keeping those flowers from the wedding bouquet was “corny as hell.” Just like the anime he and his dad watched on occasion. But she had also always secretly liked them. The golden one especially.
So the Knight raised their blackened knife. Plunged it into the earth. And made.
~~~
Flowery woke with a start and a gasp.
His final memory was falling asleep against a tree, waking from his wonderful, horrible dream with Ralsei knelt by his side, Susie blinking tears from her eyes, and Kris watching forlornly.
But… he was himself again. Still under that tree. The Dark World not only flowing once more, but his sun filling the area with its impossible light.
His torso ached and he couldn't feel his left arm below the shoulder. Scratch that, a glance showed it has been sliced clean off.
But it had been bandaged. So had his injury, wrapped tightly in green linen, no longer leaking petals and vines. A wooden crutch lay beside him as well, but the simple thought of trying to walk sounded so exhausting, surely he could spare a few minutes before-
Asgore.
Flowery grabbed the crutch and tried to force himself to his feet.
Only to somehow flip himself forward face first. Of course. How embarrassing.
As he contemplated, face full of dirt, how to get himself out of this predicament, cold hands slipped under his arms and yanked him to his feet, holding him steady until he found his balance with his legs and the crutch.
He suppressed a shiver as they pulled away and brushed himself off. He wasn't exactly as presentable as he'd like, but that was no reason to be rude, so he shoved down his worry behind a winning smile, swung around on his crutch and turned to greet his helper.
“Hey, bigthanks for the help-”
His eyes shot open.
Leaning against the tree, facing the horizon. Was the Roaring Knight.
“You…”
It glanced sideways at him, “eye” shifting to meet his over its shoulder.
“WHERE IS HE!?”
Flowery leaned so far forward with his shout, he nearly toppled forward again. The Knight chuckled. His mind raced as he gripped his crutch. He was in no shape to fight, and that hadn't gotten him anywhere before, but he had to do something, he had been given a second chance, he couldn't waste it-
“...Safe.”
Flowery startled. The Knight turned their gaze away from him again. Their voice rasped so deeply, it was as if producing speech, or perhaps simply breathing, was an affront to nature.
“Asgore… is safe…”
Arms crossed, one leg over another, blade nowhere to be seen. The Knight clearly had no intention of fighting. Or running.
They were the one to reopen this fountain, weren't they? They-
They had helped him up. In the Dark and Light. Susie had been the one to tape him, but the one to fix him a splint, with sharp, cold, unnatural hands, he saw it, he felt it, that had been-
But why?
“Yeah? Then what do you want? Why are you back?”
Still as death, only the slight, blurry, monochrome afterimages of its outline giving any sign of “life”, the Knight did not acknowledge his questions for a long moment. Too long. But just as he opened his mouth to snap again-
“The sun…”
This time, their response was a whisper.
“Wanted to see… one last time… before…”
There was something… tragic about the softness of the words against the harsh voice.
“Goes down… completely…”
Flowery stilled. The Knight watched the sunset. A slight wind blew sakura leaves between them.
Asgore… was beyond his reach. Almost certainly. Flowery couldn't leave this Dark World. He'd have to rely on Kris and Susie for that.
And as much as he would have loved to try to save the world by taking the Knight down then and there… Well, the growing, throbbing pain around his midsection the longer he stood told him all he needed to know about how that would go.
…There was always another option when facing an enemy. Really, it was the one he preferred. Flowers were for love, not war, after all.
Flowery haltingly stepped forward and tossed himself down against the tree, wincing as his injuries protested. Eventually though, the pain dulled to an ache. He wasn't sitting alongside the Knight, but he was closer than before, only a single root between them.
“Isn’t that up to you? Don't get me wrong - I'm all for soaking up some rays with the boys too! If you like the sun so much, why don't you just stop?”
To his relief, his voice clips still worked, a single “Go home” sounding off to punctuate his passive aggression. The Knight huffed. In irritation, or amusement? He couldn't tell. They didn’t respond.
Flowery shifted to lean on his good arm and get a better view of the horizon. It was just as beautiful as last time.
And strangely, the silhouette of the Knight, contrasted against the golden sky, light dancing and refracting across the surface of vantablack living armor… accosted him with a memory.
A vivid image in his mind of a girl in a black t-shirt and holiday-patterned flannel, crouched against the counter below him, snickering as young children searched for her, the sun shining through the windows almost as brightly as her smile-
Flowery blinked. His thoughts caught up with his floral intuition. Why… that memory?
The Knight peered at him curiously. Despite having such a limited face, the shape of their visor conveyed a surprising amount of emotion.
And for the first time, he noticed the antlers on their helmet. And realized their blade was shaped like a baseball bat. And if they had been able to recreate Kris’s Dark World so accurately, then they must-
“You skate?”
“What?”
For once, Flowery had trouble forming a response.
The Knight rolled their eye (rude!) and repeated the question.
“Do you… skate?”
He put on a grin and winked, bringing a finger gun to his chin confidently.
(Yes!) “You bet! I can ride the board with the best of em!”
The Knight sized him up for a moment.
“...With rainbows?”
(Leaf it to me!) “Course! What's a coolguy without a little floral flair?”
They snorted, shaking their head slightly. (Yet… fondly?)
“Figures…”
All went silent but the breeze and Flowery's own confused thoughts and feelings.
If nothing else, the Knight clearly wasn't a mindless beast. They weren't even… needlessly cruel. They were ruthless, but they had also helped him. Twice. With nothing to gain from it. And he posed no threat to them, weak as he was, so they had no reason to lie about Asgore's safety either, right?
And if they were- He couldn't be sure of that, but if the Knight WAS- Then surely Asgore would be kept safe, right? And Kris, was this why-?
“Think… you could… teach?”
Flowery raised an eyebrow, maybe more skeptically than was polite. The Knight was undeterred.
“Old friend… never learned. Too scared…”
Another memory flitted through Flowery's mind, of a young goat crying because he just couldn't bring himself to use the skateboard the family next door had gotten him for Christmas-
…Things were beginning to make a bit too much sense.
Flowery chuckled dryly, vaguely waving what was left of his bad arm to show off his bandaged torso.
“Well, I'm not exactly in the best shapes to be flipping ollies right now…”
His smirk was stiff. The Knight grumbled, again turning to the sunset. Flowery finally let himself frown and rolled the other way, leaning back flat against the tree again, a sigh escaping him from the effort-
Only for the Knight's hand to reach over and grab his. It clutched initially, claws pressing into his skin, but the moment he hissed, their fingers flinched and loosened until their grip was… comfortable. Cold, but gentle.
He glanced back at them. He couldn't see their face.
“...sorry.”
Part of him wanted to accept the apology. Part of him wanted to wryly ask which crime it was for: his injury was the least offensive of his worries.
But they sounded almost as exhausted as he felt. Two prophesized “villains” slouched against the same tree.
He closed his own fingers around their hand, hole and all, and said nothing.
Flowery didn't know what he'd do if the Knight tried to leave. If his fellow flowers came upon them. He decided not to worry about either.
Maybe, for just a moment, they could both enjoy the sun, just a little longer.