#i swore id never write a language of flowers fic but wolgraha does things to a man

[astrology-bf]

Miss Gainsborough's Gift

(CW: Slight Spoilers for Endwalker)

The thought of a world lacking flowers is one that is not only dreary, but rather difficult to imagine: and yet that was how it was when the world was in its youth. Algae, moss, lichen, shrubs, ferns, and trees had all long made their presence known before the first bloom opened up beneath the sunlight. A late blooming (if you’ll indulge the author a small pun), but made all the richer by its delay as what was then a world of simple brown and green sprang forth in countless scents and colors. And as their kinds are countless, so too are their meanings when they are given as a gift: for it’s simply human nature to collect a pretty thing and give it to your sweetheart as a token of affection, as it’s also in our nature to plant and gather meaning in such places that the indifference of the universe has dared insist is meaningless.

It was the former impulse that had led the Warrior of Light along his present path to where he was now standing: with his arms crossed and a very serious expression on his face - almost a glare as he stared intently at a display of flowers by a stall in Sharlayan’s Agora. Ifan and his friends had been in the Scholar’s patronage a few days since they’d arrived by ship, and despite a very memorable evening atop the city’s foremost library where he’d given his beloved G’raha a present of his own making, the magician nonetheless felt the whim to treat the scarlet-haired Miqo’te to another little token upon meeting him for tea that afternoon. But whims are tricky little things, and though Ifan felt the impulse his decisiveness proved absent: what to get his beloved former Exarch? Nothing too expensive, but neither could it be too cheap - especially as this was G’raha’s homeland, ruling any of the usual tourist trash right out. So he’d settled on a classic: flowers. Simple enough.

Sadly, that proved otherwise. Even this relatively modest stall on the Agora’s periphery had such a broad selection that Ifan knew it wasn’t the blooms’ perfume that was making his head spin. Roses, violets, carnations, chrysanthemums, lilies, daisies, tulips… He had some fair amount of knowledge when it came to botany, at least for those plants which were useful when it came to magecraft, but most of these were simple decorative blooms and in this case the magician found his study lacking. So he simply stood, lips twisting, staring at a sunflower as if it would start speaking to him and tell him which bouquet to pick.

“You’re either having a really hard time deciding, or you’ve got something personal against sunflowers.”

Ifan blinked and turned his head in the direction of the voice. The stall’s owner had approached him with a sunny smile upon her face: a slight woman, Midlander by appearance, with a brunette braid tied up in pink, and eyes of turquoise-green.

Made suddenly aware of his posture and expression, Ifan straightened up and gave a sheepish chuckle. “Oh. Sorry…” He shook his head and rubbed one eye to clear the tangle of frustrated indecision in his head. “The former, actually.”

The flower girl tilted her head slightly as her smile brightened even further, which was quite the feat given her already very cheerful countenance. “I’d be happy to help. What’s the occasion?” 

Ifan gave another chuckle. “Not really an occasion, I just wanted to get my sweetheart a gift.” he admitted with a faintly bashful note.

Her smile widened to a grin. “Well that’s always an occasion. What’s he like?” asked the flower girl. How she knew G’raha was of masculine persuasion was a mystery, though there was something in her grin that gave the mage the notion she could smell exactly how he felt regarding the Miqo’te as easily as she might sample the perfume of one of the blossoms in her stall.

“I could write a book.” answered Ifan. That was true: he just could not fathom trying to condense a man like G’raha Tia into a mere few sentences. A storied hero of his own, at least in Ifan’s eyes, but more importantly the image the Miqo’te conjured in his head was such a crush of memory and feeling that trying to verbalize it may as well have been carrying water in a sieve. Nonetheless, he did his best to give the flower girl an answer. “But if I had to put a word to it… Radiant.”

“Oh, so you’re in love love.” teased the flower girl with an indulgent little wiggle of her head.

“Oi.” started Ifan out of bashful reflex, before the simple truth of it bore out. He chuckled. “You’re not wrong. I could always just get him roses, but I wanted to get him something more personal.” explained Ifan with a gesture at the flowers.

Her expression settled into something much more thoughtful, but still radiantly cheerful. “I mean, I’d still call roses pretty personal, even if they’re not exactly original. But I guess we wouldn’t have invented floriography if people didn’t want specific meanings.” she mused with a small nod and smile.

Ifan cocked his head. “Floriography?” he asked.

“Sending messages with flowers.” beamed the flower girl.

“Ah. I didn’t know that had a name.” hummed Ifan with an interested nod.

“Only what we call it here in Sharlayan, though I personally prefer a field of flowers to a field of study.” said the flower girl with a rather wry expression.

Ifan simply had to smirk at the girl’s pun. “Alright, that was a good one.” he snickered before turning slightly back towards the flowers on display.  “I’m assuming roses mean love, aye?” he asked.

“Depends on the color!” she answered brightly with a nod.

Ifan blinked. “It gets that detailed?” he asked, incredulous.

She snickered then gave another nod. “Mhm. Roses are for all kinds of love: red for passionate love, white for a fresh start at love, coral to tell them that you’re not quite into them in that way, and so on.” the flower girl explained.

The magician huffed a little. “Definitely not coral, then.” said Ifan. He paused and scrutinized the blooms again. “I would get him his favorite, but I-” 

“Forgot?” she supplied with a faintly teasing note.

Ifan made a face. “It sounds bad, doesn’t it?” he let out.

The flower girl gave a musical little laugh, and Ifan found his embarrassment strangely soothed. Then she gave him a sympathetic smile. “We’re only human, we can’t be expected to remember every little detail about ourselves let alone another person. And I like to think the feeling matters just as as much as the fact, anyway.” she replied.

He returned the smile, giving the flower girl a nod. “I appreciate that. Well, help me out a bit - what’s your favorite flower?” he asked.

“Easy, yellow lilies.” came the answer, without a moment’s hesitation. “I like a vase of happiness and friendship.” the flower girl explained.

“You do seem fairly sunny, I’ll admit.” said Ifan with a grin.

She laughed again. “And I can see why you have a sweetheart to be getting flowers for.” teased the flower girl. “What about you? Do you have a favorite?” she asked.

Ifan’s lips twisted as he tried to think of which flower was his favorite. “I haven’t given it a lot of thought, but… Jasmine, I think?” he answered with a little hesitation.

The flower girl gave a very indulgent hum. “Friendliness and sweet love. Very fitting.” She grinned again, and once more Ifan got the feeling she could identify his type as easily as she could name any blossom she was selling.

He felt his cheeks grow a little warm, as well, and Ifan had to avert his gaze a moment and clear his throat. “Well, I don’t want to get him my favorite.” said Ifan. Then he gave a small sigh of frustration as he eyed the flowers once again.” Just wish I could remember, I know he’s told me.”

The girl’s expression settled as she gazed at Ifan’s face in curiosity. At length, she smiled and gave a hum. “Hm. Would you like some advice?” she offered.

Ifan nodded with a very relieved sigh. “Please, I’ll take anything.” he accepted with manifest gratitude in his voice.

“When I can’t decide with my head, I just let my heart do the choosing. Go with my gut.” advised the flower girl, her smile taking on a rather knowing cast.

The magician paused at this, eyes returning to the flower girl with an equally curious expression. It was risky - a small gift it might have been, but he wanted it to say the proper thing. But as the time was coming due to meet his beloved for tea at the Last Stand, Ifan really had no other option. “...Why not, you seem to know your way around flowers. Let me see…” He turned fully towards the display, eyes casting over each bouquet with the fresh criteria in his mind. Go with his gut. After a few moments of perusal, Ifan’s eyes alighted on a certain bunch of pale azure, almost purple flowers. He was immediately reminded of his days back in Mor Dhona; the color of the sky, and the color of a certain archon’s now red-eye before he came into his heritage as Allag’s heir. “How about those?” asked Ifan, pointing. The flowers seemed familiar, but he couldn’t recall the name.

Her eyes followed Ifan’s finger to the flowers. She blinked. Then she smiled again. “Oh.” The flower girl gave a rather curious hum.

This reaction worried him. “Do they mean something bad?” asked Ifan with a faintly concerned frown.

She shook her head insistently. “Not at all.” she answered with a grin. “I definitely think you should get those for him.” The flower girl gave a nod and walked towards the stand, plucking the bouquet from where it sat as she began to wrap it up for him. 

Ifan’s face shifted into another curious expression. “Oh? What do they mean?” he asked.

The flower girl didn’t answer right away, taking her time to make sure the flowers were properly arranged and the stems wrapped up in paper with a sprinkling of powdered water crystal at the base to keep them fresh. Then she hummed with another smile as she handed Ifan the bouquet. “Don’t know. You’ll just have to give them to him and decide what they mean, together.” she said, wryly. 

Ifan stared at her. Though a slender and short woman, the wilful gleam within her eyes gave her a strangely intimidating edge: not that she was trying to do so, rather Ifan simply knew that she could very well outlast him in an argument. So he just gave a chuckle, shook his head, and accepted the bouquet. “Alright, I know when to admit defeat. How much?” he asked.

“They’re on the house. You seem like the sort of person who could use a few more flowers in their life.” the flower girl answered with another pleased waggle of her head as she handed Ifan the bouquet, her smile brighter than the sunflower he’d been glaring at.

Ifan titled his head at her beseechingly. “Can I at least give you a little gift of gil, then? I wouldn’t want to put you out of business.” offered the magician.

She shook her head, still smiling. “I’m not worried, there’s always a need for flowers. Plus I have a little gift when it comes to earning repeat customers.” The flower girl then winked and grinned again, and Ifan had the strangest feeling that he would indeed be back to purchase more. She raised her hand to give the Warrior of Light a little wave. “You take care, now. Do say hello to your sweetheart for me.” she said.

Ifan grinned at her, giving the flower girl a courteous little bow. “I will. Thanks, you take care as well.” he bade, before he turned and headed off.

As Ifan neared their meeting place, Ifan felt a faint pang of classic buyer’s remorse: perhaps he should have insisted that the flower girl tell him the meaning of his choice. What if he said the wrong thing? Not that G’raha would ever be upset over such a matter, but Ifan really wanted even the simplest little gift to mean a lot. He hid the flowers behind his back as he caught sight of the Miqo’te, his cheeks a little flushed and a faintly nervous tremor in his step - seeming not the least bit like a man who’d faced down primals and yet lived.

G’raha grinned brightly at his lover as Ifan made his way towards him, ears and tail perked happily at his champion’s approach. “A fine afternoon, dear heart.” Then he blinked, ears settling a little upon noticing his lover’s face. “Are you quite alright? You seem rather flustered.” asked G’raha.

“A fine afternoon to you as well, ‘Raha.” he greeted in return. Then Ifan swallowed and mustered up his courage. “I’ll admit I’m a bit nervous, but… here.” the magician drew the flowers out from behind his back and offered the bouquet to G’raha with a loving, but still nervous smile. “For you, my lord.” he said.

G’raha’s lips parted silently in shock as he stared at the blue flowers. Then he gave a breath of disbelief, ears splaying as he looked up to Ifan’s face in joyous rapture. “Myosotis? You remembered…” said G’raha.

Ifan blinked as his face fell into confusion. “...They’re your favorite?” he asked, slowly.

G’raha blinked in turn. “Of course. Was that not why you chose them?” His head tilted slightly and one ear raised quizzically. 

There was a long few moments pause. Ifan’s face turned very, very red, and he lowered his gaze bashfully. “...I picked them cause they reminded me of your old eye, before the Tower.” he muttered. 

G’raha stared at Ifan in quiet shock for a few moments. Then he simply started laughing without a trace of scorn or shame, a simple sound of pure delight that made Ifan’s cheeks burn all the fiercer. “Whatever shall I do with you, my hopeless champion…” said G’raha as he leaned up to press a very, very appreciative kiss to Ifan’s lips to try and soothe the man’s embarrassment. 

Ifan felt a little better from the kiss, but the sheer amount of tension that he’d built up in himself over what was ultimately just a bunch of flowers still kept his cheeks flushed and his demeanor faintly bashful. “Don’t be mean.” pouted Ifan, right knee canting inwards slightly. “I’m sorry for forgetting.” he added, with a faintly apologetic note.

G’raha gave a wide, appreciative, and sympathetic smile. “Dear heart, any flower from you shall always be my favorite.” said the archon as he placed his hands over Ifan where they grasped the crepe-wrapped stems.

“”Raha…” Ifan’s cheeks went right back to full flush, an obvious ruddy bronze that didn’t help the impression that nearby onlookers got - that of a nervous adolescent asking someone to go steady. But he still smiled nonetheless, happy to see G’raha liked the gift. “As long as you like them, that’s what matters.” he finished with a nod.

G’raha’s ears wiggled joyfully. “Indeed, I do. I love them as I love you, my mighty champion.” he cooed with the most contented grin that his face could physically muster.

Ifan gave a pleased grin of his own, embarrassment finally receding at the sight of G’raha being so thrilled. “I love you too, my lord.” He leaned down to give his beloved lord another kiss, making sure to move the flowers to the side so as not to damage the lovingly-prepared arrangement. When their lips parted, Ifan smiled down at the archon with a small tilt of his head. “Well, humor me. Do they mean something good?” he asked.

G’raha Tia simply gave his mighty champion a wide and knowing smile. “Forget-me-not.”