Post by devilinthedetails on Feb 25, 2018 5:12:02 GMT 10
Title: Language of Flowers
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 637
Summary: Yuki gives Neal a flower and a farewell.
Language of Flowers
“You’re gone to become a soldier.” As she stood beside her betrothed on a balcony overlooking a garden with ground that had yet to thaw with trees devoid of green that stretched empty, appealing arms to the heavens, Yuki wondered how many young ladies throughout the long history of Tortall had leaned against this very railing, bidding their brave knight farewell as he rode off to war in valiant defense of the realm. At least, that was how the poets and singers would describe it. Lacking a poet’s or singer’s soul, Yuki stared out at the dead garden that reflected the gloom gathering in her heart, the listless wind lifting her black hair behind her.
“Yes.” Neal reached out to spin the hair the wind stirred around his finger like a weaver. “I promise I’ll come back to you when the war is over.”
Not wanting to think about how many starry-eyed men like her Neal (but not like her Neal, because nobody could ever be quite like her Neal, and that was what made her heart feel as unlucky as a shattered mirror right now) had sworn the same thing before they had rode off to die on some bleak battlefield, Yuki shook her head. The sharp gesture cleared her mind if not her heart of the image of Neal lying broken and bloody along the Scanran border.
“I’ll wait for you.” Yuki answered his pledge with one of her own. Testing his faithfulness even now, she added, shooting him a sidelong glance, “There are flower girls stationed at all the forts.”
“I’ll be at war.” Neal emphasized his lofty proclamation by sticking his nose in the air. “I won’t have any need to buy flowers.”
“I would hope not.” Yuki tapped his nose until he lowered it. “To be safe, I have a flower for you so you remember me.”
“I’ll always remember you, flower or not.” Neal’s voice cracked, and Yuki shouldn’t have found the imperfection attractive, but she did.
“It’s a dried peony.” Yuki pulled a pink peony she had dried herself from her pocket and offered it to Neal with a bow. The dried peony had not come out as well as the dried flowers Shinko often made for Roald as a quiet but fragrant testimony to her affection for her prince, but Yuki was still proud of her creation because for once she had been patient enough to dry a flower. Yuki almost never had patience for such a craft, proof that in her own way she was as lacking in proper proportion as Neal, which was perhaps what made them fit together like pieces in a puzzle. “Peonies are called the Emperor’s Flower in the Yamani Islands, although it is the chrysanthemum that is a symbol of the imperial family.”
“The peony itself symbolizes good fortune, courage, and honor.” Neal bowed to her as he accepted the flower.
“You speak the language of flowers?” Yuki arched an eyebrow she had plucked this morning at him.
“No, but Roald does. He learned it from Shinko.” Neal pecked her on the cheek like a songbird of spring that hadn’t arrived yet. His explanation made sense to Yuki. Shinko, who shaped the world as much by her silences as by her words, would have taught Roald the meaning of every flower according to Yamani symbolism. It would be a way for Shinko to communicate without speaking to her betrothed, and unspoken language was the one at which Shinko was most adept.
“Do you like your peony?” Yuki watched his fingers stroke the petals and thought that he did but wanted to hear his pleasure from his lips.
“Of course.” His mouth moved to her ear, and he murmured, “It’s soft, and it smells sweet. I’ll send you many poems in tribute to the peony you’ve given me, love.”
“I’ll laugh at your poetry as I always do.” Yuki touched him teasingly with her fan.
“My poetry isn’t written to make you laugh. It’s written to make you sigh with desire.” Neal nipped at her earlobe, and she did sigh with desire.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 637
Summary: Yuki gives Neal a flower and a farewell.
Language of Flowers
“You’re gone to become a soldier.” As she stood beside her betrothed on a balcony overlooking a garden with ground that had yet to thaw with trees devoid of green that stretched empty, appealing arms to the heavens, Yuki wondered how many young ladies throughout the long history of Tortall had leaned against this very railing, bidding their brave knight farewell as he rode off to war in valiant defense of the realm. At least, that was how the poets and singers would describe it. Lacking a poet’s or singer’s soul, Yuki stared out at the dead garden that reflected the gloom gathering in her heart, the listless wind lifting her black hair behind her.
“Yes.” Neal reached out to spin the hair the wind stirred around his finger like a weaver. “I promise I’ll come back to you when the war is over.”
Not wanting to think about how many starry-eyed men like her Neal (but not like her Neal, because nobody could ever be quite like her Neal, and that was what made her heart feel as unlucky as a shattered mirror right now) had sworn the same thing before they had rode off to die on some bleak battlefield, Yuki shook her head. The sharp gesture cleared her mind if not her heart of the image of Neal lying broken and bloody along the Scanran border.
“I’ll wait for you.” Yuki answered his pledge with one of her own. Testing his faithfulness even now, she added, shooting him a sidelong glance, “There are flower girls stationed at all the forts.”
“I’ll be at war.” Neal emphasized his lofty proclamation by sticking his nose in the air. “I won’t have any need to buy flowers.”
“I would hope not.” Yuki tapped his nose until he lowered it. “To be safe, I have a flower for you so you remember me.”
“I’ll always remember you, flower or not.” Neal’s voice cracked, and Yuki shouldn’t have found the imperfection attractive, but she did.
“It’s a dried peony.” Yuki pulled a pink peony she had dried herself from her pocket and offered it to Neal with a bow. The dried peony had not come out as well as the dried flowers Shinko often made for Roald as a quiet but fragrant testimony to her affection for her prince, but Yuki was still proud of her creation because for once she had been patient enough to dry a flower. Yuki almost never had patience for such a craft, proof that in her own way she was as lacking in proper proportion as Neal, which was perhaps what made them fit together like pieces in a puzzle. “Peonies are called the Emperor’s Flower in the Yamani Islands, although it is the chrysanthemum that is a symbol of the imperial family.”
“The peony itself symbolizes good fortune, courage, and honor.” Neal bowed to her as he accepted the flower.
“You speak the language of flowers?” Yuki arched an eyebrow she had plucked this morning at him.
“No, but Roald does. He learned it from Shinko.” Neal pecked her on the cheek like a songbird of spring that hadn’t arrived yet. His explanation made sense to Yuki. Shinko, who shaped the world as much by her silences as by her words, would have taught Roald the meaning of every flower according to Yamani symbolism. It would be a way for Shinko to communicate without speaking to her betrothed, and unspoken language was the one at which Shinko was most adept.
“Do you like your peony?” Yuki watched his fingers stroke the petals and thought that he did but wanted to hear his pleasure from his lips.
“Of course.” His mouth moved to her ear, and he murmured, “It’s soft, and it smells sweet. I’ll send you many poems in tribute to the peony you’ve given me, love.”
“I’ll laugh at your poetry as I always do.” Yuki touched him teasingly with her fan.
“My poetry isn’t written to make you laugh. It’s written to make you sigh with desire.” Neal nipped at her earlobe, and she did sigh with desire.
