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Common Poppies are as red as the dawn. They represent dreams; honor those who are gone. Imagination, wealth, sacrifice, death, red like the blood of those out of their depth. So how very fitting the color matches the eyes of those who have given up two of their lives. A husband so sweet, who filled empty hours, taken by the corruption of the red flowers.
Scott landed in front of the empty greenhouse, gasping for breath as the ground rushed up to meet him. He only barely managed to avoid crashing, his usual grace abandoning him. Everything was blurry, and he felt about ten seconds away from keeling over.
His wings shuddered behind him, the feathers fluffing out to reflect his rattled state. He tried to calm his racing heart, feeling a lump rise in his throat as his brain swam with images he couldn’t shake.
A valley tucked away from the rest of the world, surrounded by flowers, with two hobbit holes dug into the side of the hills that stretched up on all sides. Crumbling, mossy stone walls rose in the places the hills did not, a hollow in the middle serving as an entrance. A waterfall tumbled down the hillside into a pond, where stones were laid across as steps.
It was a pleasant scene, not one that you’d think a nightmare would begin in, but then again, many bad dreams start out nice.
A figure walked out of one of the two hobbit holes, the one made of birch and oak wood. He had blonde hair that shone like gold in the sunlight and a smile that was even brighter.
He was familiar, but Scott couldn’t put a finger on where he had seen him before. It was something in the slight lopsidedness of his grin, the lilt in his laugh as he approached, the awkward posture. But trying to pin down where he’d seen it before was like grasping at smoke. If only Scott could see his full face, but his eyes were shrouded in shadow, impossible to make out.
The figure stopped a foot from him, and held out a hand, a golden ring on his ring finger catching the light. An engagement ring. It came back to him suddenly, this was his husband, how could he have forgotten?
His husband said something, but it was too muffled to properly understand. It elicited a laugh from Scott all the same, as if he were reliving a memory. Maybe this was a memory, though of what, he wasn’t sure. Surely he’d remember a place as beautiful as this, but he had no recollection of it.
Warmth spread through his body, and his lips tugged upwards into a smile of his own. Not for the first time, he wondered how he managed to land such a wonderful life partner. Someone who could make even the most mundane of tasks seem fun.
Scott reached out to take the hand, his moments not really his own, only to jerk back as soon as the tips of his fingers brushed the other man’s. Suddenly, as if he were viewing everything through a TV screen, everything flickered. Golden hair and bright smiles were replaced by rotting grey skin, and tattered clothing.
Scott sucked in a breath, swallowing his panic. This was his husband, no matter what color the heart on his sleeve was, he wouldn’t hurt him. The sun was setting over the valley, and the first few stars had began to appear in the sky.
His husband said something again, this time his tone questioning and concerned, and Scott could sense confusion radiating off of him despite not seeing his eyes. Scott let out a deep breath, and replied. He couldn’t understand his words any better than his love’s, much to his disappointment.
He reached out to take the hand again, and then he was being pulled in. His chest was pressed against the other man, and the two of them began to dance. Scott lost track of time, lost in the scene, overwhelmed by a rush of affection, but everything flickered again, and suddenly he found his arms empty.
The scene had changed once more. They were surrounded by the remains of what was once a forest, but was now a war-torn battlefield.
In the corner of his eye, Scott could see more figures, entirely blurred out, fighting for their lives. Panic swept over him and he looked around wildly, trying to make sense of everything, and more importantly, find his husband.
Again it felt like he knew this place, like it had once been burned into his memory, but he still couldn’t recognize it. Nor did he recognize any of the people currently locked in combat around him.
To his relief, his husband was only a short distance away. However, joy turned to dread as he realized that something was very, very wrong.
An arrow was pierced through his head, straight through his brain, the fletchings sticking out of his forehead. Blood flowed freely from the wound, squirting out and pouring down his face, almost as if it were some sort of grotesque fountain. Scott felt bile rise in his throat, and he forced it down.
His husband's already destroyed outfit was covered in red, and more was dripping from his nose and mouth. Scott was screaming something, his throat sore from whatever had taken place here, watching as his love began to fall.
He rushed forward to catch his husband’s body, tears streaming down his face. Rage, grief, confusion, and panic filled his mind, forcing out any and all other thoughts. Scott brushed some of the now filthy hair out of his husband’s face, babbling words he still couldn’t understand.
His husband reached up, using the last of his strength to grasp his hand, and whispered something to him. Despite it being the quietest of all the things said, it was the only statement he heard clearly.
“I love you.” The grip loosened, and Scott screamed even more, probably yelling his husband’s name, attempting to wake him, feeling his body go limp. It felt so unnatural for someone who was so full of life just a few moments ago to be so still. Then he was gone.
It was only then that his husband’s eyes came into view, and Scott lost all his breath. Because instead of any natural color, (they were supposed to be brown. Why was he so sure they were supposed to be brown-) they were a bright, eye searing red.
And that’s when he’d jolted awake, still screaming, barely able to tell what was reality and what was not. His cheeks were wet and he dimly realized the tears were real, that he’d been crying in his sleep. He struggled to comprehend what had happened, filled with the overwhelming feeling that this was wrong, everything was wrong, he had to get out of here.
He’d rushed to the balcony and spread his wings, taking off into the sky before he even fully processed what he was doing. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thought he might be still in his pajamas, before remembering he hadn’t had time to take off his outfit from yesterday, and just slept in that.
Now he was here, stumbling towards the glass building that unlocked with the touch of his hand, at four thirty in the morning. The greenhouses were always empty at this time, even the earliest of the gardeners wouldn’t arrive for at least another two hours. That was more than enough time for him to collect himself and get ready for the day.
As he pulled open the door, a blast of warm, almost hot air hit him, and he sighed in relief. In his hazy struggle to get out of the palace, he hadn’t even donned a cloak, and the mountains were not a forgiving terrain.
Greenhouses here were a bit different than other empires’, and were often referred to by citizens as “pockets of spring.” They were indoor gardens, to put it simply. Rather than shelves, artificial lighting, and potted plants, it looked like something you would see in Katherine’s empire. And in fact the Overgrowth had been a big inspiration. This particular greenhouse had a central courtyard, with a few picnic tables scattered about and a fountain in the center.
Scott managed to avoid collapsing until he had reached one of those tables, and set his head down on the wooden surface. For a few minutes, nothing happened. He tried to hold back everything that was begging to be released, a thin glass barrier trying to hold back the ocean.
Then a sobbed ripped its way out of his throat, and after that, he didn’t stop. He couldn’t, though part of him wanted to. Another part of him, however, was so tired of repressing everything, and wanted to finally let everything go.
When he looked up, bright red caught his eye. It was a small section of the garden dedicated to poppies, added at his request. He didn’t really know why he asked for it, but seeing it brought him both extreme comfort, and unbearable grief.
Now, both of these emotions tore through him with the force of a hurricane. He reached up and grabbed fistfulls of his hair, helpless to push everything away like he normally did.
The Rivendell king lost track of how long he was there, consumed by his tears, but eventually, his cries softened, and he was left in silence once more. Everything felt hollow, empty, not even the sadness was left. He just wanted to disappear.
Scott heard the door creak open, and his head shot up, meeting the eyes of a very startled gardener. Had it really been that long already?
“Y-your Majesty! My apologies, I didn’t know you were in here.” She said, taking a step back and reaching for the door handle. Scott recognized her, though it would be hard not to. Pacifica, he thought her name was.
Unlike the rest of the palace staff, she wasn’t an elf. She wasn’t even from Rivendell, though she had successfully applied for citizenship.
She was native to the Ocean Empire, as told by her pale blue skin, white hair, and fins where her ears would be. A month or two ago, one of his guards, Ember, had come to him, begging for extra time off to visit a friend who had been in a very harrowing situation. He had agreed, as they were obviously very distressed, and he knew they wouldn’t be able to rest until they’d seen her.
Fast forward a few weeks, they’d come back with a shy merling, pulled some strings, and got her a job in the greenhouses. It wasn’t hard to figure out she was the friend they went to visit, given the very fresh scar slashing through her eye. But other than that, she was an enigma.
No one knew much about her. She barely interacted with anyone other than Ember, and tended to be quiet and withdrawn.
Everyone figured out pretty early on that she hated being stared at, whether it be because she was from a different land or because of her scar. Her voice was barely above a whisper, she avoided groups of more than five people like most people avoided Xornoth’s corruption, and usually took the earliest or latest shifts possible, so she wouldn’t have to talk to anyone.
Right now, she looked like a deer in the headlights, like she had just seen something she wasn’t supposed to. To be honest, she wasn’t supposed to see this. No one was supposed to see Scott like this.
Pacifica fumbled with the doorknob for a good five seconds, as if it were coated in slime, before Scott held up a hand, and she froze.
He cleared his throat, and tried to force something out that was at least somewhat dignified. “Please, don’t let me deter you. I won’t interrupt your work.” He ran a hand through his hair, and broke eye contact with her.
In the corner of his eye, he saw her nod slowly, and slide off the thick cloak from around her shoulders. Despite the mountains being quite the change from the tropical climate of the oceans, the merling seemed to have adjusted well. She was dressed in the Rivendellian style of clothing, with a fuzzy, soft pink sweater, and a skirt made of wool, decorated with stars, antlers, and sheep.
She approached carefully, as if he were a rabid animal, skirting around him on the other side of the courtyard. He might have taken offense, if he didn’t know that he must be quite a sight right now, and, from what he’d gathered, that’s just how she was with everyone.
When he didn’t say anything more to her, she relaxed a bit, and her body language became slightly more sure of herself.
Pacifica picked up a basket full of small, handheld tools, and got to work. Scott set his head back down on the table, trying his very hardest to be quiet. He heard the shy gardener shuffling about, probably still giving him a wide berth. He wasn’t sure if it was out of respect or fear.
For a few minutes, the two of them stubbornly ignored the other’s presence, both trying to do their own thing. Eventually, though, Scott heard a quiet sigh, and a bit of clanking metal. He glanced over to the source of the noise, and saw Pacifica going to another part of the greenhouse, out of sight from him.
He closed his eyes, thinking that at the very least, he could get another hour of rest before he went about his day. Despite being exhausted, however, his mind stubbornly refused to fall asleep. Just as he was beginning to grow frustrated, he heard a scraping sound as something slid across the table to him, and sat up slowly.
In front of him was a cup of steaming hot tea, and on the other side of the table, the gardener was sitting down, another cup in her hands. She didn’t say anything, even as he stared at her, bewildered, and blew on it gently. She sipped at it, and recoiled slightly when it was too hot.
Scott eyed the cup in front of him, tentatively picking it up. A quick once over with a discrete spell told him that it was perfectly safe to drink. It wasn’t that he thought she would poison him, but… well, it couldn’t hurt to be sure. He was a king, after all. That position came with more than its fair share of enemies.
The drink was hot to the touch, and almost singed his fingers, but he didn’t care. He also took a small sip, grimacing as the hot drink burned his lips.
At first, they just drank their beverages in silence, and Scott thought that was probably how it was going to stay. However, it soon became too much for him. He needed to say something.
“Um… Thank you.” He said, causing Pacifica’s gaze to snap to his. “I appreciate the tea.”
Pacifica cleared her throat, smiling slightly. “You’re welcome, Your Majesty. I find that tea helps me calm down whenever I’ve had a nightmare.”
Scott blinked, startled. “How’d you know?”
The gardener’s face flushed ever so slightly. “I uh… I recognize the signs of the aftermath. Besides, it’s far too early for it to be much else.”
“Oh.” Was all he said in return. Awkward silence blanketed the two of them once more, and they took turns sipping their too-hot tea and blowing on it, trying to cool it down.
“You know… I’m really not supposed to be here for at least another hour.” Pacifica said, her voice so quiet that if it weren’t for the dead silence surrounding them, Scott never would have heard her.
“Really?” He asked, humoring the gardener. He wasn’t sure where she was going with this, but there was clearly something she wanted to say.
“Yeah, it’s just that Ember has to leave super early for their patrol and I’m usually up by then anyway, so they walk me here and I just hang around. That's why I have a tea kettle stashed up here.” She took another sip, and nodded in the direction he had seen her leave before.
It was obvious she wanted to say more, so Scott just nodded patiently and waited for her to continue, focusing on his tea rather than on her to avoid making her uncomfortable.
“Do you… want to talk about it?” She asked hesitantly after a few moments. Scott straightened, staring at her like she’d grown a second head. Out of all the things he thought she’d say, that was not it. She wilted under his gaze, her shoulders rising and her face turning a darker blue.
“I-I mean, you don’t have to. Obviously, you’re the king, you really don’t have to do anything. You know- nevermind, that was a stupid question just ignore me. I’m just a gardener what do I know and you’re-” Her ramblings grew more and more incoherent by the second, until Scott was pretty sure even she didn’t know what she was saying anymore.
Scott sighed, causing Pacifica to clamp her mouth shut. He set his mug down on the table, staring at his reflection in the liquid. Pacifica eyed him warily.
“No, no… you’re fine. Maybe talking about it would help.” He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Scott had never been very good with emotions. They clouded his judgement and made things far more difficult than they needed to be.
Sometimes they made it hard to do what needed to be done, sometimes they lowered his guard when he didn’t want it to be lowered, and sometimes they were just… confusing.
There was one ruler in particular, that this applied to more than anyone else. His feelings got all mixed up when he saw him. He wanted to resent him, be as distant as he was with everyone else, but the only thing he could conjure up was a fierce desire to protect him. To embrace him, wrap him up in his wings and keep him safe from the rest of the world.
Yet when the Codfather extended the hand of friendship, Scott had almost violently rejected it, overcome with a wave of fear that he couldn’t make sense of. And now here he was, alone as ever.
Being around Jimmy gave him a sense of familiarity. When they’d first met, there was something there, something almost tangible. But, like everything else, when he tried to look into it, everything fell apart. He sighed once again, resisting the urge to bang his head on the table, if only to avoid scaring the gardener in front of him.
“It… started out really nice. I was in a valley covered in flowers, like something you’d see out of a fairytale. And then… someone came up to me. I couldn’t see his face, but…” Scott started to explain his dream to the girl across from him, who listened silently. She nodded along, careful to show that he had her full attention, wincing in sympathy on occasion.
It felt… nice, to get it all off his chest. He’d never really had someone he felt he could trust with this kind of information. No one had ever even asked him about it before. He was the king, and as such, people expected him to handle this by himself.
Many noble elves and people he called acquaintances or even friends were rather snobbish, and tended to look down on those who couldn’t control their own emotions. Not one of them would be willing to listen to him.
He wasn’t particularly close enough with any of his guards to share with them without it feeling weird. Though, he supposed that he was partially at fault for that. Beyond learning all their names, he didn’t make much effort to get to know them.
He didn’t know Pacifica at all, and again, nobody besides Ember really did. But it was surprisingly easy to just lay it all out in front of her. She was a good listener. It felt like she genuinely cared about him, though she knew nothing of him either.
“This isn’t the first time I’ve had nightmares like that. Sometimes they’re not even nightmares. Sometimes they’re… nice. This was just the most recent dream.” Scott admitted, suddenly feeling even more tired. “And the worst part is, even when I see his full face, I can’t remember a damn thing about what he looks like. All I can ever recall is that damned smile.”
Pacifica hummed. “That’s… rough.” She said softly. “How often do you have these nightmares?”
“Usually they come back whenever I leave the mountain. Or- sometimes they do. I don’t know, it feels like they only reappear when I visit one place in particular.” Or see someone in particular. Scott sighed. “They’re usually not that intense though. Or that graphic.”
There was something he was missing here. He knew it, but muddled as his brain was, he couldn’t figure out how it all fit together. It was like trying to put together a puzzle, but the only pieces he had were the edges. He buried his face in his hands, and groaned, trying to stave off the approaching headache that was forming in his temples.
“Well… setting aside his appearance, do you remember anything else about this dream husband?” Pacifica asked, setting her mug down.
Scott shook his head fondly, a warm feeling enveloping him. “I don’t know. I remember that he’s very upbeat, very energetic. He always gives a hundred and ten percent at everything he does. And I know that when I’m with him, everything feels… good. It feels okay, like somehow, all the world’s problems have solved themselves, and everything is perfect. I don’t know how I managed to gather that from just a few dreams, but…”
He shrugged. “I don’t even know if he’s real. Or if any of it is real. It feels like it is, but if that’s true, wouldn’t I remember it?”
Pacifica was silent for a moment. A series of conflicting emotions clashed on her face as she cast about for an answer. Finally, she spoke again.
“I don’t think that’s always the case.” She said it firmly, in a tone that really didn’t leave a whole lot of room for argument.
Still, Scott raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean by that?”
“From the content of these nightmares, it sounds like whatever happened was pretty traumatic.” Pacifica lowered her voice, until it became almost husky. She sounded like… she was on the verge of crying herself. “Sometimes, our minds block things out, erase them from our memory, in order to protect us. Because it knows that if we tried to process it, we’d completely fall apart.” Her eyes became distant and shiny.
Scott frowned. She talked as if she had experienced this herself. His eyes drifted to the scar slashing across her eye, rendering her half blind, and wondered what exactly had happened to her. What had led her to leave behind everything she’d ever known, and move to a land full of strangers?
Pacifica noticed him staring, and swallowed, quickly changing the subject. “I hope, whoever this husband of yours was, is real. And I hope that you find him again. He made you really happy, didn’t he?”
Melancholy washed over him, and Scott smiled sadly. “He really, really did.” He didn’t mention that the next time he saw his husband would probably be in the afterlife. He appreciated the sentiment, and there was no need to drag the mood down even more.
The gardener smiled at him. “You should take the day off.” She suggested. “Postpone your meetings, push everything off for another day. I’m sure your people would understand.”
“And why would I do that?” Scott shook his head. “Rivendell needs me to be a king.”
“And you can’t be a king when your mind is drowning in emotions. Rivendell needs you at your best. A clear head is better for making important decisions anyway.” This sudden boldness seemed out of character for the, from what he’d seen, extremely skittish merling. But when he looked into her eyes he saw a deep understanding, and surprising wisdom.
As if reading his thoughts, her eyes widened, and she broke eye contact, staring at the ground again. “O-of course, that’s just a suggestion, Your Majesty.”
“Scott.” Scott corrected offhandedly. Pacifica’s head snapped back to Scott instantly, eyes going as wide as dinner plates. “‘Your Majesty’ feels too formal for a situation like this. You may call me Scott.”
“O-oh.” Pacifica choked out. She was stunned into silence, and after a few minutes, it became apparent that whatever Scott had unlocked by exposing his deepest vulnerabilities was gone, and she wasn’t going to say anything more.
He stood up suddenly, causing the other to startle back a bit. “Thank you for this.” He said. “I needed it. I think I’ll take you up on your suggestion.”
“Uh… you’re welcome.” She said in her whisper-voice. “If… if you ever need someone to talk to again… you can always come back here.” She smiled shyly.
“Noted. Goodbye Pacifica.” Scott nodded, and started heading towards the door. He waved to the gardener over his shoulder, and yawned. He was going to go back to sleep.