Author's Notes: This was started before the summer, and I only finished it days ago. I've gotten more of a grasp on the characters since I started this, so I apologize if their personalities seem to change throughout the story. It wasn't truly intentional.
I also have Rosethorn as overly blunt and emotional in this story. I feel a connection with Rosethorn as a character, as I believe I'm quite similar to her. That's just how I was feeling during the different times I wrote this. I was cranky when she is written to be overly blunt, I was in my moon days when she was too emotional, and I was content when she was in ecstasy. That's just how it works with my writing and me.
Even with all of the aforementioned mistakes and any spelling or grammar mistakes this story contains, I still like it. Review if you would like to.
"Come on, Rosethorn. The early bird catches the worm," Lark said with a bit too much patience. She was walking down the small path in front of Discipline, half dragging her shorter friend.
"But the early worm gets eaten," the chestnut haired beauty retorted with a snort, stumbling down the path to the front gate. She fingered through her stubborn auburn hair, cropped close to her scalp. She was sure she would make it obey her by the time they got to the Hub. "I feel more like a worm than a bird at the moment."
"Well, if you're the early worm then I'm the early bird. This particular bird has caught you and has every intention of brining you to the Hub despite the early hour," the tall woman in a long, baggy habit of dark green—signifying her dedication to the Earth Gods—replied with a small smile tugging at her lips. Her captivating brown eyes were a lit with multiple sparks as she speeded up, walking more briskly towards the gate.
"This—," Rosethorn stated with a small frown, "—is a lose-lose situation."
"I don't see it that way," the willowy dedicated with golden brown skin, short cropped, glossy black curls, and a cat-like face responded simply. Her cheekbones were broad, yet her chin was small and nearly pointed. Her eyes were a calming brown, melting the hearts they peered into.
"Goose," the younger, shorter woman said with a glare towards Lark. Rosethorn's frame was stocky, filled with muscles and wrapped in soft, alabaster skin. Her eyes were also brown, though sharp and domineering at most times. They were currently sleep-filled, though somewhat kind when she looked to her dear friend. Rosethorn's mouth was beautifully carved, her lips pink in comparison to her fair skin. Above her eyes were naturally arched eyebrows, delicate and thin. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes with small, sturdy fists made for working, she asked, "Why are we going to the Hub so early, anyway?"
"We're having a visitor," Lark replied swiftly, scurrying her friend out of the gate before closing and latching it shut behind them. When the tall woman saw the look on the other Earth Dedicates face—a thoughtful frown and then a glare—she went on. "Willowwater is coming by."
"Willowwater comes by weekly with the dim-witted mistakes of the Water Temple novices and Dedicates. Why's today special enough for a feast?" inquired Rosethorn, miffed. She crossed her arms over her chest as she began to briskly walk the winding path that Winding Circle Temple was named for. "I don't see why we couldn't wait till breakfast to have this chat with Gorse. He'll be overly busy, today of all days."
Lark just smiled and jogged a few steps to catch up with the plant mage. "I wouldn't have had time to get the food just before Willowwater comes, and if I had had the kitchen make it last night it would have gone bad by now. Besides, Willow didn't set an exact time. She's just coming around breakfast."
"Very like her," Rosethorn remarked gruffly, huffing once and scowling the rest of the way to the Hub. The sun was hours away from rising.
When the two dedicates reached the Hub, Lark instructed Rosethorn to wait outside and she was happy to do so. She settled a few yards away from the main entrance, sitting with her legs out straight and her back up against the sturdy wall. With her last thought of the tents and tables diligently being set up by the dedicates and novices who volunteered to do so, she began to nap.
"Surprisingly, I have a short period when I'm not busy directly after lunch. Most of the kitchen staff gets an hour-long break to visit their pals after we serve lunch. I'll make you your feast then," Gorse said, leaning against one of the kitchen walls. He was smiling down at Lark. He winked before continuing, "I'll even deliver it myself, after I wrap up making diner. The novices are serving, so I'll be free till cleanup. How young will she be?"
"Thirty. I'm quite sure she's forgotten that it's her self-proclaimed birthday in our hasty awakening, so this could really work out. She's probably napping outside as we speak," Lark replied with a smile as wide as the Kitchen Head's. "Thank you for all the help! I couldn't make this work without you."
"She deserves it," the large man stated, turning around briefly. After some shuffling he faced Lark again, two large baskets in his firm grip. He made them look to be an ounce each. "Should I call for a novice to help you?"
"No, thank you. I'll recruit Rosie to help me carry one; you need all of your staff to prepare for the upcoming day," Lark said firmly, taking a basket in each arm. She made sure to keep the strain from her features; the baskets were indeed heavier than Gorse made them look. "Again, thank you. I'll return the baskets before lunch."
Gorse smiled reassuringly down at Lark. He placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently before letting up. "Don't worry about it."
With one last smile towards the generous man, Lark left the kitchen. As she walked out of the main entrance she scanned the area. At last she found what she was looking for: the rolled up form of Rosethorn as she slept soundly. Lark smirked as she sauntered over and carefully settled the heavy baskets next to Rosethorn on both side.
"Wake up, love. It's time to go home," Lark cooed, caressing the plant mage's cheek gently with her thumb. Rosethorn stirred, yawning and rubbing her eyes. After a proper stretch she opened her mulch colored eyes and gazed directly into the chocolates of Lark's.
"Mmm…that was quick," the stocky dedicate responded sleepily. It was then that she noticed the rather large and heavy-looking baskets. Her face fell. "I suppose you want me to—," yawn, "—carry those?"
"Just one. I'll hold the other," Lark said as she picked up the basket to Rosethorn's right. "Watch out; they're heavy. It's all of the food for breakfast and lunch."
"I noticed," Rosethorn retorted with a scowl directed towards the food-filled basket in her arms. Before she could ask, 'What about dinner?' Lark was already speaking.
"You know, you really do look like a cute little bear when you're sleeping," Lark teased, inertly sighing of relief that she had stopped Rosethorn from asking the obvious question. She had to be more careful of what she said.
"I do not. Bears are fierce and strong, and so am I," the 'bear' retorted, making a face and growling. The two dedicates laughed as they continued down the path.
"Well, you certainly don't look cute when you do that," Lark remarked, still grinning. This was the Rosethorn she loved to be with most. The plant mage wasn't known for being much of a jester, but she did have a sense of humor, given it was a dry sense. Lark loved it when her friend joked.
"Good. I might just have to keep making that face to make sure you remember," Rosethorn replied mockingly, walking closer to Lark. In an instant the shorter woman stood up on the balls of her feet and pecked Lark on the cheek. Neither woman was sure exactly why, but they did know that there was an infectious good mood in the air.
"In the words of Rosethorn, 'Goose.'" Both friends chuckled at that.
It was an hour after breakfast at the Hub that there was a knock at the door. Both women looked up from where they were setting up the last part of breakfast. When they looked at each other Lark nearly cringed. Rosethorn had a look on her face that clearly shouted, 'She's your problem; you get the door.' Lark did so without hesitation.
Before the tall earth dedicate could even utter a greeting the visitor—the water dedicate Willowwater—spoke in an excited tone. "I have excellent news!"
"I'm glad; please come in," Lark replied with a smile and opened the door further. Willow nearly skipped inside. When she saw Rosethorn's facial expression and noticed that one could nearly see her steaming, the water dedicate asked her question in a whisper.
"What's got her water in a whirlpool?"
"I didn't tell her you were coming until I woke her abruptly early this morning," Lark whispered back. When she received Rosethorn's enraged glare for being kept out of the conversation, Lark coughed nervously. In her customary, lithe voice she added aloud, "Breakfast is ready."
Rosethorn brought the last plate of food—small pastries glazed in a honey and cinnamon sauce—to the table. "This—," she said and pointed to a chair at the end of the table, "—is my chair."
Lark sighed and showed Willowwater to her chair. Rosie and Willowwater had never gotten along well, and their strained acquaintanceship had worsened lately. Rosethorn hated Lark and Willow's past, while Willowwater envied Lark and Rosethorn's love.
Silence followed the blessing of the food as everyone selected what to put on her plate. Having had enough of the silence, Lark spoke. "So, what was that good news you spoke of earlier, Willow?"
The water dedicate swallowed the sausage she had been chewing and looked up at Lark. Willow's eyes sparkled. "Dawnmist asked me to be with her! She said she had been waiting for Mi—," she stopped abruptly. Lark had gently kicked her under the table.
"That's excellent! She's been talking about you nonstop for months" Lark responded with a smile, ignoring the puzzled frown or glare Rosethorn must have been sending her over the table. "Isn't it, Rosie?"
Rosethorn smirked and stabbed a blueberry with her fork. "Yes, indeed it is. Now you'll be off Lark's back."
"Now Rosie, don't be hostile. Willow is overjoyed; we don't want to spoil her mood. She doesn't deserve your thorns on such a happy day," Lark scolded. Rosethorn looked down at her plate, mumbling. She clenched her teeth and Lark continued. "I hope you two weave a very happy life together, Willow."
"Yes, happy life," Rosethorn grumbled to her plate, not looking up.
"Thank you, both of you," Willowwater said. She smiled at Lark and then turned to Rosethorn, glaring. "I wish the same for you two, as well," she added in a grumble similar to Rosethorn's.
Hours later Willowwater was gone, browsing the festival with Dawnmist. The Discipline women were still doing dishes, Rosethorn scowling at the plate in her hands. When she spoke, it was to her plate. "I don't like that woman."
Lark had a scowl that matched Rosethorns, which didn't happen often. It surprised even the thread mage. She spoke in an enraged whisper, "Why, Rosethorn? Is it because she had my love before you?"
Rosethorn winced visibly. That much was true, but she wouldn't admit it. This was a topic she hated arguing about, even with her love for arguments. "She's a flake, and she doesn't use her head," She replied at last. There was hurt in her eyes, so she looked away from Lark.
"You know that isn't true. She is a Great Mage; you know that one cannot gain that title with just magic. It takes intelligence. Why do you really hate her, Rosethorn? Why?" Lark pleaded, walking to Rosethorn. The willowy dedicate could tell her friend was upset, and Lark was no longer angry.
Lark pressed her front against Rosethorn's back, wrapping her long arms around the shorter woman's waist. When the plant mage sagged back against Lark, she rested her cheek against the back of Rosethorn's hair.
"That is it, isn't it? Rosie, I don't love Willowwater the way I love you. Yes, I will always have a small amount of feelings for her, as you do for Crane. But you, Rosethorn, have my heart, and protect it gallantly with your thorns. I love you Rosie, always," Lark whispered into Rosethorn's hair, her breath warm and misty.
A tear trickled down Rosethorn's cheek, dropping onto the plate in her hands. She put the plate back in the sink and wiped the tearstain away impatiently. For a moment she stood there, gripping the sink until her knuckles went white.
At last she turned in Lark's arms and her fiercely. Rosethorn rested her head gently against Lark's collarbone. The taller woman ran her fingers through Rosethorn's chestnut hair. The thread mage held Rosethorn close, one arm around her waist and the other around her shoulders.
The plant mage sobbed, her broad shoulders shaking slightly. The wetness of her tears collected on Lark's habit. Lark hummed in a low pitch, making her chest area vibrate, "It's okay, love. Let it out."
Rosethorn quieted and rested against Lark, wanting her warmth. After a few moments she spoke in a whisper, her voice compressed by the tightness of her throat. "I don't want to have any more feelings for Crane—that arrogant dolt. I just get so worried that you'll go back to Willowwater. I'm still not used to love, not used to having it or receiving it. I love you, Lark. More than I've ever loved anything; and it scares me. All I've ever had to truly love were my plants and my birds. Now that I have you to love, I don't want to lose you."
"Shhh, shhh. You're talking nonsense now. I wouldn't dream of leaving you. Especially not for that fidget Willow. She is intelligent, but Mila is she ditzy. She has nothing on you," Lark cooed, stroking Rosethorn's cheek with her fingertips.
Rosethorn grinned at that, nuzzling into Lark. "And Crane can't even make it into your forest. No comparison. Actually, you're better than any other man," she said, her voice closer to its normal pitch.
They stood there for a long time, each nearly afraid to let go. Eventually, though, Lark whispered into Rosethorn's hair, "How about we go and enjoy the festival, love?" Rosethorn just nodded and reluctantly stepped out of Lark's embrace.
The festival continued throughout the day, and Lark and Rosethorn mingled through most of it. They never left each other, and were nearly always holding hands. They took a break for lunch and ate it as a picnic up on the wall next to the sea.
The Discipling women were at one point talked into a dancing competition. Despite Rosethorn's anger at being forced—as she saw it—into the dance competition, the couple did quite well. They beat Niko, who had visited for the week, and Moonstream. Rosethorn couldn't help but brag about that.
The rest of the evening went by pretty uneventfully, give or take a few outbursts and arguments. At dinnertime Lark and Rosethorn made their way back home.
"When are we eating dinner?" Rosethorn inquired, lacing her fingers with Lark's. They still hadn't discussed their dinner plans.
"You'll see," Lark replied nonchalantly and continued walking, smiling over at Rosethorn.
"Oh, you," the plant mage remarked, but for once did not question further.
When the two dedicates reached Discipline there was quite a large gathering of Dedicates, and even a few of the novices—those who didn't fear, and possibly admired, Rosethorn. Amongst the Dedicates were Willowwater and Dawnmist—who were busy flirting, Crane, Frostpine, Niko, Moonstream, and many others. Lark and Rosethorn mingled with all of the groups. One particular novice seemed to follow the birthday woman around, though not in an obvious way. She always seemed to have something to do, no matter where she migrated. Lark smiled tenderly at the thought.
A half an hour into the party, Gorse arrived with a large bundle of delicious-smelling food. He had multiple main courses, and something for everyone to try. He could only stay a short while before returning to the kitchen. Soon after that, Moonstream departed with Niko, as she had to prepare for the midsummer midnight service. It was usually quite packed.
For the most part the party was just the Dedicates and novices talking. At one point speeches were made, and even Lark took to the stage mad up of one of Rosethorn's workshop benches.
Lark's speech started out as, "I feel as if I've known Rosie all of my life." It went on to explain what she loved about Rosethorn, each trait paired with a humorous and sometimes embarrassing story. It finished, "I'm sure that the minute you were birthed, wherever I was, my heart sang with pure ecstasy." By the end of the speech Rosethorn was blushing ferociously and almost in tears. It was the combination of the good humor of great memories, the sheepish grins of embarrassment, and all the love she held for the bird in front of her. Rosethorn stood frozen for a matter of seconds, paralyzed by her breath-taking feelings for Lark. At last the plant mage jumped foreword and threw her arms around Lark before kissing her gently upon the lips.
The crowd, and even Crane, gasped at that. It was rare to see Lark and Rosethorn even touch in more than just subtle ways when others were around. Lark smiled tenderly and rubbed Rosethorn's back in circles for a moment. Then the two rejoined the crowd to hear a few more speeches.
After the speeches there was more social time, and the guests started to fall away one by one. Eventually only Lark, Rosethorn, and her novice admirer were left. The three chatted for a while and the mood was giddy.
The novice stood and bowed her head an inch or two before speaking. "I wish you a pleasant birthday eve. I must be going though; I've got studying and magic practice that needs to be done. Thank you both for your hospitality," with minimal touching on her part during the goodbyes she was gone.
"I never did catch her name," Rosethorn commented as she began to clean up.
"I didn't, either. She doesn't share it often. I did hear from another Earth Dedicate that the girl wishes to be Dedicated as 'Crocus'," Lark replied and helped with the cleaning. Rosethorn smiled, but Lark went on. "Did you know that her peers call her Rosethorn-in-training?"
Rosethorn came to a punctual halt, puzzled. "Why's that?"
Lark grinned as she replied, "It's because of how much she admires you. She mentions you and your accomplishments quite a lot. From what I've heard and seen, she's quite similar to you, though different in many ways."
The shorter woman continued cleaning silently, digesting those words. She had never felt like much of a role model, yet there had been someone who looked up to her with such extreme admiration here at her surprise party.
The thread mage noticed the lack of response and walked to Rosethorn, taking the plate she was holding and setting it aside. "Come, love. We can clean the rest in the morning," Lark whispered into Rosethorn's ear and grasped one of her hands.
Lark led Rosethorn up to the attic, where Rosethorn looked around quizzically. The darker woman gently squeezed the plant mage's hand and indicated for her to look up.
"But we haven't been up there in years!" Rosethorn exclaimed with surprise and stood unblinking. The two of them hadn't gone stargazing together since they were both assigned to Discipline years before.
The willowy female just smiled knowingly and arranged the ladder. She climbed up and opened the trapdoor before turning and signaling for Rosethorn to follow. Lark then pulled herself onto the roof and arranged the skirts of her habit. Before Rosethorn reached the top of the ladder, Lark reached over and plucked a small, wrapped gift box from the thatch by the chimney.
Rosethorn hauled herself up and positioned herself next to the other woman. Lark pressed the package into the plant mage's hand and kissed her slowly at the corner of her lips. "Happy birthday, Rosie."
The stocky dedicate grinned and gently unwrapped the gift, pocketing the ripped material. When she got to the small, mahogany box inscribed 'Rosethorn', she unlatched and opened it slowly. Inside was a silver chain necklace with the charm of an amethyst in the shape of a crocus. Under it laid a silk cloth with an indigo background, velvet red roses, green stems, and thorns. It was delicately sewn and in the lower right corner, 'With love from Lark, forever.' was stitched.
The birthday woman was speechless as her heart race increased and she was overwhelmingly aware of Larks presence besides her. Lark picked up the necklace and reached over gently to put it around Rosethorn's neck and connect the last chain link on each end. Rosethorn grasped Lark's arm with a feather's touch and kissed the smooth, golden skin that was comparable to silk.
Rosethorn pocketed the handkerchief and gently but forcefully pushed Lark back into the thatch. The green name then rested her head on the stitch-witch's stomach and lay down. The Discipline women looked up into the dark, sparkling sky and Lark began to run her fingers through Rosethorn's hair.
"Thank you. I love you, Lark," the shorter woman replied at last and nestled into Lark's warmth. She could almost feel Lark's smile.
"I love you too, Rosethorn," Lark replied affectionately as she stroked Rosethorn's soft cheek. The chores the two women would have to complete the next day were completely forgotten.