Leaving the Greenhouse
Author's Notes: Written for the Rediscovery challenge on livejournal (for the community circlefic). It gets a bit steamy, as a warning. I portrayed Crane as more of a bad guy in this than I had wished; I'll have to work on that. This takes place when Rosethorn is younger and Lark has just entered life at the temple. I haven't picked up one of the Circle books in a while, so if any of the names or setting details are incorrect (Lightsbridge? I wasn't sure) please inform me. Oh, and it's quite long. 14 pages on word.
The characters do act as teenagers from time to time, but it isn't accidental. It's how I see a lot of couples acting when alone.
Crane was rambling on like some excited child. Well, a very sophisticated child. He hid the excitement from his face, but it layered his voice and stood out through his actions. It was getting easier and easier for Rosethorn's mind to drift off. She found she was trying to pull it back less and less.
"With the greenhouse I would be able to grow flowers and plants out of season. Tomatoes, even! Can you imagine? I could grow those ripe, juicy tomatoes and you could cook..." Zone out time. When had he put his arm around her? Anyway, there was no way Rosethorn would be cooking anytime soon, and certainly not tomatoes grown from some large, humid glass building that grew plants out of season! Besides, cooking wasn't her fancy. She was reasonable at it, but she certainly didn't enjoy slaving away in front of the fire.
"Rosethorn? Rosethorn, I asked you a question," Crane pointed out in an arrogant tone as he looked down his long nose at her. Since when had he become her father? The two kept walking and Rosethorn looked sidelong at him with one eyebrow raised.
"I just missed it," the earth dedicate remarked dryly. They were getting close to Discipline; she could almost see it. Hopefully Crane wouldn't want to do anything more than talk. Rosethorn truly wasn't in the mood.
"I hate to repeat myself, but I asked if you have Midnight Service duty tonight."
"Yes, I have Midnight Torture tonight. Why do you ask?" Rosethorn answered. Crane knew she had Midnight Service duty every Earthsday. How could that have slipped his mind? The greenhouse thoughts must have been taking up more space in the air Dedicate's mind than either of them recognized.
"That's a pity. I was looking foreword to spending the evening with you…," Crane replied. He seemed genuinely disappointed, though mildly. So much for him only wanting to talk. "…to talk about the greenhouse plans." Or not. Him and his stupid greenhouse! She almost preferred when he kissed her until her lips were chapped and painful to when he talked for hours about that foolish glass building. It was so unnatural! Plants were meant to grow in their natural season, not any time the gardener wished. Rosethorn looked briefly at Crane and cringed as she looked away. He was on another hour-long greenhouse tangent.
They were very close to Discipline now. Rosethorn could see the fence and through the open gate she could see the front yard and gardens, as well as the front path. Soon they reached the gate and Rosethorn looked up to find an eye-catching sight. Lark was dyeing yarn in the front yard and her habit was rolled up at the sleeves and kilted to free her legs. The sun played tricks on her glossy curls and her face was lit by a well-placed ray of sunshine. Her features were fine and tight in concentration. Her hands were colored, as they had touched the dye.
Rosethorn glanced at Crane, whose mouth was moving as he spoke, and then to Lark as she worked. There was a slight grin tugging at her lips as her hands continued working. Why was it that the green-mage wished to go and help Lark work instead of continuing to listen to Crane ramble on? It was tempting, but Crane took that moment to bend down and press his lips to hers. His lips were hard in pressure and his stubble was itchy and uncomfortable. She didn't hate the feeling, but the stubble and hard pressure weren't her favorite feelings in the world.
The stocky young woman's eyelids fluttered open. She looked up with her light, mulch-colored eyes and noted that Crane's eyelids were shut tightly as he went about his business. Rosethorn's gaze slid to the side and landed on Lark. There it stayed, and she concentrated on how the light toyed with the thread-mage's skin and hair. It rested on her hands as she used them to work the yarn. Her eyes were dark and lustrous; her lashes fluttered when she blinked. She lifted a hand to wipe away something non-existent on her cheek and ended up with a smear of green down her golden-brown cheek. Rosethorn barely managed to stop herself from laughing into Crane's mouth.
Finally, after nigh an eternity, Crane broke away and rubbed his hands slowly up and down Rosethorn's sides. "It would have been pleasant to spend the afternoon and evening with you, Rosethorn. Now that I think on it, though, I do have work that I simply must attend to. As a Dedicate Initiate now, I cannot let the work begin to pile up."
Rosethorn was surprised to find that she was disappointed about him leaving. She looked up and let her hurt show. It was worth being authentic, at least. "All right, Crane. It would have been nice to spend some real time with you, but I understand about the work. Don't let it stress you out." Crane looked down at the chestnut-haired woman. She and Lark had cut it short recently. He preferred it long, and had told her as much. She looked too boyish.
"Do you mind if I come by later? I would adore spending some time more intimately with you," he whispered into her ear. So much for only caring about the greenhouse. Rosethorn's face fell. She truly was not in the mood, and wouldn't be later in the evening. It was time to come up with an excuse. She squirmed out of Crane's grasp and walked a few steps backwards before she spoke.
"I'm sorry, Crane. I'm on my moon days. You can come by for some talk over dinner and tea," she replied with half-faked regret. She had spoken too loudly; she saw Crane look around to see if anyone had heard.
"I think work will keep me away," he said brusquely and turned. He was on his way down the path again. So that's how it was? Work would keep him away if she wouldn't open her legs, but if she would nothing would keep him from her? That was worth remembering.
"What's wrong, Rosethorn?" A voice spoke it softly to her left. Rosethorn turned to see Lark; she had finished with her yarn dyeing.
"What do you mean?" the shorter woman asked innocently. This wouldn't last long. Lark could always cut through any walls the plant-mage tried to put up with ease.
"Your moondays don't start until tomorrow evening," Lark replied, and her face was organized to show her concern.
"How do you know that? Crane hasn't even caught on to that, and I've known him since adolescence," Rosethorn retorted with a snort. Lark grinned slightly and it lit up her face. Her eyes were sparkling and her features had relaxed slightly. The stocky woman caught the scent of sweet grass and fruit.
"I live with you, Rosethorn. I'm not likely to miss it," Lark remarked and her stunning brown eyes narrowed slightly, "If you do wish for help with whatever is on your mind you'll have to lessen the acts." Rosethorn glared at the taller woman but knew that she was right. The plant-mage did want help, or comfort at least. She certainly wouldn't beg, though, or make it obvious.
"I just wasn't in the mood for Crane today," she lied, and convincingly. She thought so, anyway. Lark looked down at Rosethorn and seemed to search her eyes with care. Lark's eyebrow shot up and she certainly didn't seem convinced, but she didn't speak on it. Rosethorn thought it best to tug the subject in another direction. "What will help me, I think, is to have an evening filled with contentedness, wit, and good conversation."
"But Rosie, any evening with you is all three of those!" Lark exclaimed as flattery. Her face nearly glowed as she threw up her hands in good show. Then she stopped and her expression fell. It took on a vulnerable look as she recognized her mistake. "I'm sorry, Rosethorn. I didn't mean to let it slip." The light-haired woman looked up and let her surprise show; she'd barely noticed. It was actually quite nice.
"Rosie? Might that be how my name is uttered in the mind behind those mysterious brown eyes?" Rosethorn teased, a smile tugging at her light, rosy lips. Her eyes now held a mischievous spark. Maybe the evening wouldn't be filled with gloom, after all. "Regardless, it's quite a nice short-name. I wouldn't mind hearing it again some time."
Lark lifted her head and tresses of her dark, glossy hair fell before her face. It was now light-hearted, smiling, and...beautiful. I shouldn't be surprised, Rosethorn scolded herself. She's always been beautiful. The ex-tumbler bowed as one might after the end of a play.
"Of course, dearest Rosethorn," the cloth-mage teased with a playful smirk. "Today and tonight will be about smiles, laughing, and chatting!" Lark did a strange twirl that she must have learned from a dancer-friend when she had been a tumbler. Both earth Dedicates broke out into laughter, doubling over and gasping for breath. Tears streaked their cheeks and a pleasant pain flooded their stomachs.
The two migrated indoors and Rosethorn had a brief moment of spirituality. She walked to the altar in the corner, bowed her head, did a prayer-sign, and thanked a few select gods for Lark's company. It slipped her mind to be thankful of Crane's. When the woman finished her thanks she lit some incense and gave the bundle of dry herbs a quick pat. This completed, she was off after Lark.
Lark smiled down at her, but it wasn't condescending at all. Rosethorn smiled right back up without hesitation. It surprised her that a smile would grace her lips so easily and without much prompting. It seemed that whenever Lark smiled the green mage wished to smile too. The thread mage looked as though she wished to say something but held back when she looked to Rosethorn again.
"Do you wish to see an amazing view with me?" The taller woman asked at last. She went on nervously before Rosethorn could answer. "I found an excellent spot nearby. Right upstairs, in fact!" The shorter woman's brow shot up but she quickly smiled to reassure the other woman.
"I'd be happy to. Just let me peek on the shakkan," Rosethorn informed and walked into her bedroom. On a stand in front of the window stood a miniature tree, strong and green. It slanted off to one side but did not cascade over its pot, or near it. The chestnut-haired woman tested the soil by lifting a rock from the surface and pressing her fingers into the indent it left in the soil. The shakkan would need watering in the evening. It wasn't dehydrated, so Rosethorn went on to check it for parasites and fungus.
Before leaving the room she groomed off a few buds that, if left to grow, would go against the shakkan's design. The other needles shivered slightly, and the small tree pointed out that what she had done tickled and it wanted to keep that growth. Rosethorn grinned and gave the trunk a gentle pat.
It would wreck your design, Crane and I have been working on it for years. It's no use wrecking years of work for a bud or two, the woman scolded. A wicked glint caught in her eyes. Your twigs are growing almost perfectly. I'm glad Crane finally let me take you home with me to get some actual work done.
The plant gave off a feeling of agreement and tugged gently at Rosethorn's power. Her lips took on a familiar sarcastic curve as she told the shakkan that it was a greedy little monster. It seemed amused and she let it have a small thread of her power. No more misplaced bulbs, you, the woman added and stroked one of the branches. It seemed to believe it would convince her sooner or later. Rosethorn agreed; shakkans were very patient plants. She was smiling as she left the room.
"Have a nice conversation with your green life?" Lark inquired playfully with smiling eyes. Rosethorn glared and then stuck her tongue out. The thread mage offered her hand to Rosethorn before speaking again. "I understand. Cloth is a surprisingly excessive talker."
The gardener laughed and put her hand in Lark's. The woman led the way up to the attic, where Rosethorn's eyes proceeded to bulge out. "I've never seen the attic this clean. I can't even recall ever seeing the floor."
"Well, if you're looking at the floor, you're looking in the wrong direction," Lark mused and pointed up to the attic ceiling. There was an open hatchway with a ladder folded into three sections. Rosethorn gawked. Why hadn't she noticed that before? Probably because it's always been piled high with carts and boxes, she remembered with a grimace. She could see a stunning blue sky through the large opening. Lark reached up and pulled the ladder down. When it was straight and sturdy she backed out of the way so that Rosethorn could go up first.
"When did you have time to do this?" The still-shocked woman stammered as she made her way to the ladder. Lark was right behind her.
"You weren't home until just before dawn yesterday and I couldn't sleep," Lark answered softly as she continued up the ladder. Rosethorn hit her head on the ceiling when she heard. Lark knows what time I come in? she thought. The thought was erased when her head began to throb. At least she had made it to the top.
Lark jumped up after the green mage. Rosethorn turned, holding her head, to find a very concerned thread mage. Her speech was hurried and her face took on the element of worry. "Are you all right?" Behind the worry in Lark's expression Rosethorn saw guilt. The taller woman felt horrible; the trip had been her idea. It wasn't her fault the gardener had hit her head.
"My dignity needs a bit of bandaging up," she remarked with a sheepish grin. A thought struck her and it took all of her might not to laugh. She bent her head toward Lark before adding, "Kiss it better?"
To her surprise, Lark did. There was a kindness in her eyes that Rosethorn often saw. The plant mage, to keep up appearances, chuckled at the idea and what had followed. Lark did as well, though it was softer. It was then that the smaller female caught sight of the view and gasped.
It was gorgeous. The view she saw from the ground tenfold in beauty and elegance. There was the rolling green grass, expansive blue sky, curious white clouds, Water Dedicates working the irrigation, Earth Dedicates working the field, the winding path, and the Hub. The building in the center of the temple shone. The light reflected off of the expensive glass. Rosethorn turned in a circle to take in all of the sight from each angle and then latched onto the chimney. Lark had disappeared.
She popped back up a moment later and laid a blanket out near the chimney. "Forgot this," she mumbled as she worked. She sat down on the blanket facing the Hub. Rosethorn stepped onto the blanket but instead of sitting lay back to look up at the sky and its numerous shades of blue and white. The clouds were puffy and free, changing shape and position often. Rosethorn smiled as she felt Lark lay down beside her.
The two stayed there for an hour exchanging few words and watching the sky before Rosethorn sat up and organized her hair. "We should get back to work. It isn't even a break hour."
Lark, still lying beside her, nodded and sat up. She yawned and covered her mouth with her hand while resting her weight on the other arm. "I'm sure I can find something to do for a few hours. Shall we meet up here after dinner? I'm sure the sunset would be breath-taking and the stars absolutely amazing." Rosethorn looked at the other woman wholly and then nodded quickly.
"It sounds perfect. I think even a nap is possible up here," Rosethorn replied and looked out toward the view. She turned her gaze back to Lark, "not that I'm planning to."
Lark chuckled and stood. Rosethorn followed suit and then stepped off the blanket so Lark could pick it up. Instead the woman shook her head and looked at the shorter woman. "Why don't we leave it here? If we're going to be coming back in a few hours it's just as well." The plant mage smiled and nodded again. As she walked to the ladder her hand brushed Lark's. For once, Rosethorn didn't care. It wasn't exactly that she didn't care, but just not in the way she normally did. Even growing up she had hated physical contact with almost everyone. It took a long time for her to get up to touching someone even for a friendly hug. This was unusual; she hadn't known Lark very long.
The woman, at the hand brush, looked up with surprise in her eyes. She knew Rosethorn, and knew of her dislike of physical touch. When it was apparent that Rosethorn hadn't become upset or angered Lark smiled fully. Her eyes crinkled at the corners and closed slightly. The stocky woman gave a lazy smile in return and took the steps gently down the ladder.
As soon as she entered her workspace she noted that a few of her herbs needed repotting. She got right to that, and they were very appreciative. All but one, really. Her basil had attempted to argue its way out of being repotted. It told her over and over that it was quite enjoying its time in the pot it was in and didn't want a new one. Rosethorn snickered; she had forgotten that she had one herb with a fear of change. When it was finished being repotted it was actually quite pleased. In the end it was glad to have been moved. Wasn't that always the case? Rosethorn thought as she began to clean up the spilled soil.
Soon enough the two women were back on the roof watching the sun set and the first few stars begin to peek out of the dark skies. It seemed that a few stars appeared every second; winking and playing like a group of rowdy, fragile children. Rosie felt that she could reach up and touch them.
Beside her Lark reached up with both of her hands flat as though against a ceiling and looked up at them against the sky lit with so many small lights. Rosethorn turned in wonder and her curiosity got the best of her. She never had been very good at not saying something she wanted to say.
"What in Mila's name are you doing?" she asked, though softer than one could expect when she had phrased it that way. Lark turned her long, arched neck and smiled. Her eyes looked even more lustrous and mysterious than they did in normal daylight. That was always the case at night, but with the stars up above them and the air clear it was even more evident.
"I'm looking at the contrast. When I put my hand up it's as though there's a dark spot in the shape of my hands up in the sky. Go on, try it," the thread mage urged with that charming smile tugging playfully at her lips. Rosethorn raised her brow; the idea certainly seemed strange enough. Again her curiosity won over and she turned to lift her hands up to the sky. Lark was correct. Even the few feet between the chestnut-haired woman's eyes and her hands had darkened to an almost-black color. They blocked the stars that were behind them and left what seemed to be an indent in the sky. Lark turned again, but Rosethorn didn't see it. Instead, she heard how clear Lark's voice was when she spoke again. "It's nice, isn't it? Feeling like we've made some incredible mark in life, even if it's just until our arms cramp up."
They both laughed at that and sighed in unison. It was a pleasant sigh, one of contentedness and pleasure. The night air caressed their skin while the sky and twinkling stars offered a fantastic view. Words came short then but they weren't missed. Lark's hand brushed Rosethorn's as they let their arms fall. Tingles followed the touch and a shiver of what could have been lightning shot over the gardener's skin. She didn't comment on it, but noted it for future reference.
Too soon it was time for the Midnight Service and the two dedicates had to pack up and head out. They walked close together as they made their way to the service. The bells rang when they were half there. They were running a bit late and began to jog, laughing all the way. It was so free and childlike that Rosethorn couldn't help but smile and let her laughter bubble up.
The Midnight Service went the way it did nearly ever night, with the speeches changed according to current events. The order of the service was the same, and soon it came time for Rosethorn and Lark to blow out the candles, brush up the herbs, and clean up. It didn't last long. Even with Lark being new to this life she seemed like a seasoned pro.
When they got back to Discipline the two cleaned up the cottage a bit before heading off for their separate rooms. When Rosethorn was tucked into bed and ready to sleep there was a soft knock at her bedroom door. It was almost inaudible, but her sensitive hearing did catch it. "Is that you, Lark?" the Dedicate whispered from her bed.
The willowy Dedicate sidestepped into the dim light of a candle on the kitchen table. "Yes," she answered. There was silence and it was apparent that she was wording whatever she had thought to bring up. "Are you sure you're all right? I still don't really know how to comfort you."
Rosethorn's heart warmed slightly and she scolded it. That motion was supposed to be purely for Crane, though that had been happening less and less since their time at Lightsbridge. She looked up and squinted to see Lark standing there with her features masked in anxiety and nervousness.
"I'm all right at this moment, Lark. Thank you. You know exactly how to comfort me. You're doing an excellent job of it," Rosethorn replied. Lark smiled genuinely and looked through her lashes at Rosethorn. It was rare for the thorny woman to give compliments; Lark received it well. Reassured, Lark nodded and began to close the door again. When there was but a crack left open she spoke again.
"Sweet dreams, Rosie," she said softly. It was almost as quiet as her knock had been, but still Rosethorn heard and cherished it.
"Sweet dreams, Lark," the stocky plant mage murmured when the door closed. She heard steps and then a second door closing. Within minutes she was drifting off to sleep with the thoughts of that beautiful night sky frequenting her mind's eye.
The next day there was a knock at the door and Lark went to receive it. When she saw it to be Crane she welcomed him as warmly as she did anyone else. That was just how she was--kind and compassionate to an extreme.
"Is Rosethorn available?" He asked smoothly and crossed his forearms. He was standing stiffly, as usual.
"Yes, she is. Would you like to sit for tea?" the thread mage asked and smiled at the man. He was only a few inches taller than her.
"No thank you. I won't be staying long, and hope to take her with me," Crane answered. Lark nodded and set off to find the other woman of the household. She was out in the garden with her broad-rimmed hat. The sun shone on her as she kneeled in the dirt and worked with her hands. She was pulling weeds.
"Crane is here, Rosethorn. He wishes to take you somewhere. I'll help you weed when you come back so it'll be as though you didn't miss any time in the garden at all," Lark offered. Rosethorn had turned around at the mention of Crane, and stood when the cloth mage had finished speaking.
"Thank you. I'll go see him, then," she said almost hesitantly as she walked through her workshop to the kitchen. Crane was still waiting by the door. He seemed to perk up when he saw Rosethorn walk in.
"Rosethorn, there's something I wish to show you," he informed formally and opened the door for her. She crossed her arms as she walked out into the sun again. She was still wearing her hat and it had the added pro of keeping Crane from suffocating her with his usual habit of wrapping half his body up against hers as they walked. He seemed quite discouraged by this but kept walking.
They walked to the Air Temple in silence. Crane never had been good with small talk. Instead he walked with his head held high and an essence of pure pride about him. It was enough pride to drown a woman. It wasn't the kind of pride she enjoyed. It was an arrogant, egotistical pride. She thought it might make her gag. Normally she could stand it, but it was getting on her nerves more and more lately.
But she loved him, right? There would always be flaws about a person. That just happened to be his. She could live with that, right?
When they reached the Temple, Crane started having trouble holding back his excitement again. Soon enough they reached a clearing that had previously been empty. Now there were wood, marble, large pieces of glass, and other materials all over the place. Rosethorn took it all in as the Air Dedicate began to speak.
"This will soon be my very own greenhouse. I'm using the majority of my funds on this, and I think it will figuratively bear fruit. I finished my plans last night before sunset and got them to the Dedicate Superior to be approved. I managed to acquire a team to build it for me quickly enough." He walked to one of the pieces of glass and looked at it with such care and gentleness that Rosethorn felt a surge of jealousy. Now that is just ridiculous, she chastised. I am not going to be jealous of a piece of glass. The feelings dissipated slightly, but not nearly enough.
Crane turned and his face turned all gloom and disappointment. "I do have some bad news, though. I won't be able to participate in the Mid-Summer festivities. This project requires much too much work for me to be able to spend a day dilly-dallying around Winding Circle."
Rage took over all of Rosethorn's emotion. It filled her from her toes to the very tip of her scalp. She could almost feel it burning her clothes away and then steaming out of her pores. Her glare was fierce and her fisted hands immediately found their way to her hips.
"Crane, you promised," she pointed out in a voice far sharper than it had been in years. "It's my birthday."
"Self proclaimed," Crane retorted huffily and then took a deep breath and put his palm to his forehead. He looked as though this was a small inconvenience, a thorn in his toe. Rosethorn's fury increased.
"It isn't just 'dilly-dallying around Winding Circle' as you so eloquently put it. It's important to me! If this glass house of yours is going to replace me then let's give it time to get used to the idea. I won't be seeing you for a while, Crane," the raging woman spat and turned on her heels. Crane called after her but he didn't sound as she had wished he would be. He continued to sound like this was an unwanted side-affect. She kept walking and didn't look back. For the first time in years she was acutely considering breaking it off with Crane.
When Rosethorn reached Discipline her cheeks were streaked with tears. She walked straight through the kitchen where Lark was embroidering a handkerchief and into the simple, dark room. The gardener slammed the door behind her and fell face first onto the bed. It wasn't comfortable, but it matched the way she felt on the inside.
"Rosethorn...?" Lark asked politely through the door. She didn't open it. "Do you want to talk?"
"No!" Rosethorn screamed. "I don't want to talk to anyone about anything anymore!" She punched her pillow as her insides fought their own war. It was hard not to feel terrible when she had just been discarded for an unfinished glass building. Hate, jealousy, envy, and desire churned in her gut and blood. Hate for Crane, jealousy of that damned greenhouse, envies of the love so many other people had that she didn't, and desire for support and that idealistic love. She bit down on her bottom lip until it bled to keep herself from screaming out in the combined emotions.
She didn't come out of her room until hours after the sun had set and the dinner bell had rung. Lark was sitting at the kitchen table with the handkerchief in her lap. It appeared that she hadn't worked on it at all. She was looking at Rosethorn's door with worry, concern, and something else. She looked up when Rosethorn walked out and the shorter woman noticed that there were tears in the thread mage's eyes and down her cheeks.
Neither spoke as the gardener made herself tea and then sat down across from Lark. Rosethorn cradled the teacup in both hands and sipped at it. She had a far away look.
"He dropped our Mid-Summer date and I temporarily broke off from him," she whispered. Her eyelids were wide open and she was looking at the door. She wasn't really looking at the door. It looked more as though she were gazing into some other world as tears slid from her large brown eyes and down her cheeks and neck. She tasted salt as one pooled in the crease of her bottom lip.
"Oh, Rosie!" Lark exclaimed and ran to Rosethorn. The handkerchief crashed to the floor. The thread mage kneeled by the gardener's seat and took her hand gently. Lark held it reassuringly and then nuzzled her cheek into the back of the soft, pale skin. Rosethorn looked down and her eyes came back into focus. Rosethorn waited to catch Lark's eyes; it didn't take long.
Love. That was what was in Lark's eyes. It had been there for almost as long as Rosethorn could remember knowing the ex-tumbler. Suddenly the stocky Dedicate's life didn't seem just so desolate. She scraped back her chair legs and used the hand Lark held to pull her up slightly. At the same time Rosethorn slid from the chair to kneel in front of the thread mage. Rosethorn pulled Lark into a tight embrace and then cried into her soft shoulder.
As much as the green mage half-enjoyed her angst, she couldn't help but note that it felt good to have someone to confide in. Lark had waited for hours outside the door. Rosethorn felt supported and her broken heart warmed slightly from the feeling of being loved.
When Lark let go and leaned back, though, Rosethorn crumpled to the floor. Her limbs felt numb. The majority of her insides did as well. This was the second phase of her heartbreak. Her body took on the feeling of being cold and alone. The plant mage wilted against the table leg.
"No, oh no," Lark murmured in a whisper and lifted Rosethorn gently to her feet. From there the taller Dedicate bent over and put one arm behind the smaller woman's knees. Soon Rosethorn was being lifted into the air in Lark's arm. Normally the light-haired woman would have flinched, squirmed, and become free of the hold. At the moment she just slumped into an almost dead position and rested her head against Lark's collarbone. Rosethorn didn't blink. Her eyes stayed open, wide, and non-seeing.
The dark-haired woman walked to her own room with care but appeared to walk without strain as though Rosethorn didn't weigh a thing. They both knew that wasn't true and that Lark was incredibly strong, but in the far back of Rosethorn's mind, where not everything was completely numb, she knew she appreciated the gesture. She was soon being laid down on a bed far softer than her own. Lark must have put some sort of home-made pad underneath her sheets. She brought the covers up to Rosethorn's shoulders and didn't seem to care that the gardener was quite dirty.
Lark pulled up a chair from the corner of her room and sat in it to watch Rosethorn. She tossed and turned a bit and then rolled over to face the seated woman.
"Lark...?" she asked almost inaudibly. She half hoped the other woman wouldn't hear her. As with so many times in the last few weeks, she was out of luck.
"Yes, dear?" Lark asked quietly and looked at Rosethorn with such affection that the shorter woman didn't know what to do with all of it. Heat rose to her face, ears, and neck. She couldn't speak. Instead she lifted her arm to tap the bed beside her and then looked to Lark with an almost childish questioning. Lark understood.
She slipped off her habit to reveal a silky, modest nightdress and then climbed into the bed with care. She didn't touch Rosethorn at all.
Rosethorn wasn't put off by this and moved closer to Lark. The smaller woman curled up with her back up against the softest parts of Lark. It was all incredibly soft, in reality. Rosethorn fit quite well in the lanky woman's arms and body curve. Soon she felt a strong arm envelop her and another cool against her the cheek resting against the sheets. She sighed comfortably and concentrated on the warmth against her back. It was unusual to feel the swell of two breasts pressed up to her shoulder blades, but it wasn't unpleasant. Everything was much softer than anything she had experienced in a long time. Lark's long neck arched and she brought her lips to the top of Rosethorn's head. The thread mage kissed the spot and mirrored Rosethorn's sigh.
It felt good to have someone so warm, gentle, soft, and loving in the bed.
Rosethorn and Crane's relationship went down hill from there. Rosethorn spent Mid-Summer with Lark and had a wonderful time. Crane broke many dates following that to spend more time working on, decorating, and filling the greenhouse. He barely even glanced at Rosethorn when they saw each other on the path, in the Hub, or at gatherings.
As that relationship continued to plummet into oblivion Rosethorn and Lark's relationship thrived. They continued to grow closer, though they had yet to do anything physical besides actually sharing a bed for sleep. One night the mood felt different when Rosethorn walked into the kitchen after a long day of work. Lark walked in at the same time from a day of spinning and weaving. She felt the difference, as well.
That night their talk over dinner was intimate and flirtatious though not perverse. They cleaned up the dishes and then Lark snuck into her room and appeared a few minutes later dressed exactly the same. Nothing about her appearance had changed. Rosethorn was suspicious but genuinely happy. They two watched the sun set from Discipline roof again and then joined back up in the kitchen. There was a candle in the middle of the table that lit the room with a dim glow.
There was a small trickle of music coming in the window from a celebration at the hub. Rosethorn looked to Lark and was surprised to find that she looked more beautiful than the green mage could ever remember. There was love, caring, acceptance, and compassion in the woman's eyes just as always. That day there were a few more emotions, as well; ones that had stayed hidden for quite a long time. Desire, lust, and passion were deeply woven into Lark's gaze and even her motions that night.
"Would you care for a backrub, Rosie?" she asked in a velvety voice and pulled a chair out from under the kitchen table. Rosethorn smiled at the use of the short-name and nodded as she took a seat. Lark brushed the material of the habit away from Rosethorn's neck and placed cool hands on the woman's neck. Soon the thread mage's hand was working the creamy skin expertly. It seemed that every digit in those golden hands was working. Rosethorn let a sigh hiss from her lips as she felt the tension eased out of her muscles.
Lark trailed her fingers up Rosethorn's neck to her temple. She shivered. The thread mage used the first two fingers on both of her hands to massage Rosethorn's temple and scalp. Rosethorn had to keep herself from letting out a moan at that. She had always had sensitive skin on her head and neck. Her skin was scorching; she was surprised it wasn't burning Lark's finger tips.
Rosethorn's skin jumped and twitched as it felt the surprise of lips against the merge of her neck and shoulder. More light kisses followed and made a line all the way up to the skin behind her ear. Lark took the earlobe gently into her lips and lightly grazed the sensitive skin with her teeth. Tingles spread from that spot to every inch of Rosethorn's skin. Her neck arched fully and her eyes closed as her face contorted into one of want. Lark traced the ear with her tongue and then breathed gently on the area. Rosethorn shivered more as a tide of desire crashed through her limbs and congregated at her center.
"Do you wish for this to continue?" Lark whispered softly into the lustful woman's ear. She nodded helplessly and felt herself being lifted into the strong hands she had just been massaged by. Rosethorn opened her eyes and leaned up on the balls of her feet to press her lips to Lark's. They were soft and pure but still passionate. It was their first kiss, and Rosethorn liked it. She wanted more, much more.
When they broke away Lark had a smile in her eyes. Rosethorn knew the other woman was about to do something spontaneous. Before the green mage could think another word she was being swept around the room in beat with the soft music. She caught on to this and danced in Lark's lead. She pressed her own, shorter body against the tall, athletic one before her. For the first time in a lifetime she was glad that she had been required to learn dancing at Lightsbridge.
Lark lowered her head to nibble, suck, and lick at Rosethorn's neck and shoulder. She moaned quietly and closed her eyes, but then opened them again. She saw the curve of Lark's neck and shoulder and immediately wanted to touch it. Rosethorn had always been bad at not to do what she wanted to do, as well. Soon her fingers were lightly stroking the skin and leaving goose bumps in their wake. She felt a bite on her neck and gasped at the exquisite pain. Lark immediately began to spoil the spot with more kisses and licks to make up for what she had thought was a mistake.
"No, Lark, I liked it," Rosethorn whispered quietly. She gently pushed Lark back to get a good look at her. The green mage adored the curve of Lark's neck, the softness of her skin, the perkiness of her chest, those strong arms, and those long, toned legs. It was the body of a tumbler. "I want more."
Lark smiled softly and took Rosethorn's hand. She lifted it and entwined their fingers. The thread mage bent foreword to kiss each one of Rosethorn's knuckles, looking up into the green mage's mulch-colored eyes as she did. The shorter woman melted into the touch and kissed Lark again over their hands. Rosethorn's tongue poked out of her mouth and brushed against Lark's bottom lip before zipping back in. The next time it ventured out it was met by Lark's tongue. The tips of their tongues touched. It was thrilling.
Rosethorn felt a throb at her center and weakness in her knees. Her skin was hot and she was sick of the habits keeping her skin from Lark's. The plant mage simply wanted them gone, and she would certainly make sure she got her way. As she ran her tongue along Lark's bottom lip she began to walk the two of them towards the thread mage's room.
Lark moaned into Rosethorn's lip as she nibbled gently on that same bottom lip. They burst into the cloth mage's room and immediately Rosethorn realized what Lark had snuck off to do. There were candles on every surface and rose petals around the bed as well as in a circle around it. In a vase on the nightstand there was a bouquet of indigo crocuses. The throb in Rosethorn amplified as the thought of Lark doing this for her tumbled through her mind. It was one of her last coherent thoughts. She broke the kiss with Lark and arranged the taller woman down on the bed.
Her last thought was only half coherent. It spoke to her of emotion, yes, and respect. There were so many emotions that she couldn't name or describe. She didn't know how to start with them, but for once embraced them rather than pushing them away.
She looked to Lark and saw a reflection of her feelings in the other woman. It wasn't verbalized. Maybe it would never be. What mattered to Rosethorn was that it was there. Lark reached up and cupped Rosethorn's cheek. It was soft and warm, velvet layered on silk with the fain sound of a bird's song.
Rosethorn almost melted on the spot.
In the early hours of the morning, when the two had finally decided to sleep, Rosethorn stayed awake as her mind rolled. The two women were entangled in each other, limbs woven and their faces close. Rosethorn watched Lark as she slept. Her breathing was regulated and her chest and stomach pushed out and pulled in as she inhaled and exhaled. Her face was peaceful and full of love. Her hair stuck together behind her ear; it was still slick with sweat. Lark was beautiful awake, asleep, and in any other form.
The green mage thought about how she had believed only Crane was changing over the years. She thought she had been staying completely the same. She saw now, though, that she had been changing all along. It had been a challenge to face it, but she had. Now she laughed at the memory of her thinking Crane was changing into some arrogant aristocrat and that she was staying exactly the same physically, mentally, and spiritually.
Maybe Crane wasn't so bad. They'd just grown apart as they transformed. They had needed new, individual pots. Rosethorn had found hers, and her biggest thrill now was letter her roots grow deep and strong. She wished Crane would fine the same.
I can live this way, Rosethorn thought. She looked to the sleeping form of Lark, who even in her sleep pulled the smaller woman closer. The green mage pressed her forehead to Lark's chest and closed her mulch-colored eyes as she smiled. I certainly can.