A/N: Rough ages are as follows: Johan at 55; Daniel at 38; Clara at 36; Martha at 33; Lena at 5; and Astra and Tara at 3
Sixty-Two: How Flowers Talk
It was a dreary day in the Spring when the Marquis of Kasterborous and Gallifrey had his daughters for the morning. With the eldest in a free day from lessons and the younger two not ready for them, he brought all three with him as he went to the greenhouse, the girls hiding from the steady rain under his cloak.
"You're safe now," he announced as they entered the greenhouse. The girls poked their heads out—there was one of the gardeners to greet them, with the entire building warm and cozy and filled with budding life.
"To what do I owe this surprise?" the gardener asked.
"We're getting flowers for Mama!" Astra declared.
"Yeah!" Tara agreed. "Mama's not feeling well, so Papa decided we'd all pick flowers for her!"
"That sounds like an excellent idea—your papa seems to have them often," the gardener agreed. She then looked at the Marquis, who was glancing around the room, pretending to have not heard her. "What precisely did you have in mind, milord?"
"I was thinking of letting the girls each pick a main flower, and you work with the rest of the vase from there," he said. "You always do wonderful work."
"Thank you, milord." The gardener bowed slightly, knowing the compliment was genuine. "How about you? Did you wish to choose a vase?"
"On that matter, I also trust you; you are aware of the things I wish to express to Her Ladyship on a regular basis and in which manner," he said. Red colored his face—she knew secrets others dare not and he knew she was aware of how important and valued her discretion was to him.
"Papa, why do we give Mama flowers to cheer her up?"
The Marquis glanced down at his young heir, seeing that she was petting the leaves of a leafy plant taller than herself, her sisters watching on either side. He offered her a kind smile and stroked her hair, getting her attention.
"…because, starlet, flowers often help say things that we can't always say in words," he explained. The twins both bounced up and down, holding their arms up high in pleas to be held. "What about you both? Do you see flowers here you want to show Mama?" He picked them both up and chuckled as they snuggled into his shoulders—too much longer and he would be unable to allow them their papa as such, according to his back.
"I like that one!" Astra said, pointing at a cluster of white daisies.
"That one's pretty too!" Tara added, pointing at pink-and-orange snapdragons.
"What is this one?" Lena asked. She grabbed a stepstool and climbed atop it so that she could see the rows of green shoots with the beginnings of indigo flowers attempting to poke out.
"That is called an iris, milady," the gardener said. "They stand for eloquence, with this color also being associated with wisdom. Your mama and papa are very wise, which is why we keep this color readily at-hand."
"Is that because Papa tells you he's wise?" Lena asked. Her father's face went red as the gardener smirked.
"No—he is wise because he has learned much," she explained.
"…like what…?"
"I know that hatred is always foolish, and that love is always wise," he offered.
The gardener chuckled at that. "…and based on how he treats his family and his people, it is safe to say he is a very wise man indeed."
"Oh, okay." The little girl nodded and turned her attention back to the irises. "Is this going to be very pretty when it opens?"
"Very pretty indeed, milady," the gardener agreed. "It will be nearly as pretty as you."
Lena giggled at that. "Thank you! Did you hear that, Papa? She said I'm prettier than flowers, and those are very pretty!"
"A wise people for a wise Doctor; I have more than the moon and stars in my sky to be thankful for," he said simply. He gave the gardener a wink and moved so that Tara was no longer within arm's reach of the snapdragons she was attempting to take. "How about it? Did you girls want to get some irises for Mama?"
"I want those! Those!" Tara pouted.
"Papa…!" Astra whined. "Pretty!"
"Papa, Papa, Papa! You said the irises!"
"Those!"
"Pretty!"
"Papa!"
"Enough!" the Marquis ordered. His daughters quieted and he placed the twins on the floor. "We are here to pick out something nice for Mama, not here to shout. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Papa," the three mumbled in unison.
"Enunciate, starlets. Mushed words make poor conversations."
"Yes, Papa!" they replied clearer. He nodded at that—mumbling was fine in certain situations, but not this one.
"Good. Now, each of you pick a flower so that they can be placed in a vase."
Each sister pointed at a different flower, adding "please" to their choice. The gardener took a pad out and scribbled down the selections, along with notes on which sister picked which bloom.
"Any other requests?" she asked. She saw that the Marquis was staring at a nearby rosebush, his gaze slipping out of focus. "Milord? Have you changed your mind?"
"Arum lilies, please; with chrysanthemums and bishop's lace," he requested quietly. The gardener nodded and wrote the order down—it was her honor.
"Papa, what does this one say?" Astra wondered, pointing at another cluster of flowers. The Marquis nodded and moved the stepstool so that it sat in front of the flowers. The three girls all climbed up, poking their noses over the countertop.
"That is heather—much of it grows in the hinterlands and in the hills around the city," their father explained. "The purple ones mean beauty and admiration, while the white ones mean protection."
"Oh, are those going to be irises too?" Lena asked. She pointed at shoots on the other side of the heather and looked at the Marquis, her eyes wide as her mother's. "Are they? Am I right?"
"Not this time, starlet," he chuckled. "Those are going to be tulips."
"How can you tell?"
"I simply do." He saw his eldest scrunch her nose at that, not accepting so simple an answer. "The leaves are different—lighter and larger than iris—and the flower is not poking out the top in the same manner. Do you see that?"
"It doesn't poke at all, Papa," Tara said.
"Exactly—they poke out much later."
"…but what do those mean?"
"Many things." He turned to the gardener, who was quietly going over her notes with someone else, and caught her attention. "What colors are here?"
"Oh, those? Those will be lavender, pink, and yellow, if I recall correctly," she said. "I have more pink, some white, orange, and reds in another section."
"What do those mean?!" Lena gasped. "That's a lot of colors!"
"Now, now; let me show you girls one," the Marquis said. He placed his pointer and middle fingers on either side of a stem and quietly muttered, "fàs." A soft golden glow flowed from his fingertips into the dirt, aiding the bloom along and making the children gasp. It grew upwards and opened, showing soft, delicate, pink petals dusted in shimmering magic. The Marquis accepted a knife from the gardener and sliced off the stem to show to his daughters. "This one means caring and confidence."
"That's neat," Lena marveled. "When do I get to learn that in classes?"
"You learn it on your own—it is not important when it comes to governance and law," her father explained. "Most people do not know, nor care to know, about such things."
"…then why did you learn, Papa?" Astra wondered.
"…to give my wife a puzzle that would in the end tell her how much I truly care for her," he said. There was no need explaining to them about days gone by and those long-laid in the earth, for it was true that he had secretly brushed up on his flowers when he began to court the Marchioness in earnest. "It is good to tell someone that you love them in those words, but do not cheapen such talk by only speaking. Actions are a wonderful way to reinforce what you have already said, making the words all the more powerful."
"Sir Daniel says you have to act as well as talk to govern well," Lena said. She furrowed her brow as she attempted to remember her lesson, given now what felt so long ago yet was only the month prior. "If you say there is going to be a holiday, but then never make one, then people will be cross next time you say there will be a holiday again, because they never got the first one to begin with. Right?"
"Your lessons are going well, starlet," the Marquis nodded. He glanced back over at the gardener and nodded. "Do you have a book on flower language the young Earlessa can use? Mine has words she might not know just yet."
"I'll have one of the assistants look," she replied. "If that is all, milord, I would like to at least allow the young ladies here a chance to play." The girls all gasped in anticipation; what did the gardener have in mind? "We have roses that went soft at their base—they will be good for learning how to handle them."
"Then let us learn," the Marquis agreed. He calmly ushered his daughters over to where the gardener had gathered some old roses in a bucket, waiting to be discarded. It was good to watch the girls as their eyes went wide at the very concept of petaling a rose; they marveled at the innards of the flower, giggled at how the petals felt, and squealed in delight as the gardener showed them what would happen if one attempted to beat the countertop with the flower, petals puffing out in a small burst in a manner all three immediately wished to try. Before long the girls were smacking the cobblestone floor with old roses, the gardener unsure of the monsters she had created.
The rain began to let up slightly before long and the Marquis gathered his brood under his cape once more, heading back for the castle proper. They returned to the family wing with little fuss, finding the Baron Coal-on-the-Hill talking in the corridor with a member of the Border Forces—a medical officer whom the Marquis recognized immediately.
"You girls remember Miss Martha, don't you?" the Baron said. He watched as the medical officer gave a short curtsey, with his daughters wobbling to mimic her.
"Why are you here, Miss Martha?" Lena asked out of curiosity.
"I came here to observe your mama," she replied, going down on one knee to be at eye-level with the children. "It shouldn't be anything to worry over—I think she caught a sickness while at the front last, because her symptoms are very similar to what I'm seeing there."
"Oh…" The Earlessa nodded; that was a good answer, she supposed. "Did Mama ask for you?"
"No, I did," the Baron said. "Miss Martha is one of the best physicians this side of Braxos. Your papa and I feel better knowing what she thinks of your mama not feeling well."
"Does that mean the regular physician is no good anymore?"
"No, starlet; merely that he does not often see illnesses caught along the border, nothing more," the Marquis assured. "Sir Daniel and I thought it was best we ask the opinion of a physician more used to such things. Medical Officer Jones is the kind of Doctor that inspired our title back before the lands were a march and earldom."
"Flattery suits you on occasion, milord," the physician laughed. The girls saw their papa blush in embarrassment—it was a humorous sight, though one that was to be diffused quickly. "Would the young ladies like to see their mama? She is not contagious and I think can do with company." She offered her hands and the twins each took one, dragging her along as Lena led the way, leaving their father and tutor in the corridor alone.
"Is it true?" the Marquis asked. The Baron shrugged.
"I trust Martha, you know that. If it's what she says, then it's what she says. At least your regular physician didn't try anything stupid and waited for her diagnosis."
"It is part of why Kasterborsian physicians are some of the best in the entire kingdom, second to only a select few." He saw the Baron smirk in agreement—there was little Kasterborsian medicine could do, certainly. "Did you learn how she contracted it?"
"The water, most likely; they're boiling water for tea a bit longer than normal right now because of it."
"Good thing it runs its course in a week or so," the Marquis nodded. That was how long varying soldiers at the front were laid up with similar symptoms, if his memory served him well. "How long can Jones stay here? Do you think she would feel awkward staying here?"
"I've… erm… already offered her my cottage," the Baron admitted. It was his turn to blush now, color returning to his ashen face for but a moment. "Martha and I… we're seeing one another…"
"Daniel?" The Marquis's face grew grim. "Are you telling me that you are potentially letting your judgement be clouded?"
"What do you take me for?!" the Baron scoffed. "Martha is truly the best! My relationship with her is coincidental! She's one of your soldiers, remember?"
"…which is why I am not furious," the Marquis replied. "Watch yourself—if this venture goes poorly, it could mean plenty more than a rift between you and her."
"I'm aware it could affect her duties on the border."
"I was referring to your barony—the one you seem to occasionally forget these days—but yes, that as well."
"Don't get on me; I leave for Coal-on-the-Hill next month and you know that." The Baron's attention was caught by something further down the corridor and he blinked in surprise. "What's that…?" The Marquis turned and was taken aback himself.
"Ah! That was quick!" He stepped aside so that the maids carrying vases of flowers could walk past them, headed for his quarters. "I was not expecting this to be done so soon."
"We were told that there was not much left to be done for the day, so the gardeners had begun the arrangements immediately, before you had even left the greenhouse," one of the maids said. She was holding Tara's vase, not only full of snapdragons, but geberas and lilies as well, all balanced with greens and delicate fill. There were even roses the same pink-and-orange as the snapdragons, with ruffled petals and the countenance of a southern sunset. "Do these please His Lordship?"
"Of course," he said. The Baron opened the door as the maids walked into the Marquis and Marchioness's chambers, where the children gasped at the sight of their vases so soon after ordering them. Whilst the Marquis's vase went on the nightstand, the children's vases were carefully placed around the room, in spots of honor next to seats the family often used.
"We picked these for you, Mama!" Astra said.
"We did!" Tara agreed.
"They look lovely, my dears," the Marchioness chuckled. She was frighteningly pale, with the medical officer taking the compress from her forehead and wringing it out in the bowl next to the bed. "I am rather tired of being ill, so this should brighten my chambers well. You are behaving for Papa, aren't you?"
"Yes we are, Mama," Lena assured. She was sitting on the bed, watching as the compress was rewet and replaced. "Why are you sweating?"
"Your mama's body is trying to rid itself of the sickness, so it is trying to sweat it out," the medical officer explained. "Sometimes that works, but sometimes it doesn't."
"Will it work now?" Astra asked.
"In this case? I'm not entirely certain. It takes a while to be able to say which patient will heal this way, and which needs additional medicine." She helped the girl up onto her mother's bed before patting her atop the head. "Many sicknesses are very predictable in how they behave inside people. While this one is less-so, at least it's not one that is terribly dangerous. All your mama needs is rest right now… rest and three daughters who are good at behaving." The medical officer then began packing her bag, taking most of her equipment with her. "Milady, Milord, send for me at the cottage if anything changes. Daniel and I need to talk."
"Talk all you like," the Marquis replied. The medical officer and the baron shared a look—her confused and he feigning any knowledge of what the statement meant — before leaving the family be. Once it was just the parents and their brood, all the children snuggled into their mama, not wanting to leave her side.
"I hope you get better soon, Mama," Lena pouted.
"I'm already better than before, now that I see my Moon and Stars and the presents they chose," the Marchioness replied. She watched as her husband took off his boots, laying atop the bedding with his cape as a blanket. The girls all burrowed beneath their father's cape, taking advantage of the cozy, warm fabric and the rain that was beginning to pick up again pattering against the window. "Are you going to nap with me?"
"But of course, Mama," the Marquis said. He gazed at her across the pillows and took her hand in his—though her sickness and their daughters kept them apart, they were still close as ever. "Your Moon and Stars shall light the way."
All five settled in, and they did.
A/N: Honest to goodness, I am dead serious here: if you have an old, soft rose, it is very fun to smack it against a counter and watch it explode. Some do it better than others, but that's up to you to find out. :D