It was beautiful. Its petals were soft, feather like. The dark violet that turned to a light shade of indigo traveled from the very center to the tips. In the light, it almost looked like a crystal, a jewel, rather than a delicate flower that could easily be crushed by his fingers.
Without another word, he brought the flower to his nose and took a wift.
It was bitter-sweet, tart like in a way. Hints of morning dew with the freshness of spring.
He let go of the flower as he fell back, hitting his body on the soft sight of the flower field he had the honor to wake up in.
Smiling, Inigo turned to pluck another flower, one of pale peach. Careful to cut it with his fingers, he snapped the flower stem and twirled in in his hand.
It was an odd sight, new to his own brown eyes as he gazed at the small beauty in his hand.
It was a simple thing that others would have demise. A flower is hardly a sight to pause and gawk at. But to Inigo, it was a sign of a miracle.
He had done it, he was now in the past.
He giggled, light and childlike before it became a full on burst of laughter.
He had never felt this happy since… well, since a long time.
"Run! Don't worry about me. Just run!"
Swallowing the lump that threatened to push out he sat up again, legs crossed. He sat there, staring at the field for a moment, enraptured by it. Without a word, he started to pluck the flowers, one by one.
Skilled fingers, those that have been surly trained in both grace and strength, twisted and turned the stems. Weaving them to inturewin and make a ring to fit over his head.
He gave a hum of satisfaction when he gazed at the finished crown.
The colors were all light, color faded away from the sun. Pink, peach, orange and white made a sunset effect. Daisies, daffolidles, primroses, and petunias are on full display. But only one was different.
The pervouse flower he held, one of the dark violet, was on full display, an outsider from all the rest.
Just like his father was.
A drop of water fell onto the violet flower petal.
It took Inigo a moment to realize he was crying before he wiped away his tears rather harshly.
It was a surprise but not unwelcome, he hasn't cried as long as he hasn't smiled. To be honest, he felt like he couldn't feel any emotions anymore like how some of the soldiers would whisper behind him and his father.
Cursed child
A wretch
Unnatural
Backstabbers
Plegians
He forced a smile, one that was a tab more stretched then his naturel one and placed the crown over his head.
He must have missed counted how many flowers he used because the wreav slipped further down to his forehead.
His cheeks tinted rose, huffing he tried to push the flower crown back to rest on his hair but would be deemed a failure every time. Finally he let it go.
The moment was quiet, strange to his ears. A bit of wind came and made waves form across the field. The shade from the clouds were like ships, sailing across the sea of flowers. His white, almost silver with its shine, had flapped in front of his eyes. Without a word he moved his hair out of his way.
Then he forgot how to breath.
Olivia, mother, was dancing. Her hair swirling, tangling itself with the wind. Her sash was whipping by her side, shape and graceful. Her hips swayed and moved to the rhythm of Mother Nature, her legs moved softly, leaps and bounds with her dance, her fingers playing with the sunlight.
She was a beauty too many, to him she was warmth.
Finally she stopped, a smile grounded on her face before she looked at him.
"Dance with me."
The illusion of his memory disappeared.
He caught his breath again.
"Dance with me."
He jumped to his feet, sword placed down on the ground before his armor followed close behind.
"Dance with me."
Standing to where his mother was, he stopped, fixed teh flower crown over his head to be safely tucked around his forehead.
"Dance with me."
"I'll dance with you mother."
And so he danced over the field of flowers.
Dancing not in anger, sadness, guilt or fear. He danced with hope.