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royal-writer · 6 years

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A Garden Flourishes

Yes a lot of this was absolutely inspired by prompts and ideas from Ammy I won’t deny that. But not all of it. Good it feels so good to write Essamon again.

Essätha twisted her mouth up and down with confusion. The paper in her hands crinkled as she looked over the sketchy design; turning it over to the left and the right. The drawing looked like any other fungus to her. A bulbous cape shape that drooped low with a thick steam.

“I don’t see what the big deal about this thing is. It looks like any mushroom to me.”

To her left, Amon cleared his throat softly. Her eyes shifted over, watching as he adjusted the rolls of his sleeves. Her eyes naturally drifted over up to his face, finding the neutral restraint in his expression. His level-headed gaze made sweeping gestures over the ground, and up to her where the sunlight struck his features perfectly.

“Addison’s blood are saprophyte that have a lot of health benefits, actually,” explained the nobleman. “The scribble the man offered us is hardly accurate; on average they have very flat caps and more girth on the stalk. Their tops will be a brilliant red tapering into a pinkish hue, with a brownish-pink shoot.”

She gave a quiet snort in response. “Yeah, I heard him going on about the potion. I’m just hoping I pick the right kind of red mushroom, and not something poisonous.”

A brief glimmer of hesitation came upon the Briarton Lord. His lips formed a thin line as he fidgeted with the edges of his cloak.

“If you’re feeling uncertain, perhaps let me take a look before grabbing something. The only known specimen similar would be a fly agaric, but their caps are speckled with white spores that is distinctly different. Still there are toxic or hallucinogenic properties to many fungus, and if you feel at all uneasy, I might be able to identify… Why are you looking at me like that?”

Realizing that she was staring with her mouth slightly agape, Essätha snapped her jaw shut and offered a polite grin. She drank in the vision of his flustered appearance. A deep burgundy color arising over his face and the rounded edges of his black pupils as he shifted uncomfortably beneath her gaze.

Trying to withhold her giggles, Essie murmured gently, “I just find it fascinating how broad your mind is. You seem to know a little about everything. I appreciate the offer, I’m sure I’ll need it.”

Amon gave a gruff note in response. His hand twisted into his collar, loosening it from his throat as he muttered: “I wasn’t always considered so gifted.”

“Well no one is born with intelligence, you earn it. Besides,” her own cheeks grew rosy as she swallowed nervously, “I think you’re wonderful- I m-mean it’s wonderful or I suppose, you’d have to be wonderful to, to know so much uhm… It’s an endearing quality, that’s all.”

A lope-sided grin greeted her. A splash of unease settled into a steady appearance of warmth and calm. He tentatively reached out to her, placing a hand upon one of hers that held to the edges of the parchment.

“I appreciate that, Essätha, thank you. You’re not disappointed to be working mushroom hunting with a half-wit un-masculine scholar?”

“Firstly, you are no half-wit scholar. Secondly, no I am not. I consider myself very lucky. I get both a brilliant huntsman and well-read man at my side. I’ll be both safe, and in good conversation. Thirdly, if anyone were to taunt your manhood simply for understanding plant-life, they should be ashamed. I think it’s a both a useful trait to avoid deadly plant-life and adorable, because you can distinguish specimens and grow your own gardens and crops. I’m fairly sure I got the best partner in this search. I appreciate the brawn as much as the brain.”

The rough calluses on Amon’s hand folded gently over her own. There was such care in his grasp that her heart leaped and stammered against his touch. His thumb pattered a swirl against the back of her hand. It stalled her of air; looking up into the magnificent gallant traits of the handsome Lord’s complex. Her fingers craved to stroke through the depths of his black hair and comb the sections that fell over his his face to better gaze upon all the imperial shaping of his features.

A twinkle glistened in his gaze from the dappled sunlight. Much of his blush began to dissipate, leaving only a wash of faded red behind.

“You think too high of me. A man with too much time and his head stuck in volumes of books is not so impressive.”

“Or perhaps you think too low of yourself,” she countered with a cocky smile.

When he passed her a doubtful glimpse, the Yuan-ti added on firmly: “Not all choose to learn, or to better their understanding of the world and its horizons, but you have. You work your mind, as you do your body. Both are important. I think it says a lot that you tended to feeding all portions of yourself. It rounds out your characters. You use both to win the battle. You use both to care for and look after the best outcomes for those you protect. Learning might not seem impressive, but what you do with it can be. It’s amazing the knowledge you hold. You’re very brilliant m’lord; I’d trust your insight, instinct, and intelligence any day with great appreciation.”

Chuckling quietly, Amon brought her hand closer. His words came through a soft exhale as he praised: “It doesn’t matter what anyone says to counteract you, does it? You always have a thousand well-placed phrases to dispute them.”

“There is no dispute, m’lord, I am simply correct and I know this.”

“You most certainly are, Essie,” he agreed, guiding her hand further up. “My apologies for doubting you.”

If her heart had fluttered before, it absolutely danced now. A feather-light kiss brushed against her knuckles as Amon bowed his head in an apologetic display. She swallowed; finding it difficult against the hammering of her pulse beating so rapidly through her veins.

As her hand was released, Essie brought it nervously back to the paper. She began nervously folding the creased edges together once more. It was a poor attempt to hide her shakiness. The very least it did was give her an excuse not to stare directly towards him. How just a small peek at him made her head dizzy, her knees weak and wanting to collapse. A light feeling entered her chest and by the gods, the angel’s sang a chore about him.

Men should not be allowed to be so pretty. Amon most certainly should not be allowed so many miraculous qualities. It made being around him nearly impossible. Where did the wonderful qualities about him end? He was sharp, inventive, kind, hard-working, trustworthy, fearless, observant, funny, charming…

“By any chance, did you ever hear the tale of how Addison’s blood came to be?”

Tucking the folded scrap into her pocket, Essätha gave a shake of her head as she dared to glance back up to the gentleman.

“I’m afraid I do not, m’lord Amon.”

For all the amusement that had been in his appearance when he’d kissed upon her hand, the slate had been wiped clean. He stared at her for a few breathes, his gaze searching. A fraction of awe began to dawn on him, and the nobleman appeared to shake it down before he answered.

“They say that when the world was new, Pelor aided in the creation of humans. He created a woman so lovely, the gods themselves fought over her. Pelor, too, became deeply infatuated with her. A feud began the likes of which had never existed. Those on the planet and those in the heavens; men and women were entranced by the pure essence of this woman’s divine beauty.”

“Eventually, the gods tried to ascend her into their heavenly realm,” he continued; his voice dropping a few levels. “However Vecna; a wizard who obtained godhood, snapped his fingers and destroyed her. Some will swear he was jealous, some stories say he despised her looks, and other tales are written to say it was just his madman quality to try burning the joy of all people to the ground; and if it meant taking the life of the maiden to cause all the suffer, so he would do so.”

“And with her death,” Amon sighed, “the woman’s… remains fell upon the earth; painting the earth crimson with her blood and what was left of her body. From the woman; Addison’s, remains the earth fed upon her and birthed a new plant. The mushroom has a healing property either in honor of her, or because of her for she was as beautiful on the inside, as she was on the out.”

As Amon grew silent, she stared past him with her nose slightly wrinkled. All of that, just to gain a woman’s favor? What did she think of all of this? What a burden, she must have thought to have carried when not just one, but multiple realms, deities, and people were hurtling themselves into fights for your hand.

“That sounds… awful. That poor woman.”

“It is a shame,” he agreed softly. “I’m sure she had much more to give the world than just her appearance.”

She nodded slowly in response, looking away. This whole experience now felt ten times more dreadful. If one were to believe such a legend, they were harvesting a plant that was in creation to a completely unnecessary and horrible death. It made the simple looking mushroom seem both sinister and depressing now.

Essätha hoped the woman; if she was real, could forgive them using the fungus born from her unfortunate demise to create healing elixirs.

“Gods must have grown sightless, wiser in their control, or must have a pact not to meddle in mortal’s lives anymore,” Amon whispered, stepping past her. “I couldn’t imagine the endless battles they’d have in your name for a chance at your hand. It would be a catastrophe… A simple man wouldn’t stand a chance.”

A startled rush of head bloomed suddenly in her face. With a choking sound for air, she studied Amon’s backside as he continued walking ahead without her, checking the leaf litter and along tree bases as he went.

By the gods, what did he mean? Was that some sort of admittance? A joke? A compliment but in mean’s of other men? What was the point of that?

What if she didn’t want a god, she wanted to argue. What if I don’t want a god? What if all she wanted; all I wanted, was one good, honest, ‘simple’ man? One with a good heart. One that, one could hope, would have plenty of love to share…

Her lips shook, and she reached up to nervously fiddle with the bangs hanging to frame the outline shape of her face. Unwilling to voice her questions, she rummaged low on the banks of the forest floor, hoping for signs of a reddish growth.

From the corner of her eye, she could make out Amon kneeling low. His head turned slightly in her direction and he stared. No shame, no remorse, just a quiet unspoken interest lingering in the air.

She turned her face away to continue half-haphazardly studying the undergrowth, before risking her face bursting into flames beneath the handsome Lord’s hopeful regard of longing.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It was frustrating just to be sitting around all day. There was nothing ‘relaxing’ about wasting time at some patrician’s estate, waiting around to see if the cultists would strike again. They should be out there doing something. With as many people as they had in their group, at least half of them could be out trying to gather evidence and reports on the whereabouts of these villains while the other half sat on their areses.

The only good that came out of all of this was that she was given the opportunity to be alone. With a lush cultivation of plant-life out back, Essätha found plenty of space to wander in silence.

There were rows of colorful buds and blooms. Flowers that reached for the sky, and others slunk low. Various textures and designs, so many things to fill the flowerbeds to the point they spilled into the walkway. It was a spacious acre of greenery, with no shrub or plant standing over four or five feet. It seemed unlikely that anyone would be able to hide well out here from sight, but it didn’t let her guard drop.

She greeted the agriculturists with a respectful ‘hello’ as she passed, eyeing them a bit while they worked. Her mind held to each face best she could. She hoped none of these people to be the help of some nasty creed, but thought best to try memorizing their features just in case.

A few rows away, Essie spotted the estate owner’s young son admiring the garden. His upturned face lit with joy as he caught her eye, waving an ecstatic hand her way.

The sun’s rays played off his cream garments and cool umber skintone wonderfully. As Essätha turned the corners of the garden, she made note not of his shining eyes staring with anticipation upon her, but upon the shadowy figure hidden close to the princely boy’s side.

“Miss Essätha-”

“Master Lucas,” she greeted with a nod and smile. Her head inclined slightly to the right, glancing over the figure that stood beside him.

The other nobleman was slightly hunkered down, examining the plants. His face showed some distaste for the root system of one of the small hedges, which appeared to be entangled and popping out of the soil as another nearby brush tried to ensnare it’s position in the ground. The slightest breeze ruffled the sections of hair that hung lower against his face, which he pushed aside with an absent hand.

Her smile shone in her words as Essätha mouthed quietly, “M’lord Amon.”

The nobleman grunted, leaning back on his heels as he raised a squinty-eyed look up to her.

“Ah. Yes, your compatriot Amon thought it would be wise to have some sort of security if I was to leave the building.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Essätha stated with a smile. “Lord Amon’s simply looking out for you. Wouldn’t want someone snatching you up now, would we?”

As she spoke, the Yuan-ti woman stepped around the duke. The man appeared to deflate to the lack of recognition offered his way as she offered out a hand to Amon. He offered a broad smile in response, grasping upon her palm with a gentle grip as she helped hoist him back up.

“Thank you, Essätha.”

“My pleasure, m’lord.”

It took Amon a minute to gradually let go of her hand. Essie brought it nervously up to her face, pushing the hair out of her face that the small gusts tried to blind her with. From beneath her lashes, she looked up shyly into the quirky handsome smile the Briarton Lord offered her.

“Ahem,” Lucas coughed, taking hold of her arm gently. “I now have you here, Essätha. I feel quite safe in your presence. Perhaps we could enjoy the privacy of the garden together?”

She snorted, giving a short airy laugh to the man’s suggestion. Beside her, Amon gave a narrow-eyed glance to the side and shifted his jaw unpleasantly.

“I appreciate the praise, but I’m not the safest person to be with. If you want security, you won’t get much better than Amon. He’s a true fighter. I’m simply a parlor trick of a woman, nothing more.”

Lucas opened his mouth to respond, but Amon headed the charge first as he cut in: “Essätha, do not tell this man lies. You are a skilled sorceress. Your casting abilities and spells take on an art form. There is a raw power to your magic that cannot be denied or argued.”

Her cheeks blushed faintly. Fumbling for her words, she turned her face from him to Lucas as the later finally put his own voice to action.

“You see? Amon agrees you are capable. We should be safe alone.”

Exhaling a breath, Essätha passed the young man a smile. Her eyebrows pulled down in a sign of uncertainty as he ran his hand over her arm, dropping it away from her to beckon with his fingers for her to take his hand.

“Well, I feel much safer with Lord Amon around…”

This time she couldn’t miss the shade of disappointment on the young heir’s face. It was small and brief, before he controlled his features masterfully. His pain closed up, and Essätha felt immediately bewildered and ashamed. She’d only responded with honesty. Of course she wanted Amon around, why would anyone want to discourage his presence?

She gave a small gasp as Amon lightly placed his hand upon her shoulder. He moved to retract it, but she reached back to place her hand over top of his.

A glimpse over her shoulder, and the eclipse over her heart fell away. The heat in her face burned with an inferno as she smiled, meeting the sea of blue she found herself lost swiftly in.

Lucas made a sound in the back of his throat, and their hands dropped away, the moment lost. It left a strange feeling of cold in her soul as their eyes tore awkwardly apart to stare separate ways.

“Miss Essätha, if I may-”

She peered back at the aristocrat as he spoke up, spotting him plucking a flower from upon a large leafy stalk. He’d barely raised it towards her, when Amon’s arm shot out to block her frame.

“What do you think you’re doing?” the Emerald Expanse Lord snapped. “Essätha, don’t accept that flower.”

The younger nobleman knitted his eyebrows together. He opened his mouth to explain, but Amon stepped forward, gently coaxing her back.

“It was a gift-”

“That is foxglove, you dolt,” Amon fumed. “Handling the plant alone can drop your heart-rate. What are you trying to do, hurt her?”

“I- I didn’t know-”

“You don’t know what’s in your own garden? Pelor boy, don’t touch anything then.”

Infuriated, the lad ground his teeth together. He dropped the bloom, taking a step forward and straightening his posture as he hissed: “It was an honest mistake!”

Amon curled his lip. Essätha gazed between the two of them, dumbstruck by their explosive fury. Each of them were rigid and tense like a bowstring ready to pop, or let lose an arsenal of arrows.

“What would you give to her next? Hooker’s lips? Clitoria?”

“Amon!” Essätha gasped. Part of her was astonished by his venom, and the other part shocked to hear such vulgar names. There couldn’t possibly be plants honestly named that…

“It sounds like you’d be well experienced in such names,” the man coolly responded. He adjusted the layers of his clothing to try appearing nonplus to the attack on his smarts. It didn’t settle well, with his flared nostrils and slits for eyes.

“A true gardener would know a vast variety of plants, and what is in his garden. Like how you shouldn’t have camellia in the same flowerbed as periwinkles like you do; they need different soil types.”

Swatting Amon lightly on the shoulder, Essie passed an accusing look up at him. He seemed to lower his haunches; so to speak, and relaxed his posture. Though he didn’t appear any more or less pleased, he looked off to the side with a huff.

Sighing, she dropped her head politely to the adjacent man as she murmured, “Master Lucas, I’m so sorry-”

“It’s not you who should be sorry, miss Essätha.”

“You’re right,” Amon agreed quietly. “It should be the one offering potentially dangerous plants in a poor attempt at courting.”

“I will certainly never try to do miss Essätha any intended harm,” Lucas shot back in a gravely low tone. “What would you have given her? A rose? Commoner ideals.”

Hoping the two bickering nobles would unruffle their feathers when parted, Essie reached out and tugged upon Amon’s wrist. He begrudgingly budged, but did not remove his glare from upon Lucas as they stepped around him.

“Roses are traditional,” Amon grumbled softly. “There’s nothing wrong with roses.”

“Typical-”

“Although,” he drawled, grounding his feet. For a horrid moment, the Yuan-ti woman thought for sure they were going to gripe into another confrontational argument but as she tossed a cross look up to the Lord, she realized his sights were still solely upon her. An endearing smile, and awaiting pupils moving over her face the moment she looked up to him.

“I would search years for a kadupul plant, for her.”

A curious silence followed his words. Finally, Lucas resented with an irate tone to ask the question both he and Essie had been thinking.

“What is a kadupul plant?”

Smugly, Amon raised his voice as he explained: “A plant that flowers only every four or five years. It blooms only at night, and by day the petals wilt and cascade to the ground. Pick it, and the delicate petals fall apart. It’s a very rare and hardly witnessed flower; priceless, you might say. Much like Essätha herself.”

She knew her mouth was hanging open, so she clasped a hand over it to try hiding her shock. It didn’t, of course. Her eyes were wide as saucers as she looked out into the garden. The whole world seemed strangely brighter than it had just a few moments ago.

Who could respond to something like that? Gods she must look stupid. She fidgeted her hands in front of herself with a timid energy. That was the compliment that overruled all compliments; said with clear sincerity and warmth. But if that’s how he thought of her, then…

“I’m going back inside,” Lucas bitterly spoke up. “Enjoy the garden view.”

“I’ll definitely be enjoying the view,” Amon murmured.

Despite knowing exactly where the cliché statement was going to lead, Essätha focused her peripherals on the frame of a proper, dignified man at her side. Sure enough, the Illiad Patriarch had his face turned towards her.

As the sound of stomping feet carried down the path, she jolted as Amon’s arm moved beside her. It created a hooked impression close to his side, as he waited with a patient, hopeful expression.

“Would you care to enjoy the garden with me?”

She cast a shy gaze up to Amon while linking her arm through his. Her cheeks puffed up; reaching out to give him a gentle shove with her other hand.

“That wasn’t very nice, m’lord.”

“He was going to give you a poisonous flower; was I supposed to just let him?”

“I meant everything after the lethal foxy flower thing you said,” she stated, clutching her fingers to the bend of his elbow.

He gave a rough exhale, glancing up to the sky as his free hand reached up to scratch his beard. In the very next breath, he responded: “Foxglove. It was foxglove… And yes, I suppose you’re right. I was just frustrated. I have a feeling these people picked random plants they thought were nice, and threw them together without knowing the standards they require to raise. I’m not sure if their gardeners are aware of what they’re handling. Some of these could cause someone or a pet to become very ill. It’s irresponsible.”

“Well if that’s how you feel, maybe we should browse while we walk so you can mark things incorrect?” she teased.

He gave a quiet chuckle at that, slowly nodding his head as though the thought appealed to him.

She thought of asking him about his other hostilities, but bit her tongue. Or if he’d meant what he said, about the rare couple-year blooming flower.

But it all seemed so surreal. Maybe it was just the spur of the moment thought. Maybe he was just trying to show off his field of knowledge (which, truth be told, she could stroke the man’s ego for hours on given the chance). It felt like the moment had hardly existed, even just mere seconds ago.

With an encouraging hand, she felt she was floating down the walkway as Amon began to point out different plants to her. All the while, sneaking out facts; or voicing his unhappiness to their treatment or how their colors were off due to their environment.

Essätha just smiled, nodding along to his comments or asking her questions. Even the ones that made her feel stupid, that he answered without so much as a snicker. Calm and understanding; present in the moment as she was.

By the Gods, if it didn’t make her want him even more.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It didn’t matter anymore.

They all knew.

Everyone knew her for the failure she was. What she had done, where she’d come from, what she was capable of. The string of messes left behind. The people who trusted her and found themselves torn to pieces. By Hell’s Gates even she was surprised; hearing her father was alive and existed out there somewhere. There was someone out there who should have; could have been there for her her whole life and found it easier to be absent.

They had built up a trust in her. Friendship. Family. She even thought; she almost believed, that maybe, there was something…

A soft rapping echoed against the door.

Essätha stilled, burying her face further into the comfort of her pillows and blankets. Given enough time, they would go away. Their persistence would stop.

“Essätha? Could you open the door, please?”

A muffled groan echoed in her throat. Grabbing a fistful of the sheets, Essie yanked them partially up over her head.

There was a sigh outside the door. She could hear the quiet thud of Lord Amon’s boots as he paced up and down the hall.

They never left.

He paced up and down the hall relentlessly. Sometimes there was silence, as he came to a halt before the door. Then the pacing would begin again, and he would sigh once more.

She could imagine his hand pushing through his hair with frustration. The illuminated candle light from the hall moving over his eyes. The shift and grind in his jawline. The way he would breath out heavily and rub a hand over his face, against his whiskers, and stare at the door.

The hours of the night grew longer. Still she could hear his feet dragging.

Tilting her head, she drew out her voice in a hiss: “Go to your room.”

Amon’s pacing came to a halt, and a whispering voice pressed to the door: “After I’ve spoken to you. Essätha, please… You never gave up on me. I’m not giving up on you.”

Her lip wobbled. Tucking her face into the nearest pillow, she let out a quiet sob. Every muscle strained. Grabbing for the edges of the cushion, she howled with grief into the mattress.

All that remained of her pride was a wounded animal, licking scars that healed in disjointed fractures. Too many years of swallowing her hollow desolation. All she ever did was try to keep the past beneath her; try to keep the taint of her touch from breaking anything or anyone else. She’d finally began to feel like the strings that controlled her no longer existed.

It no longer felt so. Spiraling out of control; down the drain through the hole into a void.

As the shuffling began again in the hall, Essätha gradually clawed her way to the edge of the bed. Her face was dry; her eyes not red with tears that she could not find. But her insides ached, and as she got to her feet and crept for the door, she shook. She hesitated.

She didn’t recall grabbing the doorknob, but it did indeed open into the dimly-lit hall with candlewax lanterns turned low.

Amon stood perfectly silhouetted into the doorframe. His head angled down; staring into her shrank form as she looked upon the floor.

“I have nothing to say-”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Essätha,” the nobleman retorted swiftly. “You were defending yourself.”

She grabbed for the edge of the door, but Amon placed his hand against it. It moved as she pulled it forward; but slowly. He would let her shut him out, if she wanted. But he would continue to wait outside her door, with shadows under his eyes, until he had gotten it out.

“And now I’m trying to defend all of you from me,” she snarled. “So if you would just please-”

“I’m not afraid of you, Essie.”

There was reassurance in his voice. A soft lull; certain and gentle. She didn’t shy away from his touch as he took hold of her hand, removing it from the door to run his fingers along tenderly.

She snorted. “You should never trust a snake, m’lord.”

“That is like saying you should not trust an Illiad, because of the misconceptions of a father.”

“There is a difference. Snakes bite. They strike. They can be poison-”

“No snakes strikes without giving a warning,” he countered, stepping closer. “And you’re no one’s poison. You were alone with the world standing against your survival. The man was trying to kill you, Essätha, you were defending yourself.”

“What about the man at the dock, or the boy at the river, or the boy in the fire-”

“Those were accidents; you had no intentions of hurting anyone. It’s not your nature. It’s not because of what you are. I’ve never met someone who would do anything to save a life. You think you’re indifferent to it all, or that some part of you is wrong for what happened but you’ve been robbed of a life you should have had. By Pelor’s Light, Essätha, you are not what people have written you out to be.”

The weathered hands that held to her own let her go. She plunged into icy waves; drowning for a brief moment before the warmth returned. Carefully holding to her face, Amon gently encouraged her to lift her head up to meet his eyes.

“Look at me, Essie. Do I look afraid to you?”

She swallowed the thick lump in her throat, shaking her head.

A small smile formed on his face. The broad shape of his rough fingertips circled beneath her wet eyes. Incomprehensibly soft; it seemed to make the tears spill over more as her breath labored.

“You are just a flower, hiding your light deep in your roots. You didn’t know how you would bloom; you could not see as you did, chasing the sun even on your darkest days that as you opened up to the world how beautiful you came to be.”

“You have a kind and inspiring heart of beauty, Essätha,” Amon murmured as he wiped away tears from her cheeks. “I’m sorry the world has mistreated it so. You deserve much more then what it handed you; much, much more. But I promise: I’m not here to hurt you. I won’t turn away from you. I am here for you, whenever you want me, always.”

In the ugliest, most distrustful, frightened part of her mind a voice whispered that he didn’t mean it. He couldn’t possibly mean it. No one wanted to stay. No one wanted her. No one wanted the trouble, the baggage, the constant looks over the shoulder. No one was capable of sticking it out. She couldn’t blame them for it either; she was a mess. Fueled with quiet insecurities, a big mouth, enough sass and pride in all the strangest places to drive anyone crazy.

Yet even the most doubtful sounds in the back of her mind doubted themselves. There was an earnest look in the worry carved in the sculpture of his gorgeous face. He stroked away her tears with cautious fingertips; as if touching her too roughly would bring her pain. Such honest intentions in his words; such devote affection in the graze of his hands.

She crumbled. She cracked.

All the words she wanted to hear; all the understanding she prayed to have. None of it she expected of him. None of it she dared to want far or wide; only wishing her mother was there, with her innocent sense of self and ability to see good and love in all things. That had been her unattainable dream. Never guessing the reality of it could ever come from anyone else.

When she thought she would collapse, Amon let go of her face to hold her in close. When there was no more strength in her legs, and she hung limp in his arms and her face pressed into his shoulder, he cradled her. The strength in his arms never wavering. The softness of his breath tucked against her ear as he whispered soft words of encouragement she could only just barely make out as she wept against him.

It felt like releasing a lifetime of guilt and shame. Which, essentially, is exactly what it was.

And with it, an empty place inside of her began to fill with something entirely different and overwhelming all at once. A seedling erupting from it’s shell all at once; showered in tears and warmth and light so that it flourished all at once.

It was thrilling. It was scary. It was overwhelming and felt like utterly too much for her heart to contain.

In that moment, she knew she loved him far more then she could have ever imagined. It had been there, hiding, growing, hidden beneath the crushing weight of buried doubts. When the rocks were cracked, the life took off across vast parts of her heart and soul until there was no greater feeling to reside so safe and snug in his arms.

How ever was she going to live without him, she no longer knew. And that petrified her more than any monster, villain, or lonely night ever could.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

From the relative safety of the balcony, Essätha looked down upon the courtyard with an easy smile. The sun was bright and high in the sky, and the days were finally growing warm enough to take off the spring cloak and let the gusts of warmer air caress over bare shoulders. The air smelled of fresh life, and an unfortunate aroma of manure.

Though the later was an unappealing scent, it wasn’t going to last long. A week at most once they got the spread and weathering going, along with some cedar chips mixed in to try keeping out unwanted pests.

The very best part about it was, of course, the view. Placing her arms upon the banter, Essie leered down at Amon’s shirtless frame as his spade hit the ground. He’d remove a pile of dirt, pitch it aside, and continue the pattern until he was satisfied with the depth. A wonderful dappling of sweat, just barely visible in the light.

Every God could come crawling out from their cosmos and realm to shame her, and she’d simply shrug. What could you do? With a body like that, her Lord have mercy. It was an enticing view, and she had a wonderful view from up here The muscles in his back shifting, the firmness of his arms, the ripple in his shoulders, the taut physic, the slight tummy, his chest hair, dear Gods.

Her tongue darted out as she let out a hum of appreciation, pressing her legs restlessly together. The only way to get a better look was to have him front and center. She’d caress her hands all over him; nice and slow, leisurely. He’d try to touch her and she would tut him gently, pushing his hands away and like the gentleman he was, he would obediently let her have her fun with him. He’d groan her name; raspily begging to stroke her, to kiss her, anything. And she’d smile sweetly; trying to ignore the hunger that gnawed at her lust, and press her lips over every inch of him until they were both panting and-

While swiping a handkerchief across his forehead, Amon looked up to catch her staring from her perch on the second level. His smile was all teeth; almost feral.

“Care to come down here and lend a hand, my lady?”

She didn’t know what was hotter: her face, or the friction between her legs.

“That depends,” she called back down, “Will I need to remove articles of clothing?”

A maiden down below tending to another flowerbed visibly jumped, and her choked laughter rose up into the sky.

To his credit, Amon didn’t seem the very least bit discouraged or humiliated. If anything, he seemed to only grin broader as he hitched the shovel over his shoulder in a pose that was something you’d expect out of a brothel to entice lady’s.

“Unnecessary, but preferred,” he announced loudly.

She stuck her tongue out in his direction, a goofy grin on her face. Ridiculous man. He was going to need a proper bath when he was all said and done; glistening with sweat, smelling like the garden, and grass, and of dirty man…

Just to tease him; knowing she still had a brassiere beneath her thin shirt, Essie lifted her arms and tore the garment off to toss it down upon his smiling face.

“I’ll be right down!”

Essätha had barely turned when Amon ripped the apparel from his face, crying back up to her, “I think you forgot to take off the most important part!”

“No I didn’t!” she laughed, shaking her head.

He was utterly, totally, and completely ridiculous.

She wouldn’t have the love of her life any other way.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The first blooms of their renovated garden were beginning to come in. The colors spanned the spectrum's of the rainbow. Most were common; the reds, pinks, whites, and yellows of hardy, well-known species. Others were more rare; blues and purples here or there.

With a pout, Essie stared the spot where she had planted her own flowering plant. The plot was small; a test space she’d picked out just for her. She’d done all the research herself, refusing any and all help Amon tried to offer.

She wanted to prove to herself, and everyone else, that she was more then capable of gardening all by herself.

No matter how much she stared at the green leaves bursting forth now from the ground, it did not grow any faster. It seemed to taunt her now. She had began life, but could she continue to make it thrive?

A shadow fell over her, and her small sprout.

“Still staring at it?”

“Yessss,” she grumbled, reaching up without looking to paw at her husband. “Now step aside, m’lord, it needs sun!”

Amon gave a quiet chuckle, scooting close to her side. She leaned away from the hand brushing along the curls against the side of her head until it became a distraction. Her eyes darted up to him as she tried to pull away, but he lightly grasped upon her shoulder.

“Just a second.”

Drawing her eyes up at an angle, Essätha could make out the frills of an elaborate deep maroon carnation. It rested in the edge of her vision as the Illiad heir slipped the steam neatly behind her ear, so that the radiant peek bloom neatly displayed for all the world to see.

Much like the blossom, her face changed a rich shade of red.

“Are you using me to show off your perfectly pruned flowers now?” she teased.

Amon gave a disbelieving noise in the back of his throat. He leaned in, skimming his nose against hers playfully as she giggled.

“The flower is an accent for you, my darling Essätha, not the other way around,” he promised, placing a kiss upon the tip of her nose.

“Could have fooled me,” she sighed, casting a dejected look down to the dirt.

Coaxing hands reached up, softly cupping her cheeks to bring her focus back to the shining gaze of his dark eyes.

“Give it time, my dear. All things start small. It’ll grow.”

“Are you just saying that to make me feel better, or have you been sneaking out here tending to my zinnia when I’m not around?”

“Neither. Well, the first perhaps a little. But I believe in you, Essie. Give it a chance. It’ll prosper before you know it.”

Her eyes softened gradually. Much like their love and their lives, it might be a struggle, but if she nurtured it just right, it would grow.

She had all the tools at her disposal. The sun, the ground, daily watering, and Amon’s help if all else failed. He’d taught her much on what to check for overwatering; how to properly make a drain and what was too loose or too firmly packed around the root systems. She’d learned about replanting and transplanting; of what to examine in the colors of the leaves and so much more.

She’d spent days reaching each and every volume she could find on basic gardening, and then found the one plant she was sure she could handle. No help, just what she learned and read up on.

This zinnia would live, dammit. She was going to make sure it lived.

“You are so sweet,” Essätha purred, reaching up to take hold of her beloved husband’s face. She pet along the shape of his sideburns, dragging his face down to softly press her lips to his.

An appreciative growl greeted her. Before she knew what was going on, Amon bent lower at his knees and placed a hand to the back of hers, knocking her off her feet with a yelp and into his arms.

“For goodness sake, m’lord-”

“No more plant watching,” he half-scolded half-laughed. “It’s past lunch time. You should get a bite before we our guests arrive for the land negotiations.”

“Uggghhhh why did you have to remind me,” she wailed with forced desperation, throwing her head back dramatically as the deep, humbling laugh she cherished pressed into her side. A roll of laughter followed his own from her; peels and giggles and little snorts as Amon rubbed his face into the bend of her neck, tickling her with his beard as he kissed her sensitive skin.

The little plant stood a little straighter as they walked away; reaching for the sun as it seemed to sway to the sound of laughter.

Or perhaps, simply to the light breeze. Who was to say?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Essätha placed the watering can back into the small cellar space with a faint smile on her face. She reached up, wiping her brow of specks of sweat as she gave a satisfied sigh. Hands on her hips, dirt beneath her fingernails, and smears now against her forehead where she had just wiped.

Her zinnia was growing larger every day now. Maybe it was going to actually survive, after all. But it didn’t appear to be budding yet.

Still, she held on to hope. If she could come back from her hellish life, and her tiny seedling had made it through an unexpected frost, then it could take on anything!

She’d barely turned to step out through the heavy wooden door back into the courtyard when a soft whining captured her attention. Her eyes turned down, spotting the droopy muzzle and beady dark eyes staring up at her.

Hanging from Caesar’s maw was a row of trimmed freesia, in a multitude of arranged colors.

“Oh gods,” she whispered in a hush, bending down to take the mouthful from Caesar’s maw. They were coated with strings of drool and some of the steams crushed; unsalvageable in a vase unless someone cut more off.

There were further freesia however, all tucked beneath the mastiff’s collar. As she reached to pull them out, Caesar finally gave in to a full-body shake, sending both flowers and petals flying in every direction.

Essätha raised her eyes with her tenderly raised bouquet in hand, spotting Amon staring just on the other side of the courtyard with an eager little smile.

Flushing pink beneath his gaze, she brought the blossoms to her face to sniff the faint fragrance as Caesar snuffled her side.

There was no question in her mind if it was possible to love someone more and more each and every day. Even when she was sure she couldn’t possibly love him any more; that there was no more room from the top of her head to the tip of her toes, she always found room to wiggle in a little more. Because with each new dawn and dusk, she found something more to love; a little more to appreciate, a new swelling sensation in her chest that made all things feel at ease and warm and happy.

Of all the parts and pieces of her heart, soul and life, he was the part she loved the very most.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

A shriek loud enough to wake the dead pierced the air. She frolicked, she jumped, she danced with eager joy. Her heart, how it sung! There was nothing more delightful than this, the sweet success of victory!

The door that lead into the cellar opened, and a wide-eyed Amon stared out into the yard.

“Essie? What in Pelor’s name- I thought someone was hurt-”

“Amon Amon Amon Amon Amon, look!” Essätha squealed, bounding across the lawn to dash over to him. He leaned back, taken by surprise as she grasped his hand and dragged him out from the manor. When he no longer resisted her tugs, she spun and danced with his hand lightly holding to hers, with his eyebrows drawn together with uncertainty.

Pulling her heart’s desire over, she stood before the clustered plant filled with buds. Only, one had opened to form the first zinnia flower. It’s magnificent petals soared upward in a lush shade of violet.

“Look!” she cheered, grasping his hands. “Look I did it! I did it! It’s alive and it’s blooming I made it grow! I did that all by myself!”

Just as quickly, she let go of his hands to twirl in a circle. Her fists balled up into fists, punching the air with success as she giggled and chanted a series of ‘yes’s with eagerness.

Lord Amon tore his gaze from her, to the flower, and back again. His heart tightened reflexively to her joy; so merry and filled with life. He found himself impulsively smiling to her own happiness as it reflected in his own.

“You’ve raised Green Bean and more then half a dozen people,” he teased, reaching out for her hand. “This is what excites you?”

“To be fair, you were all technically adults already,” Essie laughed; following his train of thought. “And this is different. I’ve never gardened before! It’s amazing. I took a tiny seed, and I made a big plant!”

A hearty laugh escaped the Lord of the Emerald Expanse. Her glee was infectious. The things that made her so overjoyed were at times, unexpected. But there was nothing better than to see her explode into such radiant energy. When happiness colored her, it changed everything. The atmosphere of the world seemed to change. Colors grew brighter. Paintings that seemed to leer were suddenly smiling. Plants grew taller; the sun shone brighter, the clouds disappeared and all things, by Pelor’s name, all things felt possible and right in life.

Slipping his fingertips between her own, Amon joined her in swinging around in wide, dramatic circles. He listened to her laughter; pure and sweet and innocent. Delighted so completely by something such as a flowering plant.

He couldn’t be more proud of her.

He couldn’t be more happy for her. With her. Along side her.

As her energy tapered and her steps grew wobbly and dizzy, his beautiful Essie still giggled as he pulled her in close to wrap his arms around her. Dragging in the faded scent of soap in her black hair as he rested his chin upon her, and kissed the crown of her head.

He rocked her back and forth in the grass. Soft laughter still bursting forth randomly from her lungs; nested into his ribcage as she buried her face against him.

For a brief moment, his eyes locked upon the zinnia, and then back down to the strong, gentle, beautiful woman in his arms. His heart swelled enormously in his chest, pressing another kiss upon her forehead.

“Congratulations, my love. You did a marvelous job.”

“I utilized what you taught me,” she muffled into his shirt. “I treated it with sunshine, clean water, respect, dignity, and a lot of tender, love, and care.”

Amon chuckled faintly at that, rubbing his palms up and down the length of her spine. Turning his head slightly, he rested his cheek against her, humming softly as his arms grew tighter just as his throat did.

Silly woman, he scoffed to himself. Didn’t she knew she was the one who taught him many of those things in the first place? There would be no Lord Amon without his Lady Essätha. She was gardening before she was aware of it. Replanting and rejuvenating his ashen fields with a flurry of life, light, and endless pollinating butterflies and bumblebees thriving within his soul with each new love he found for her; making a perfect field of flora just for the two of them. A perfect world, all their own.

There was nothing else he wanted out of life. This wondrous love; his sweet angel, and the happiness they grew, together.

#eci artz #essamon ship #Essie rw #amon illiad #have you ever been so starved for content? me neither

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popculturespiritwow · 6 years

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THE WICKED + THE DIVINE #23: PROFILES IN PLUMAGE

LIFE AFTER MOMMY

While Issue 23 is in a sense a prelude to the arc proper, magazine-style profiles of our Pantheon post-Blood Blister-Ananke-Pop!, one of the great elements of the issue is how it lays out the new status quo within interviews that are the fruit entirely of online role play between Kieron and the interviewers. In other words, the interviewers didn’t have a sense of the story goals, they were just approaching their subjects the way they would in real life, and it was up to Kieron to improvise in a couple key notes – Baal as now Responsible Father Figure/Super Hero who is Going to Stop the Great Darkness and Wear Suits**; Laura as Maybe Actually the Destroyer After All Tho; Morrigan receding into the Undeworld with Baphomet; Ammy’s continued insistence that everything is going to turn out super great for everybody; Woden making a machine to “mimic” people’s powers (see: things that will also work out super great for everybody); oh, and everybody’s still going to die, tick tock.

It’s all a pretty big gamble and it works really really well.

**Just realizing, the guy who makes it his mission in Imperial Phase to protect Minerva is simultaneously quietly killing children. Wow I don’t know how to feel about any of that.

TOMATO, TOMATO

What is this thing we’re reading, issue #23? Is it a comic book recreating itself for an issue as a magazine in order to do something fun and different and also expand the whole “gods viewed as celebrities” concept, show us how the Pantheon are viewed by the wider world?

Certainly that’s how it presents itself. And I dare you to find an issue of another book that does that as well, from layout to shot selection to the kinds of narratives it weaves. And other than the Chris Eliopolis-style three panel strip that ends the issue, and maybe Jamie’s four panels depicting Ananke’s death, there’s not a lot about what goes on within the issue that seems to resemble the storytelling methods of a comic.

But its cover is 100% comic book. We’re given an issue number, the title of the comic, the creative team, the production company. The page dimension are also those of every other issue of the series. And the cover design, Baal against the white background, as though having escaped the comic book frame which now hangs over his shoulder, is the design for the Imperial Phase run of issues.

The back cover fronts (backs?) the magazine vibe, replacing the series’ normal quote from within the book with an advertisement for a Persephone-branded phone. (I have to believe in a world where the ring tone is “Persephone is in Hell.”) But even there, if you want to be picky, you’ve got the bar code and comic book rating in the bottom right.

So it’s a comic book, right, doing celebrity rag really well and why am I wasting your time debating about this. But then there’s this... even if it’s not in a way like pretty much any comic book the art of the issue does generate story, in the way that magazines of its variety do, costume plus setting plus pose revealing character and plotline.

And not only that but the fullness of the story being told in each article and the issue as a whole is a result precisely as a result of the interactions between art and text. Indeed, the very choice of photos first to take and then to use emerges out of both the text of the story and the pre-interview idea for the story that the writer or editor brought.

Clearly issue 23 is the band we love at the top of their game innovating even further and making us think that much more. But maybe it’s also a way of highlighting not that a comic can be a magazine, but that in the way they deliver story, magazines are actually a kind of comic books themselves.

WHO TO GET TO WRITE YOUR PROFILE IF YOU’RE NOT A TOOL

Kevin Wada’s art is just fantastic, both spot on for the kind of magazine the issue is trying to present and also with just the perfect shot selection for the characters.

That two page spread of Baal or the crazy shot of Woden. Wow.

But for me the gold of the issue is the fresh insights the article authors bring to the characters.

“It’s why fans love her,” Leigh Alexander writes of the Morrigan. “She creates spaces where it all feels inevitable, and therefore okay. Or definitely, assuredly not okay, so you can stop pretending, You can stop struggling. Or you can only struggle. Either way it’s a relief.” The blessing of the Morrigan, yes it’s a nightmare, you’re right, and with that truth, an easing of the pain. (I love all the articles, but Alexander’s is particularly wonderful. The feeling she has for the Morrigan gives the piece such pathos.)

Or here’s Dorian Lynskey, writing about Baal. “This, then, is Baal’s spin for the day: there will be a plan. We mortals might not know what it is, it may not even be decided yet, but there will be one. DO I believe it? I’m not sure. But I believe that Baal believes it. After so much blood and chaos, he needs to believe it.”

(Did Lynskey have any idea of the secrets Baal was hiding? I don’t think so. And yet knowing what we know not, could his piece be any more dead on?)

In her profile of Woden, author Laurie Penny says “He takes women and turns them into videogame cheesecake. He takes women and turns them into something less than human, something comprehensible and controllable, with clear win conditions.”

She also kids that his workshop is like the Batcave, and follows with another incredibly prescient remark: “’Where’s Alfred? Or...no, hang on. You’re Alfred.”

Mary HK Choi’s insistence on often calling Lucifer by her birth name, which at first works as a refusal to take the claims of godhood as anything more than as millennial celebrity publicity stunt; but then becomes part of insisting on Luci’s innocence and vulnerability: “Lucifer if perfect right now – vibrant and happy. And while there is a humane aspect to the fatalistic branding, the finite relevance that is the reality of the celebrity industrial complex in the age of social media, it’s still super sad.

“When she’s skipping to the mall, shudder at how her parents (unrepentant Beatles fans) conceived her on the night of a Blur gig...she is very much a kid. A kid swaggering to impress you and thousands of people for whom everything is performance.”

(Also, we get that great quote from Kieron, “Being the devil is knowing you’re lost.” Rather than Purveyor of Lies, Lucifer once again as the one who understands the lie within it all.)

Lastly, here’s Ezekiel Kweku, after hearing Ammy explain away Ananke’s death: “She looks preternaturally serene, godlike once more. For some reason, this makes me even sadder.”

(“She doesn’t want you to see in her a deconstructed divinity, she wants to appear as whole and uncomplicated as an undivided beam of light,” is so perfect as sentences go I would be filled with a jealous rage if I could stop enjoying it.)

NO BUT SURE ANOTHER WOODY ALLEN MOVIE IS FINE THO

I do this newsletter on pop culture and spirituality called Pop Culture Spirit Wow. (Join us and we can rule the galaxy forever.) And the week Avengers: Infinity War came out I did a whole thing on the history of the Avengers, including some of their most iconic storylines.

And in doing research, I stumbled upon this post from former Avengers writer Jim Shooter, who insists that Hank Pym “was not a wife-beater”. The famous moment where Pym hits Janet van Dyne, he said was actually the mistake of the artist. “In that story (issue 213, I think),” Shooter writes, “there is a scene in which Hank is supposed to have accidentally struck Jan while throwing his hands up in despair and frustration—making a sort of ‘get away from me’ gesture while not looking at her. Bob Hall, who had been taught by John Buscema to always go for the most extreme action, turned that into a right cross!” And it was too late to fix it, so they had to go with it.

Years later, Bob Hall responded, saying Shooter “had never said he didn’t like the slap panel”, but that he could believe he’d made a mistake, because he was young and didn’t know what he was doing.

But I don’t know, this is a pretty different from an “accidental slap”:

Also, what precipitates this terrible moment is Pym on trial for having seemingly shot a woman in the back (turns out she was a robot) and feeling a lot of pressure. The issue features Tigra worrying about Jan and wondering why she stays with him. “Don’t you see you’re worth ten of him?” she asks.

And after his “accidental slap” he flips out in court, ultimately sending in a robot to save him.

So I don’t know, actually an accidental slap feels a lot less likely than what was drawn. (Actually it feels exactly like what someone who just hit a woman says to try and get away with it.)

Once it “happened”, Shooter and Marvel were “stuck” with it (#TheRealVictims), and Shooter had to rethink where he was headed with the characters. Jan files for divorce next issue, in fact.

If you look at the history of comics, you won’t find many moments like this, at least not at the Big Two. Men do not hit women.

Unless they have powers, that is. Then it’s kind of all fair, or at least occasionally permissible. And it never comes up in later conversation. It’s just the way things are. She was super strong, she hit me first, of course it’s okay.

In both the Morrigan and Baal pieces the characters talk about Baal having hit her. That attack happened twelve issues ago (when you include the 1831 special), and it’s still considered a significant ongoing story point for both characters.

Once again, WicDiv making us consider things that the world kind of ignores. (Or even enjoys.)

DENIAL, THE NEW FRAGRANCE

The very last beat of this issue, the wacky cartoon, is maybe the hardest hitting punch of all.

They’ve been through all this craziness, they’ve found out they were being manipulated all this time, and they just straight murdered someone. So what do they do now?

What else? They party.

It’s like the Danger Laura Wilson warning of the first two arcs, but now applied to the whole group, and just as firmly ignored. The only one who really seems to understand at all it is Luci, and she’s dead, er, a living head stuck in a cave we won’t know about for another year of issues.

#wicdiv #kieron gillen #jamie mckelvie #life after mommy

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