✒Flower Husbands Oneshots

on the ephemerality of poppies ¦¦ immortal!Jimmy

"And he called for you," they continued, laughing humorlessly at the blood red sky. "He called for you before he went. Your name was the last thing that left his lips. Your smile was the last thought on his mind as his candle flickers to embers."

You feel your heart skip, yet you simply laugh, bitter and harsh.

"No need to lie for my sake, lily," you hum sadly. "He doesn't love me."

It stings to say those words, but then again, the truth usually does.

They frown. "Bullshit."

"It's true!" you protest weakly, "He doesn't love me! Maybe he could've, but he never got to, and now he never will. We didn't have enough time."

Time. What a weird concept. You have all the time in the world—immortality does that to a person—and yet you chase for more constantly. Not enough, never enough. The universe is cruel, always has been, always will be. You're always racing against the clock, always reaching out for more, because please let this be enough, please let me be with him, please let me protect him.

They shake their head, a familiar look etched on their face. That look of disbelief and disappointment when you do or say something stupid.

They stretched their hands out, calling to their magic, light swirls on their palms, taking the form of a sword. It has a golden hilt, symbols carved on its blade. You can recognize it anywhere. The Rune Blade.

"I take it you're familiar with this thing?" they say, balancing the sword on their palm, testing its weight.

"Of course," you reply, taking the sword from them. "I helped make it, remember?"

The dwarves were kind and talented people, it had been your idea to make a sword that could sever someone's soul and put them in an afterlife of the wielder's choosing. It was a weird idea, they had told you so a couple of centuries ago, but you do have a record of not-so-good ideas.

"He used it to send himself to a happy afterlife. A life without sorrow, without grief, without the pain he had to endure in this one," they explain, voice almost reverent, soft and mourning. "The perfect life he never had."

"And..." you prompt, almost breathless, your nerves jittering in anticipation.

They smile at you, lacking its usual snark, lacking the confidence and self-assuredness you have come to associate with them. It was a soft smile, melancholic even, gentle and comforting. It looked wrong on them, but at the same time so right.

"Let me show you..." they whisper, gathering their magic again, tendrils of fabric-like sparks gathering in front of them. You know this spell, they've used it so many times in the past whenever they show you stuff that happened in their domain or some shenanigans with the other deities.

(You'll never forget the time they showed you Aeor being chased by an angry Overgrown while Exor laughs in the background. But that was during the better times, the happier times. Before everything went so wrong.)

But now, they're showing you a different scene. It was him. It was him wandering around Rivendell, confused. But it was different. Rivendell– this Rivendell was untouched and thriving, none of the towering ice spikes and red corruption, just... Rivendell. Beautiful, majestic, and whole. The tears gather in your eyes.

Xornoth was there too–no, not Xornoth, that isn't their name, it never was–Connor was there. Two souls, two brothers, reunited again. After so much pain, after so much destruction, together again.

Tears ran down your soot-stained cheeks, you made no move to wipe them off. A melancholic smile finds its way to your lips. He's happy. Finally, he's happy and safe and content. He's not endangered anymore. He's not alone anymore. He's happy, that's enough, even if he isn't with you.