Work Text:
Moths and Marigolds
The soft light of Catha breaks through drifting clouds and gives form to the multitude of plants and flowers in The Blooming Grove. Many cast their gaze to the ground, petals drawn together for the night as if sleeping, their heads gently nodding in the breeze. Others still reach to the moon, ready to receive moths and other nocturnal insects. The tree stumps in this space harbour moss and are flanked by fungi which emit their own gentle light of blues, pinks and greens. For a moment, the plants flutter with a rush of air before settling back into their dozing state, peaceful in the quiet night.
Callidora sits with her back to one of the larger logs, obscuring her from view of the house. She is only half grown for a firbolg which makes it much easier to keep her activity hidden. A green glazed teapot sits between her bare feet, empty. From a pocket on the hip of her dress she produces a marble which she presses into moss plucked from the log behind her. Lifting them in her cupped hand she whispers into the bundle. Swiftly she closes her fist around the marble to obscure the bright light it suddenly emits. Callidora smiles and places the bright marble into the teapot, squinting a little as the light is released. It doesn’t take long for a curious moth to be attracted to the new light source, fluttering about the edges of the teapot. Callidora’s holds her breath, it’s one of the better ones that will taste nutty and sweet. She just needs to wait for it to land inside before-
“Does your uncle know you’re out here?”
“AH!” Callidora starts, expecting to see one of her older brothers though usually they can’t sneak up on her this well. Instead before her is a figure wrapped in a dark woollen cloak, a purple knitted scarf about his shoulders, pure white hair tumbling down in curls to just above his shoulders. Long pointed ears glisten with silver adornments, raised slightly in amusement. A grin bursts over Callidora’s face, she springs up and launches herself to hug their visitor, arms thrown about his waist.
“Mr Essek! I thought you were Cohen, but he’s never as quiet as you. I bet I wouldn’t have been surprised if you’d walked normal, floating is cheating.” She releases him to see a warm smile on the drow’s face. Callidora takes a moment to admire him, she’s always enjoyed how the wizard’s colouring mirrors her own, his lavender skin a paler shade than her warm purple hair, her silvery light blue fur a touch darker than his white hair.
“It is not cheating to use one’s gifts to an advantage. I see you’ve been practising yours.” He gestures to the teapot beside them.
Callidora nods and kneels down next to the teapot, a handful of moths already beginning to gather inside. “Mama used a candle when she showed me how to catch them but Uncle’s light trick is way easier.” She scoops one out and feels its wings thrum inside her fingers. “Would you like to try it?”
Essek gives a polite shake of his head “I am not hungry, but thank you for the offer-”
“Essek?” A deeper voice calls out from towards the house. Essek looks up and raises his hand in greeting. “I thought I heard voices. Is Callidora out there?” An older firbolg steps out into the grove, leaning on a staff. His mostly pink mohawk has been braided and tied back, a vine like pattern shaved into each side. He wears simple tan coloured robes and a knitted mint green vest that hangs to his knees.
Callidora dismisses her spell and stands up sheepishly. She waves, accidentally releasing the moth from her grasp which careens into her forehead before darting off into the dark. Her uncle begins walking towards them chuckling to himself “Uh-huh, figured as much. Hello, friend.”
Essek drops to the ground and closes the distance on foot, allowing himself to be brought into an embrace with the much taller figure. “Caduceus, thank you for having me.”
“Always a pleasure. Shall we?” Caduceus looks past Essek to Callidora expectantly. She bows her head once, gathers her moth trap and trots inside.
Guided by the light from Caduceus’ staff, they walk side by side towards the rear of the property. They pass by fragrant bushes and herbs which line areas cultivating deep rooted tubers, dark leafy greens and sweet berries. “Your garden is doing well this year it seems.” Essek remarks with admiration.
“The Wildmother has been generous with her blessings this season,” he agrees, “and the young ones have worked hard too. The Savilirwood is a much kinder host than it used to be, I’m grateful they don’t have to struggle against the encroaching sickness the way we used to.”
Indeed, the grove has expanded since the first time Essek came here. More space for crops to feed their growing family, an addition made to the house and new areas reclaimed for burials. But the path they take now is an old one, seldom used and overgrown in places. It leads to the plots reserved for the Clay family themselves and those with the honour of being called family. The trees begin to grow closer, their canopies knitting together over the small clearings between. As they enter a familiar space Essek stops, falling behind Caduceus momentarily.
Caduceus rests his staff against one of the trees to provide light and turns to Essek “Here we are then. It’s quite different from last time, I think you’ll like what he’s done with the place.”
Essek steels himself with a deep breath and steps forward. The modest headstone is facing away from him so he has to walk past it to see the space fully. In his mind’s eye the earth before him had been bare and brown, cut harshly from the lush green undergrowth. But oh how quickly the grove has reclaimed it. Now the space is covered in flowers; round blooms composed of thin golden petals crowding a burnt orange centre. A blanket of marigolds. Drawing a shuddering breath, Essek manages a smile “Hello again, my friend.”
When Callidora catches up to them Essek is sat upon the ground and speaking, quietly going over the events of the last year while Caduceus stands patiently to one side. Treading quietly, she sets down the tray she’s carried with her before the grave. The green glazed teapot is now wrapped in a delicately embroidered towel and accompanied by two cups.
“Well, Luc can tell you more when he visits.” Essek’s gaze falls upon the awaiting tea set, then back to the flower he spins between his fingers.
Caduceus settles on the other side of Callidora and begins pouring between the two cups. “Well would you look at that? Wonderful.” He passes a cup to Essek who takes it with both hands in an effort to steady them. Essek hesitates, looks as though he might speak but the words die on his lips. Caduceus sighs sympathetically “It’s okay, you won’t be disappointed, I promise. He could never disappoint you.”
The firbolg takes a long sip and closes his eyes with a hum. Callidora looks to Essek who appears frozen, eyes down, his fingertips pressing into the cup so hard she worries it might shatter.
Caleb had always been elderly for as long as she had been alive. She never knew the younger man who adventured with her uncle to save the world. To her he was a friendly face, full of stories and magic and mischief. The ever youthful drow changed little, comfortingly constant like her own family. The human a little less than half his age had burned through life much more quickly, as is their way. Arm in arm, they had visited many times in her childhood to stay with her family, more often towards the end. Essek would busy himself in the garden with her mother and brothers while Caleb would look on. He would read his books, reminisce with Caduceus or simply gaze out into the beauty of the Grove. Whenever they all stopped to enjoy a cup of tea he would joke that it wouldn’t be too long before they would all be enjoying a cup of Caleb. It was easy to laugh at while he was still with them, the idea abstract and far away. But now the tea was here, and Caleb was not.
“I would like to try it, if I may?” She offers. Essek’s eyes flicker up to meet her, a twinge of relief cutting through the sorrow.
“Of course… tell me what you make of it.” He passes the cup back to her and she raises it reverently before taking a drink. Initially it’s a warm flavour, grounded in earthy tones. There’s a bitter edge to it that might be off putting to the unfamiliar but beyond that a peppery heat and floral aroma that lingers.
“You’ll like it.” She whispers with a confident smile and hands it back.
Essek takes one more long breath, closes his eyes and drinks. After a moment, the tension in his shoulders falls away. The cup rests in his lap and a small laugh escapes him. “I do.”
They find conversation again, sharing the tea and the memories. The light fading from Caduceus’ staff prompts talk of return and rest but before he is able to recast, Essek stops him. “Wait…”
A shape curls around the headstone and steps through the bed of flowers towards them. It takes a moment for the firbolgs’ eyes to adjust to the moonlight but Essek needs no help to recognise what approaches him. His outstretched hand trembles and into it presses the forehead of an orange and black spotted cat. Essek releases a breath as the creature encircles him and comes to rest at his knees. It gives a questioning chirp.
“You should have come sooner. He was here, he missed you.” Essek reprimanded, struggling to keep his voice even. The cat blinks, unmoved but accepting. He puts his front paws up onto Essek’s legs and sniffs the scarf with curiosity. Essek smooths his hand across the cat’s back and hisses “... I miss him.”
Frumpkin lets out a gentle sound of agreement, rolls into Essek’s lap and begins to purr, he’ll stay for as long as he is needed.