Language of Flowers (2)
They walked the forest path, following the scent of damp grass.
"Taking a walk like this is nice, too."
Lowen glanced back at Ariel, who was following a step behind him.
"Ah... Yes..."
Ariel was stiff as a board, her cheeks flushed pink simply from holding his hand. She looked like a young girl just beginning to learn what love was — fresh and tender.
It was absurd, really. They had shared far more intimate contact than holding hands, and yet this was what made her bashful. Still, he found it pleasing. This girlish shyness over something so small suited Ariel far better than the lewd temptress who usually flashed her skin to seduce him.
"I believe it's that way."
Bright sunlight glowed beyond the lush green forest. As they drew closer, a field of dandelions began to appear through the light cascading down like silk curtains.
A gentle breeze stirred. A circular stage ringed by broadleaf trees. Upon it, yellow dandelions and white dandelions danced in pairs.
Ariel released Lowen's hand and walked ahead, marveling at the rippling waves of dandelions spread before her.
"Wow... It's so pretty..."
It was too small a space to truly call a field. But that very narrowness let the dandelions, nestled in harmony with the blue-green forest, be taken in at a single glance.
And more than that—
"Bishop Lowen! Look at these dandelions! They're really beautiful!"
—he could take in Ariel as well, turning back toward him with a radiant smile that belonged perfectly in the landscape. A violet blooming wide among the dandelions. A slender, tiny flower, yet one whose presence was alluringly, unmistakably vivid.
"They are. Truly beautiful."
Lowen smiled faintly. He wasn't sure he could feel moved by flowers themselves — but he understood, at least, that they could reach out and touch the heart. It was a feeling he had never known before. Ordinary dandelions, and yet it felt as though someone had pressed a fingertip squarely into his chest.
Lowen and Ariel walked slowly through the dandelion field.
"It would be nice to come again when they turn to seed fluff, too."
"Shall we come together again then?"
"Yes!"
They talked of this and that — the worshippers who came to the cathedral, silly rumors the children had told them, impressions of the snacks they'd eaten the day before. Ordinary, everyday conversation as the two of them circled the dandelion field again and again.
"Phew... I feel like I've finally gotten a proper walk in for the first time in ages."
Ariel settled her hips down onto a soft carpet of dandelions.
"We've only gone five laps and you're already tired?"
Lowen sat down beside her.
"Five whole laps, you said...!"
Ariel puffed out one cheek, her lips jutting forward like a duck's as she twitched them in protest.
"You're out of shape."
"You have to count the walk from the cathedral all the way out here, too."
Back at the Grand Cathedral, half her day had been spent in worship; here at the present cathedral, she spent most of her time loafing about — so Ariel's stamina was abysmal. And the only "exercise" she got amounted to a brief stroll around the cathedral after lunch, and the finger-wiggling workout of slipping her hand between her thighs.
Chatting quietly, Lowen began plucking white dandelions and weaving them into a flower crown.
"I want to make one too!"
Declaring she would make a crown of her own, Ariel suddenly clasped her hands together and began to pray.
"Why are you praying?"
"Because you have to pick the dandelions to make a crown."
Ariel looked up at him with a bashful little smile.
"I'm going to make mine yellow."
She plucked yellow dandelions and began weaving a crown after Lowen's example.
"Huh? Wait? Here... uugh... like this... like this... uungh?"
Ariel grunted and strained over her flower crown. Watching Lowen do it made it look so easy, but trying it herself was hard. The stems kept snapping as she tried to braid them.
She snuck a glance at the crown Lowen was making. It was far from finished, but she could tell he was doing it well. Those large hands, handling the dandelions with such care, made the delicate work look effortless.
"Bishop Lowen, you're really something."
"Pardon? What do you mean?"
"You're good at cooking, good at cleaning, good at laundry — and you're good at making flower crowns, too."
Lowen let out a short laugh.
"Yes. I'm rather good at things."
That smile looked almost smug, as if he were teasing the Ariel sitting opposite him.
"How are you so good at everything?"
Ariel set her disastrous, pitiful excuse for a flower crown aside, hugged her knees, and looked up at him.
"I've been doing it since I was little."
"Since you were little?"
"Yes. My parents weren't around, so I took on all the household work from a young age."
The moment she realized she had touched on something improper to ask, a look of apology washed over Ariel's face in a pale sky-blue.
"I'm sorry... I brought up something I shouldn't have..."
Lowen laughed lightly — ahaha — and shook his head.
"Not at all. It was so long ago that I've long since gone numb to it."
He went on.
"In any case, I had a little sister to look after on my own, so I did everything — cooking, cleaning, laundry, all of it. And sometimes I'd take her out to a field near the village and make her flower crowns. Doing that often enough, I naturally got good at this sort of thing."
Ariel stole a quiet look at Lowen's emotions. It was not a lie. The man who had been nothing but falsehoods had, for the first time, shown her a genuine truth.
"You have a little sister?"
"Yes. A truly lovely little sister."
A faint smile touched Lowen's lips. A violet emotion. Longing. As if he were recalling the past, a purple light spread across the side of his face.
"Where is your sister now?"
"She's at a convent in Snowflower Powder Village, up in the northern regions."
"Shall we go visit her sometime?"
"No."
Lowen declined politely.
"Getting there from here would take at least a month. And for Your Holiness to go, you would need permission from the Holy See — which would be a hassle in itself."
Above all, he continued—
"No matter how long the journey takes, I can go see her whenever I wish."
His hands, which had paused, began moving again, weaving the white dandelions together.
"By the way, Your Holiness — do you know what the language of dandelions is?"
Lowen indicated with a tilt of his chin the yellow dandelions scattered in a mess beside Ariel.
Ariel shook her head from side to side.
"Yellow dandelions mean happiness and a grateful heart."
"A grateful heart?"
"Yes. When you want to convey your thanks, you give someone a yellow dandelion."
The memory of a few days prior — when Clea had tricked her into wearing a lewd nightgown to express her gratitude to Lowen — rose unbidden, and Ariel's cheeks flushed warm and pink. Then, as if something had suddenly occurred to her, she picked the most intact dandelion from her ruined crown and fashioned a ring.
Having completed the tiny loop, Ariel cleared her throat.
"Ahem. Bishop Lowen. Hold out your hand for a moment."
Sitting to Ariel's right, Lowen extended his left hand. She took it and slipped the dandelion ring — a flower ring — onto the middle finger of his left hand.
"Thank you. Always."
He had once told her he already knew she was grateful even without her saying so — but Ariel still wanted, needed, to tell him herself.
"And thank you for taking care of me when I caught that cold last time."
"It was only what I ought to have done."
Lowen looked at the yellow dandelion ring on his middle finger and smiled. The stems were clumsily tied; the whole thing looked ready to come undone at any moment. Even so, it didn't feel bad. Through that very clumsiness, Ariel's gratitude came through with perfect clarity.
"Your Holiness, lower your head for a moment, please."
Lowen set the finished crown — the last dandelion woven in — upon Ariel's head.
"It suits you well."
Silver-haired Ariel wearing a white flower crown. She looked like a fairy keeping watch over the dandelion field.
"What about the white dandelion, then? What's its meaning?"
Tapping the crown on her head with her fingertips, Ariel looked up at him.
"I give my love to you."
The soft breeze stilled. The dandelions that had been chattering and dancing fell silent. In that hush, only Lowen's low voice rang out.
I give my love to you.
Those bittersweet words lingered at Ariel's ear and left her dizzy.
"A fitting meaning for Your Holiness, wouldn't you say?"
The wind rose again. The dandelions swayed, and Ariel's hair rippled with them.
"After all, you are one who shares love with others."
Ariel, who had been blinking blankly, finally understood what Lowen had meant by gifting her the crown, and nodded again and again.
"......R-right. I'm a Saintess who gives love to everyone. Of course. Of course I am."
She babbled on, muttering that she was a being who shared love.
"I love the people of the village, and the children who come play at the cathedral..."
Rambling freely as if to hide her embarrassing misunderstanding, Ariel looked Lowen in the eye and said—
"And I love Lowen, too."
The words left her mouth, and when Lowen simply looked down at her without moving, only then did Ariel realize what she had said.
"Ah, ah, ah, th-that is... what I mean is..."
Lowen, who had been holding her gaze, closed his eyes and lifted the corner of his mouth.
"I understand. You mean the love of a Saintess who loves everyone."
"That's right."
Yes — she loved Lowen, but only in the way a Saintess loved people.
But then... why?
Looking up at Lowen's smile, Ariel felt a faint, aching hollowness in one corner of her chest. Pleasant and unpleasant at once. Ticklish and painful at once. An unidentifiable ache tormented her.
Right. I was just too flustered, that's all.
That ache stayed lodged deep in her chest, souring her mood all the way back to the cathedral.
"Today, at the dandelion colony in Baram-sae Forest..."
Lowen was writing in his diary before bed.
"Hah... Taking one's time to look at flowers isn't so bad..."
He set down his pen and leaned back against the chair. He looked back over the day. It had been peaceful to a degree he scarcely deserved — admiring flowers, sitting in a flower field talking.
Lowen stretched a hand toward the ceiling.
"Heh."
The dandelion ring still on the middle finger of his left hand. The clumsy, haphazard knot was somehow still holding the loop together.
"A grateful heart... happiness..."
Lowen slipped off the dandelion ring and laid it upon the open diary.
"Happiness is far too extravagant a word..."
He yawned and headed for the bed.
The diary lay open. On the page, a yellow dandelion rested like a bookmark. And on the very last line, a brief sentence had been written — underlined twice.
I heard the Saintess say she loves me.