[AU] 📖 I would pick her from the garden to be mine

[diatessaron]

I.

She sees him from her window one spring morning, woken early by a dream that had her needing fresh air to clear her mind. Leaning out the window overlooking the gardens, she's surprised by a spot of bright red near rosebushes that shouldn't yet bein bloom.

He stands, and she sees pale, freckled skin and hair bright as the blossoms she'd confused it for.

But he doesn't look up, barely looks away from his work, tending to the plants with a sort of single-minded sort of focus.

It leaves her plenty of opportunity to watch him without his noticing, at least, chin settled on her hands. She watches him so long that she's late for breakfast, and doesn't even notice until someone is sent to get her.

In the garden, he watches her go and wonders if next time he shouldn't say hello.


II.

She watches, and he pretends not to notice. He watches, and she really isn't aware.

She doesn't notice he's noticed her until the trellis appears under her window one morning, and the creeping rosebushes are replanted to climb along it, up to and around her window. He works there quietly, motions methodical, practiced--

She sings as he works, and he pauses for a moment, and then matches the rhythm of her song almost without seeming to notice.

How deliberate it is doesn't strike her until the third or fourth song she pauses after, his movements slowing every time. She contemplates stopping entirely, but she can't quite bring herself to do it.

She misses breakfast entirely.


III.

"I... ah-- I beg your pardon, highness?"

Practically dangling from her window, her smile widens at his hesitance, wondering why he's so shy now when he's been so bold up until then, and leans out a little further.

"Your name. I'm afraid I can't keep referring to you as 'the young gardener', you see. It appears we have a few overseeing the grounds."

He hesitates, visibly so, and were she the sort, she'd demand it in the most regal tone she could muster. But she isn't the type, and so instead waits patiently as the young man partway up the trellis beneath her window flounders. She'd thought, of course, that he'd sweep immediately into trying to charm her- but perhaps she's misunderstood his companionship.

After all, it's no secret that she hasn't much in the way of real friends, being who she is.

It's sweet of him, if that's the case, and she wonders if she can have a bit extra slipped into his wages for the kindness. But she returns to herself at the sensation of a flower being slipped carefully into the hair over one ear, and jerks in surprise, flushing when she sees how high he's climbed and how close he is.

"Oleander, highness."

She blinks, somewhat dazedly, distracted by how very, very green his eyes are, and-

"...do we have those?"

His smile is faint, shy, but decidedly amused and he shakes his head, beginning to make his way back down the trellis.

"My name, highness."

"Oh!"

She watches him climb back down, not entirely sure how she can respond to a gesture like his, but he's already waving as he walks away to continue his duties elsewhere.

That night she dreams of the roses climbing up the trellis and through her window and bringing with them a boy with a shy smile and eyes deep as a forest.