A Chance of Lavender

The heart of the forest was not easily accessed; the path was not clean or level, and the whispers on the wind that carried secrets long forgotten were often mistaken as ominous warnings to the untrained ear. Humans were taught to learn histories in order to refrain from repeating them, but not so often were they told to remember the beauty that laid in the past. This is why the wooded trove of magic was inhabited only by beings who were old enough to recall and honor how enchantment had made everything as it was.

But a handful of humans who recognized that magic was not all malediction had stumbled through the forest for years, though their visits were often far between. Some were not able to complete the journey to the heart, while some did, but had asked it for too much. The magic did not smite them for their greed, but simply gave them nothing. The meadow of lavender had seen many reactions from humans of centuries past, whether gratitude or resentment, or least frequently but most unfortunately, hostility. Still, though numerous humans had tried to disturb it, the meadow never lost its stillness.

Aurelia was not the first nor would she be the last human to set foot to the soil. Her reason for doing so was not unique, and the question she would lay before the lilac sea had been asked before. The journey was arduous as it usually was, and by the time she arrived she was familiarly exhausted. The only thing that did not go to plan, that had not happened before, was that there was another in the midst of the quiet pasture.

The moment she realized a man had arrived before her, Aurelia stayed back, hidden by the tree line that surrounded the vast clearing. His back was turned toward her, and all she could see was the back of his head covered in dark, loose curls and the royal knight's armor outfitted to his body, the silver dulled by use. He stood for a long time, though because there was no clear view of his face, she was unsure whether his pause was meant to provide another moment to consider what he would say, or to bask in the field before him. Surely, Aurelia thought, he had used the difficult but silent voyage to contemplate the verbiage of his request as she had, as others before them had. Perhaps the latter was true, then.

Aurelia turned her attention toward the sprigs that rippled softly with the breeze like the subtle waves of a calm lake. Tranquility fell over her as she viewed the wide plain, a common feeling for those before her who had been able to set aside their respective personal wants, for which they arrived to this place, in order to respect the repose it could inspire.

Shuffling drew her attention away from the state of peace she had fallen into. Piece by piece, the man removed his armor, laying himself bare but for his simple clothes before the lavender. As he took off the gauntlets that covered his hands, she observed ink staining his fingers. 

Though it should not have mattered to her, Aurelia found herself wondering who this man that had come before her was. Perhaps a warrior poet, whose passion was detailing the horrors of war and wonders of life alike? A soldier who had found himself far from home, giving minutes and even hours to tirelessly write letters to his loved ones? Even a man with a history of clumsiness who knocked over a pot of the pigment?

When he finally spoke, Aurelia had thought she would only just be capable of hearing, considering the distance between them, but the quiet of the space offered her a position in his audience.

“Heart of the forest,” he began, as no one knew the true name of this place, “I, Argyros, come to seek something for which I have tried and failed to find.”

There was pain etched into the lines of his words, and suddenly, the serenity of the air felt more like oppressive loneliness. Not even a butterfly disturbed the area to offer the man any amount of companionship, for which he was so heart-wrenchingly lacking. Aurelia didn’t know how she knew, but this man had no one.

Perhaps it was because she too fell upon such circumstances.

“I would like love in my life. Someone I may hold and who may hold me in return. Someone my thoughts will start and end with each day. Someone I can search this life for meaning with, or if we cannot find any, who I can simply exist alongside. I humbly ask this of you, if it is possible.”

Her hand moved to wipe at a sensation along her cheek before she realized that tears had welled and fallen. His words weren’t too dissimilar to the ones she had rehearsed in her mind countless times before her arrival, the ones that when she had thought into existence had compelled her to make this very journey.

The once golden light cast upon the field by the sun turned the color of the petals as though their essence bled into the atmosphere. The shimmering brilliance caused the once still air to hum, resonating with an unseen force that could be felt as plainly as a strong embrace. Aurelia’s feet moved, the action instigated by a parallel feeling of compulsion that had brought her here, and she wondered for the first time if arriving at this scene had been decided for her. Had the heart of the forest, from its many leagues away, heard their inner pleas and brought them here to meet? But one or the other could have so easily ignored the call, perhaps thinking the faint tales of gift giving magic at the end of a perilous trek to be silly and reckless as so many did. 

But clearly, neither of the two thought such a journey would be without reward. Or rather, for them both, the mere chance that favorable consequence could follow was enough. 

Abruptly, Argyros turned, startled by the rustling as Aurelia emerged from the brush.

“Hello,” was all she could think to say, her eyes still wet from the emotion that their mirrored solitude—and just as much the hope of its end—had inspired. 

“Where— Who—” he attempted, but his words seemed to catch in his throat. He smiled sheepishly, like he thought he was already fumbling this opportunity. “Hello.”

He looked upon her like no other had, as though she were the magic of this forest herself and he was desperate to ask and learn its secrets kept for millennia. But she was a normal woman stood before a normal man, each asking to be seen, felt, heard.

“Do you wish to ask the heart of the forest for something?” he said after a long, reverent moment.

Taking his hand in both of hers, noting its warmth and the roughness of his calluses, she smiled softly.

“I believe I’ve already been given what I came here for.”

From the lavender field which they both turned their gazes toward, the impression of a smile—though she never saw lips or teeth—welcomed her response.