White Daffodil
My entry for this year's @myslashyvalentine is a gift for @i-did-not-mean-to. I'm not sorry for the angst. Beta'd by @melestasflight <3
Post-apocalypse AU, Finrod/Caranthir, 3993 words, T
On Ao3
The sky was slate-gray overhead as Caranthir and Dog walked among the dying trees. A good sign - no deadly red storm on the horizon. The traps had been empty. Nowadays, Caranthir would be lucky to catch something once every few months. Since the Collapse, plants and animals had been slowly dying out in these parts. But there were still plenty of mushrooms.
Dog was looking for mushrooms when he found the wounded stranger buried under dry leaves and branches. Despite the severity of his injuries, he still desperately tried to bat off Dog’s curious snout. Caranthir called her back. The stranger fell unconscious.
Caranthir briefly debated the wisdom of taking the stranger home. He didn’t want to have a dying man in his house. Even if he survived, there was no telling what he would do or what kind of a person he was. Caranthir had seen many atrocities committed by people who looked like angels. If anyone could look like an angel covered with so much blood.
He waited a while and tended to the stranger’s wounds however he could. The stranger kept breathing stubbornly. Caranthir sighed, put him in the cart along with mushrooms, and rolled him home.
The stranger woke in phases. First, he muttered something, called for someone, sang a note, but when Caranthir spoke, he turned away.
The next time he woke up, he stared at Caranthir with his sea-green eyes.
“Is he safe?” he asked.
“Who?”
The stranger didn't answer.
It went on for long days, and all the while, Caranthir looked after him, treating his wounds, washing him, and giving him water and liquids to drink. Slowly, his fever went down, and his gaze became more focused.
Caranthir was eating when the stranger opened his eyes again. He sniffed the air and sat up a little.
“What’s in the bowl?” he asked.
“Stew,” Caranthir said around a mouthful.
“What’s in it?”
“Whatever goes into a stew,” Caranthir said, annoyed by the suspicious tone.
If the stranger was so chatty when he still hadn’t recovered, Caranthir was afraid to imagine him healthy.
“May I have some?” the stranger asked.
Caranthir filled a bowl and brought it to his guest. Dog livened up, leaping up to the stranger and yapping happily. The stranger drew his feet to himself.
“What beast is that?” he asked.
Caranthir stared at him. “A dog.”
“Looks more like a wolf.”
“It’s a dog. She wants some stew. Come here, girl, you’ve had your share.”
After Dog went away, the stranger relaxed and dug in.
“It is good!” he cried after the first spoonful. Caranthir bristled at the surprise in his voice. “Where did you find so many vegetables?” the stranger asked.
“I grew them.”
“You grew them!”
“That’s what I said.”
The stranger kept staring at him, expectant. His eyes were bright and curious. Caranthir began speaking almost against his will.
“I have a greenhouse,” Caranthir said. “I grow my food. I go scavenging for everything I need to keep it functioning – from generators to fertile soil. The soil here is mostly corrupted. Nothing grows except mushrooms.”
“Mushrooms,” the stranger said, eyes glazing over. “They grew in the caves. We tried to grow other things, too. Not everything did, but what we had was good.”
“You lived in a cave?” Caranthir asked and immediately regretted it, afraid the stranger would go on monologuing forever.
“It was a cave system,” the stranger said. “I founded a commune there when the Collapse was just beginning. Then I… trusted the wrong people.”
He put the bowl away.
“Thank you for the stew. I’m tired. Would you mind if I went back to sleep?”
Caranthir shrugged. The stranger closed his eyes, and for a moment, Caranthir regretted not hearing his monologue. There was something enticing about the stranger’s voice hoarse and weakened as it was. In a better life, he would have sung.
---
The stranger was up and smiling serenely when Caranthir brought him his breakfast the next morning.
“What are you so happy about?” Caranthir snapped without meaning to.
The stranger shrugged. “I am alive. The sky is gray, so no red storm today.”
“Is that enough?”
“It is for me.”
He brushed away a golden lock from his face and met Caranthir’s eyes. There was a sharpness about him underneath the soft words and looks – a honed edge that he concealed with smiles. Caranthir had a frightening thought that he wouldn’t mind cutting himself against it.
“I forgot to thank you yesterday,” the stranger said, “for saving my life.”
“I almost didn’t,” Caranthir admitted. “I almost left you there to die. I wasn’t sure you would survive.”
“I was sure I wouldn’t,” the stranger said merrily. “But miracles happen. There is still good left in the world.”
Caranthir wasn’t particularly fond of such talks. He put the tray down and turned to leave, but the stranger’s voice stopped him.
“What should I call my savior?” he asked.
Caranthir hesitated before giving his name. The stranger certainly wouldn’t stay for long, and Caranthir didn’t want to get to know him better. Telling him his name seemed like crossing a line.
“Caranthir,” he said anyway.
“Caranthir,” the stranger repeated slowly, tasting the word.
Caranthir shivered.
“What’s your name?” he asked to avoid thinking about his reaction.
The stranger smiled. “I have many names.”
Caranthir didn’t know if there was vanity or playfulness behind his words. He disliked both. He had a few names, too, but he wasn’t gloating about it.
“Choose one,” he said curtly.
“Finrod,” said Finrod, unbothered. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Caranthir doubted it. He only grunted in acknowledgment and left.
---
A few days later, while Caranthir was working in the greenhouse, he heard Dog growling outside. He hurried out to find Finrod there, leaning on a broom, trying to slowly back away from Dog.
“What are you doing here?” Caranthir asked.
“I just wanted to see the plants,” Finrod said. “Can you please call her off?”
“Come here, Dog,” Caranthir said. “Down, girl, it’s fine.”
“You named your dog Dog?” Finrod asked.
From his tone, it was clear he didn’t find it funny.
“What’s it to you?” Caranthir asked, suddenly defensive.
Finrod’s face twisted and then settled on a smile. “Nothing. It’s just strange, is all. To name your dog that.”
“I didn’t name her,” Caranthir said, “and she isn’t mine. I mean I never wanted a dog. I used to have cats. But now all the cats have fled south, and most of the dogs too. Dog found me. I didn’t want her to stick with me, but she did.”
“Just like me,” Finrod grinned.
“Not at all,” Caranthir sputtered.
Finrod just shrugged as if he was generously deciding to let Caranthir believe he was right. It was maddening.
“You can’t be here,” Caranthir said curtly. “You aren’t allowed to come inside the greenhouse. You will upset my plants.”
“Oh. All right.”
“And you shouldn’t be walking anyway. You can barely keep yourself on your feet. Come on, I’ll help you back to bed.”
“Thanks,” Finrod smiled.
He slung an arm around Caranthir’s shoulders. His fingers were warm when they gripped Caranthir’s arm.
---
Caranthir occupied a small part of an abandoned villa, rendered mostly unusable by the Collapse. Most of his possessions were in the villa, but he often slept in the shed. He had found out sleep came easier there than in the main building, haunted by the past. But now Finrod was in the shed, and Caranthir didn’t sleep well in the large, ornate bed. Especially when Finrod screamed. It was so loud that Caranthir could hear him even when he sought refuge in the farthest rooms of the villa. Dog did too. Sometimes, she joined Finrod and howled mournfully. It had to wake Finrod up because he would fall silent.
In the morning, he was cheerful and talkative as if it hadn’t been his bloodcurdling screams that had kept Caranthir up all night.
Within a couple of weeks, Finrod was out and about. He turned out to be an inquisitive person by nature, which Caranthir disliked. Finrod kept asking questions about everything and tried to look for answers himself if he didn’t deem Caranthir’s satisfactory.
He went on expeditions into the decaying guts of the building and came back with treasures – mostly books, but also a painting of a seaport, a set of silver spoons, a golden necklace, a warm coat and many other trinkets. He gave most of these to Caranthir and hung the painting in the shed.
He didn’t mention wishing to see the greenhouse again, though Caranthir noticed him glancing in its direction from time to time. But he was glad Finrod said nothing.
Caranthir guarded his greenhouse jealously. He spent hours there every day, looking after his plants, making sure everything was functioning. Sometimes he just sat there among the greenery, away from the outside chaos, in a place that was his only. He didn’t want to share it with anyone else.
---
Finrod volunteered for foraging missions, looking for mushrooms and anything that still grew in the dying forest, checking the traps on the off chance something had been caught.
He found an old box of pasta in the ruins of the villa and made dinner one night. Caranthir supplied cherry tomatoes and basil from his greenhouse.
One morning, Finrod asked Caranthir to cut his hair and offered to do the same for him. Caranthir refused. He liked his way the way it was, and he didn't think he could sit still while Finrod touched him. But he did agree to give Finrod a haircut, fighting against the disturbing thought of keeping a lock of his hair.
Finrod somehow roped Caranthir into some sort of a book club. They each would take a book from the pile Finrod had saved from the villa, meet to discuss it when they were done reading, then exchange the books. Despite himself, Caranthir became fond of those nighttime talks in front of a fire. He was drawn to Finrod’s clever and passionate speech. The shadows of the flames danced on his face as he spoke, alternatively hiding and highlighting the claw marks on his skin. Caranthir watched, mesmerized, feeling as if he’d been transported into a book about a noble king. At times, he found himself angry with Finrod for making him look forward to these meetings because he was going to miss them when Finrod inevitably left.
---
It seemed like Finrod had made it his mission to find out everything he could about Caranthir. He was relentless in his questioning, undeterred by Caranthir’s brisk or avoidant answers.
“You never told me about your family,” he said once.
“I never told you anything,” Caranthir said, even though it wasn’t entirely true. “I haven’t heard from my family for a long time. I don’t know if they live. There is nothing more to tell.”
He didn’t like to think about it. He hadn’t been particularly close to his brothers, but he still missed them sometimes. If they survived the Collapse, he didn’t know where they would have gone. He couldn’t go looking for them. He couldn’t abandon the greenhouse, and it was nearly impossible to travel for long. The roads were dangerous. Even if you escaped the gangs, there were always the storms. If you didn’t have shelter during red storms, you were as good as dead.
“You also never ask me about myself,” Finrod said. “Aren’t you curious who I am? Why did I appear half-dead on your doorstep?”
“No,” Caranthir said. “I don’t need to ask. You tell me everything without prompting.”
Finrod laughed. “Well, that’s just not true. What do you know about me?”
“You have three siblings. You were born by the sea. You hate dogs. You led a commune, which you lost because you wanted to help a friend. You got into serious trouble, probably with a gang. Or maybe with one of those cults that grew like mushrooms after the Collapse. Your friend’s girlfriend saved you, but you were injured and then separated from them during a storm.”
“Huh. So I do talk a lot,” Finrod said lightly.
“But you are blessed with the amazing ability of not being able to hear yourself talk,” Caranthir said. “The rest of us aren’t so lucky.”
The truth was Finrod hadn’t really offered the information openly, but Caranthir had pieced it together from passing mentions and from Finrod’s nightmares.
Finrod clutched at his book with a hand that was shaking a little. It took him a few attempts to open it. Caranthir almost moved to help him but restrained himself. He hadn’t considered that putting all he knew about Finrod together might upset him. He wasn’t happy about the fact that he was upset too.
He got to his feet and strode to his greenhouse to calm down.
---
“I don’t hate Dog,” Finrod said over breakfast the next day.
Caranthir frowned. “What?”
“You think I hate Dog. I don’t. I am just a little wary of her.”
Caranthir saw something more behind Finrod’s smile. He didn’t ask.
“Good,” he only said.
“Have you always been this charming?” Finrod asked.
Caranthir didn’t appreciate the sarcasm and let his blank stare show it.
“If you don’t like my company, you may always leave,” he said.
Finrod was going to leave anyway once he fully recovered. He would probably return to his commune to take it back or he would go to find his friend. Or maybe he’d go looking for greener pastures.
“I was just joking,” Finrod said.
It was infuriating he could smile so calmly when Caranthir was trying to be rude to him. Even more infuriating was the sudden realization that Caranthir’s face was attempting to mirror the smile.
Caranthir looked away.
“It wasn’t funny,” he said.
“I’ll do better next time.”
Caranthir lost the battle against the smile.
---
Finrod had to be having the loudest nightmare to date. Caranthir closed his ears, but he could still hear him. Even the Dog’s howling didn’t wake him up.
Unable to take it anymore, Caranthir got up, determined to put an end to it, but then the noise abruptly stopped. Yet, Caranthir hesitated to go back to sleep. Mad at himself for doing it, he went out of the house to check on Finrod. With Dog in tow, he approached the shed, and knocked but received no answer. Concerned, he pushed the door and peeked inside. Finrod wasn’t there.
“Damn him,” he muttered and stroked Dog’s head. “Where do you think he is, girl?”
Dog yapped and began running. Caranthir followed her to the greenhouse. He couldn’t believe Finrod would do it, but sure enough, the lock was messed with, and he could see a figure inside.
He stormed in, startling Finrod, who was crouched over a strawberry plant.
“What are you doing here?” Caranthir yelled.
Finrod got to his feet, stumbling a little.
“I was-I was just curious,” he said.
“It is locked for a reason!” Caranthir cried. “The plants are very fragile. Who allowed you to go inside?”
“I’m sorry. I just needed– I wanted to see the plants. I wanted to see life.”
Finrod ran a shaky hand through his damp hair. He was wearing only shorts, and Caranthir could plainly see the scars decorating his body. He refused to let himself be distracted by it.
“You had no right to come here,” he said. “It is my greenhouse.”
“You disappear here every day for hours,” Finrod said. “I just wanted to see what keeps you so busy.”
“So you betrayed me because you were bored?”
“Betrayed you?” Finrod laughed – a cold sound. “You don’t know what betrayal is.”
“You don’t know enough about me to make that claim.”
“I just wanted to see the plants. I wanted to get to know you better.”
“You will leave in the morning,” Caranthir said. “If not, Dog and I will make you.”
Caranthir almost expected Finrod to tear up, to ask him to reconsider but instead, Finrod’s face grew stony. Guiltily, Caranthir thought his eyes looked especially striking now.
“Fine,” Finrod said. “I won’t stay where I am unwanted. Thank you for your hospitality.”
He walked away, his golden hair shimmering under the faintly glowing sky.
---
Caranthir didn’t sleep that night. He was still angry, but as the dawn neared, he became ashamed, then fearful. He remembered Finrod’s screams echoing in the silent night. He remembered Finrod’s words. I wanted to see life.
The moment the first rays of the sun fell through his window, Caranthir strode out of the villa.
The shed was empty.
Finrod hadn’t taken anything with him. Caranthir stood frozen for a moment, then ran out. Whistling for Dog, he began looking for something – a trace that Finrod could have left, but there was nothing.
“Find him,” Caranthir begged Dog. “Please find him.”
He gave her a shirt of Finrod’s to sniff and followed her as she ran. But just moments later, Dog stopped and raised her snout up, then whined fearfully.
“No,” Caranthir pleaded as if he expected Dog to tell him that she was mistaken.
But Dog was never wrong in such cases. A red storm was coming.
“It is still a few hours away,” Caranthir said. “We’ll look for him until we have to return home.”
So they did, but they couldn’t find Finrod. The smell of the impending storm had messed up Dog’s senses. Despairing, Caranthir dragged his feet back. He wondered if Finrod would find cover or if Caranthir had condemned him to death. He couldn’t breathe properly. He told himself it was because of the approaching storm.
He usually rode these out in the greenhouse, but now he hesitated to enter. He could see Finrod crouching over the strawberry, a leaf between his fingers, his eyes half-closed as if he was drawing strength from the plant. He could see his pallor, his uneven breathing, the sweaty hair stuck to his temples.
There was still some time until the storm. Barely realizing what he was doing, Caranthir dashed into the greenhouse, went to the farthest, separate section, picked a single white daffodil and locked the door from the outside.
He put the flower on Finrod’s cot, closed Dog in his bedroom in the villa, then went out. He and Dog had looked for Finrod in the forest. Caranthir ran in the opposite direction now. He searched the rare buildings that were still intact. He checked inside the hollows of rotting trees. He resorted to calling Finrod’s name and pleading with him to answer. There was no response.
The storm was closing in. The air smelled faintly of sulfur. Caranthir could taste the electricity in the back of his throat. If he died in this storm, there would be no one left to take care of Dog and the greenhouse. There would be no one left to look for Finrod and help him if he’d managed to survive.
Caranthir hurried back home, looking around hopelessly for any sign of Finrod. When he reached the villa, he feared the storm had caught up with him, and he had been struck by lightning, so strong was his shock.
The shed door was open.
Caranthir ran to it and stopped at the threshold. Finrod was inside, standing by the cot, staring open-mouthed at the white daffodil. Caranthir knew it had to be the first flower he had seen in years.
“I will leave,” Finrod said without turning to Caranthir. “But there is a red storm coming. I don’t know if you would allow me to wait it out here. I promise to leave as soon as it’s over.”
“You really think I would let you die?” Caranthir snapped.
He hadn’t planned to sound rude. He had planned to apologize, but nothing ever happened as he planned.
“Wouldn’t you?” Finrod asked.
“No,” Caranthir said, softer. “Stay.”
Finrod took the daffodil and brought it to his face. He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent.
“Will you?” Caranthir asked. “Stay.”
Finrod slowly turned to him.
“You grow flowers,” he said.
Caranthir shrugged. “They also have a right to live.”
His face felt hot. He turned away from Finrod, but he knew even his neck was blushing.
“Why were you hiding it from me?” Finrod asked, approaching.
“Because I knew you would like it.”
“So?”
“And I knew I would like it that you liked it. I didn’t want that.”
“Why not?”
Caranthir said nothing. Finrod put a tentative hand on his shoulder, but Caranthir threw it off.
“You are going to leave once you feel well enough,” he said. “You’re going to find someplace else, someplace better. People like you always do.”
“I am not going to find a better place than this.”
“Great fucking compliment,” Caranthir spat, turning around.
Finrod laughed. “What I mean is, what if I have already found a better place? The best place.”
“Sure, here, in the middle of nothing, with a dog that you are afraid of and a man who is gloomy and bitter.”
“You aren’t bitter,” Finrod said. “You’re just honest to a fault, blunt and irritable.”
Caranthir glared. “I would have preferred bitter.”
“But you aren’t. I am.”
“You?” Caranthir asked. “Let’s hold hands and kiss under the rainbow you?”
“I am,” Finrod said. “I’m bitter because I was ousted from the place I founded. I’m bitter because I was betrayed. And I’m bitter because I don’t know what it says about me as a leader, as a person, that out of all those who lived there, who claimed to love me, only ten fucking people followed me. I will forever be bitter. Had I been less bitter, perhaps I wouldn’t have left you after one stupid argument.”
“You came back,” Caranthir noted.
“Yeah, well. I’ve managed to grow a self-preservation instinct.”
“I like you better this way,” Caranthir said. “When you aren’t performing.”
“You like me?” Finrod grinned.
“You know what I mean.”
“I do.”
Finrod stepped forward and pressed his lips to Caranthir’s. It took him a moment of hesitation, but Caranthir responded, catching Finrod by the collar and pulling him closer, his teeth drawing blood from Finrod’s lips and from his own.
Caranthir drew back, trying to catch his breath. “Sorry,” he said, his tongue running over his lips.
“Don’t be,” Finrod said with conviction.
He looked out of the window.
“We better hide,” he said. “The storm will hit soon.”
The sky was burning red overhead as Caranthir and Finrod ran to the greenhouse. The fiery clouds were charging, filling with electricity that they would soon rain down on every unlucky creature outside.
Caranthir locked the greenhouse door and checked the insulation. It would hold. He turned to Finrod who was standing still, wide eyes looking at the greenery.
“I had a terrible nightmare,” he spoke. “I was dreaming about my friends. I have lost many. Violently. I just had to see something alive when I woke up. I felt like my heart would stop if I didn’t.”
“You can come here as much as you like,” Caranthir blurted out, but he didn’t regret it when Finrod’s hopeful look turned to him.
“Thank you,” Finrod said.
“Or you can come to me,” Caranthir offered impulsively.
He held his breath until Finrod smiled and gave a slight nod.
They walked to the flowerbeds. Caranthir saw Finrod wipe a tear away as he took in all the colors and the scents.
“How beautiful,” he whispered. “And how utterly like you to make something so beautiful.”
The praise made Caranthir’s face feel hot. He sat down. Finrod joined him, and they spoke about flowers for a while. Then they silently listened to the howling wind outside, safe and warm in the greenhouse.
The storm raged above as they lay side by side among daffodils and hyacinths and watched the darkening sky. Caranthir closed his eyes and took Finrod’s hand, and he did it gently.
