another Agen prompt: I would adore any child in the GFFA braiding Agen's hair and weaving flowers into it!!
(AO3) ~
The small beacon of happiness flickers behind him.
“Can I put flowers in your hair?”
Agen stops, startled at the sudden voice behind him, and turns around to see the Human youngling beaming up at him with a hopeful smile. There’s a bouquet of flowers in the youngling’s hands, dirt smeared upon their hands and tunics, even their face. They seem happy, though, with the way they’re carefully cradling the flowers.
They’re still smiling at him, hope visible on their small face. It reminds him of the time when he was just a youngling himself, watching Jedi Masters and Knights pass him in amazement and awe. Agen remembers huddling close to the entrance of his crèche, and some stopping with smiles and the crinkles in their eyes as they asked what he wanted to know.
It’s nearly the same now, with the youngling still staring up at him with that bouquet of flowers. Almost like his own Master, when T’ra tucked small flowers behind his ear, weaving some into a braid, placing them here and there with that warm smile of hers.
He has to meet her in a couple of hours, but—well. T’ra can wait a little longer. The youngling deserves some of his time, after following him for a couple of minutes.
“What kind of flowers?” Agen asks, bends down on one knee to meet the youngling’s eyes.
The youngling brightens, their smile even more wide now. It suits them. “Blueblossom flowers and plom blooms! Blue and pink! See?”
“I can see,” Agen says seriously, feels a flicker of amusement in his chest, “will you put them in my hair?”
A fierce nod and an equally bright grin. “Blue and pink looks good on you!” the youngling insists and Agen raises an eyebrow at the bold statement. “I know it!”
It’s almost the exact same thing T’ra told him once, his Master amused when he finally worked up the courage to ask why she always chose those two colours. Agen slowly breathes, and gives a faint smile to the youngling before him. Perhaps he’ll share that story with the youngling while they place the flowers in his hair.
“I believe you,” he reassures the youngling, and pauses. If they head to the gardens, perhaps there’ll be more flowers for the youngling to play around with. Slightly far away from prying eyes, but—it’ll do. There’s plenty of different flowers there. “Do you want to go to the garden?”
The youngling’s eyes widen. “I’ve never been to the garden,” they say in a hushed voice, like they’re dramatically trying to tell him in a loud whisper.
“Is that so?” Agen reaches out and brushes the smear of dirt off the youngling’s face. The youngling stares up at him in quiet awe. “Well, I can take you there now.”
“Really?” the youngling asks with wide brown eyes. “Can I see more flowers?”
“Yes,” he promises, spreads his arms a little. “Do you want me to carry you?”
“Oh. Yes, please.”
The youngling scrambles into his arms, warm and shaky with excitement. The Force floats happily around them, the excitement amplifying, a gentle presence by their side. Agen wraps his arms around the small body and rises to his feet, finds some Jedi Knights gawking at him in shock. He raises an eyebrow and they scramble away just as quickly.
“Your tattoos look like stars,” the youngling whispers in awe after a moment of silence.
“Do they now?” This is new. Agen hasn’t met anyone who has said that to him before. His heart warms.
“Yeah,” the youngling breathes, nestled close to his chest. The youngling is so light, and that—that worries him. What if he accidentally crushes the small body? Yet—there’s so much trust the youngling is putting into him, and Agen can’t destroy it. Doesn’t want to destroy it.
Instead, he breathes through his worries and turns back to the youngling. “I have not gotten your name yet, little one.”
The youngling giggles, sounding delighted. “I’m Tan! What’s your name, Master Jedi?”
“I’m Agen,” Agen says softly, and continues on his way, the youngling safe in his arms.
(Later, Agen’s sitting on the grass, with Tan fiddling with his hair and giggling when the youngling finds a mistake. It’s peaceful, the way Tan is gently weaving flowers into his hair, and—the Force sings with joy against his skin, as if the Force approves of this.
“Almost done!” Tan cheerfully tells him, and he feels small fingers playing with his hair, something tucking into another spot. “Okay! Hold still!”
He does exactly as Tan tells him, slowly blinks when Tan tucks a blueblossom flower over his ear. The youngling then beams at him, clearly satisfied with their work. “I’m done! You look really pretty, Master Kolar!”
Agen lets his lips curve into a smile, Tan’s joy and excitement vibrant in the Force. “I believe you, Tan.”
I believe you.)
