Chapter Text
Caduceus had expected to have to wait. After all, his whole family had to.
He remembered stories of how his Aunt Corrin didn’t bloom for nearly three centuries. He’d sneakily watched his older brother Colton, who was a good two centuries his elder, slink away after family dinner to send private little pokes to whoever it was that had recently begun to cause morning glories to grace his skin every few days. He’d been there the morning Calliope, his older sister, turned two hundred and one. She’d come crashing into the kitchen with panic and excitement, waving her hands around like they were on fire. They weren’t but the fire lilies on the backs of each of her palms certainly did their best impression.
They were Firbolgs after all. They had plenty of life ahead of them. They could afford to wait a century or too for their soulmates.
But apparently his soulmate wasn’t nearly as patient as himself, because he had only watched the seasons pass in the Blooming Grove a total of fifty one times before the day flowers began to bloom across his skin. It’d come as a shock to both Caduceus and the rest of the Clay family.
It was a lazy day by one of the ponds, the one with a quaint little waterfall.
Clarabelle, the family baby at just recently twenty five, paddle around in the pond like a sleepy toad. His parents cuddled up by an old willow tree. His aunt Corrin led Colton and Calliope through guided meditation.
“Oh.”
He'd been enjoying a tea his mother made from the Forester family that morning, watching Clarabelle have fun, when instead of herbal relaxation he got a mouth full of slightly sweet petals.
“Huh. Well how about that?” He spoke, his tone just barely raised above its usual volume. His outburst got the family's attention.
“Is everything alright dear?” His mother queried. Caduceus for the first time in his life found himself so shocked that he couldn't give his mother an answer. Clarabelle didn't have that problem.
“Sweet Melora! Caddy has a soul bloom!” His little sister gasped.
His family was quick - for them - to gather around him. Calliope was the first to break the silence fully, grousing that Caduceus barely had to wait at all. Clarabelle went on and on about how pretty the white rose that had bloomed on the back of his hand was. Colton only huffed and rolled his eyes upon seeing it. His mom told everyone to give Caduceus space, while his aunt remarked that getting a soul bloom so early was a good omen.
Caduceus didn't know about all that, but he wasn't really listening anyway. He just cupped the freshly plucked bloom in his palms with the same reverence he did all life. His father placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Well. They were kind enough to say hello. Best to respond in kind, right?” His dad held up a sharp looking thorn, likely picked from a nearby bush. Caduceus nodded.
“Hey there little rose. My name is Caduceus. I hope we can be good friends.” In the same breath he took the thorn his dad presented and poked a tiny hole in his thumb, a small speck of blood blooming.
He didn't get another rose in response, though he didn't really expect one. His soulmate had only just been born after all, so whatever poking could be done was likely done by a caretaker as was generally accepted across Exandria. Caduceus didn't mind at all. He was just pleasantly surprised that he didn't have to wait so long.
Though, when three more blooms found him in that same decade, Caduceus did begin to feel a bit concerned. After all, those blessed with so many blooms often had big destinys.
Oh well. He’d just have to wait and see what happened. Maybe it’d be a fun destiny.
If not for Zuala, she wouldn’t know what they all meant. The life she’d led, even just her short ten years, didn’t lend itself to things like the names of flowers.
And even as young as she was Yasha understood that asking around about soul bloom flowers in a tribe that saw soulmates as an insult to their pride was a dangerous idea. Especially when one had as many so-called soulmates as she did.
Zuala was one of them as it so happened. It's why they were friends.
After a few foolish - likely desperate - men had tried to raid the Dolorav tribe Yasha had been cut across the eye. And while she wasn’t a particularly smart girl she put two and two together upon seeing Zuala frantically wipe away a bone white flower from her eye lid.
“It's called a rose.”
Rose to what? A silly question, so she’d been told, but one that made her newly discovered soulmate laugh. Apparently Yasha’s soul smelled sweet and was pale as her skin.
Zuala called the ones that had always been there, even before the tribe took her in, aster, fire poppy and chrysanthemum. Yasha thought the names sounded too cool for such dainty looking plants.
Aster bloomed every day for her, always in the sameplace, the palm of her right hand. Never more than once, unless she got hurt. Yasha often wondered what kind of cushy life one must lead to never get any injuries. Because she couldn't remember a single moment in her life when Aster had bloomed more than that.
Fire Poppy was forgetful. Or very busy. They only bloomed every other week, the bright orange blooms usually taking up space on the back of her knuckles. Every once in a while, they would dust her palms or knees, likely from bad falls. If what Zuala said was true, Fire Poppy would start to bloom more often in about a year, when they were allowed to poke on their own.
It was a weird thing, poking. Zuala had shown her with her own flowers, the chrysanthemums. One would use something small and sharp to send single flowers to their soulmates. Using a particularly sharp rat bone, she had caused a small bouquet of chrysanthemums to sprout from Yasha’s palms.
Yasha felt silly using the jagged tip of her sword to poke herself all the time. But it was worth it to see the chrysanthemums grace her finger tips in response.
Zuala only knew the name of one of her newer flowers.
The reedlike blooms with the green stems and purple flowers were beyond her soulmate's odd knowledge. And if it was only when the girl didn’t have the answers Yasha seeked that it occured to Yasha to wonder how Zuala knew so much about flowers, that was less important.
Mystery Flower had shown up around when the leader of their tribe had adopted Yasha. The woman had scowled when she saw them, but said nothing more.
Yasha didn’t eat that night.
Though that day wasn’t all disappointing. It was interesting to see Fire Poppy and Aster poke back immediately after Mystery arrived. Fire Poppy only once, and Aster once on one finger and five more on another. At the time Yasha had simply thought they were excited.
Mystery Flower never poked, which Yasha didn’t quite understand. Zuala thought they might not have the best life. Yasha was inclined to agree, since while they never poked, Mystery Flower got hurt in odd places nearly every day. Though so did Yasha, so who was she to judge?
Luckily her foster mother wasn’t around when Gladiolus was born.
Yasha had been hunting with Zuala when she inadvertently crumpled an orange flower in her palm. She hadn’t meant to, it was just an ill timed poke on behalf of whoever was poking for her newest soulmate. Yasha had been reaching for her sword at the time.
Gladiolus was too young to poke on their own, like Fire Poppy and Mystery. So when Yasha and the others poked back, like Zuala taught her - once on the index finger to say hello, multiple times on the middle, ring or pinkie finger to denote approximate age in years, decades or centuries respectively - all she got back was a single extra Gladiolus. As she would continue to get once a week.
In other news she learned that Aster hadn’t in fact just been excited when Mystery was born. They’d poked so many times to let them all know that they were five decades their senior!
Having so many blooms was sometimes a burden in the tribe. As was hiding the nature of her and Zuala’s friendship.
But everytime brightly colored blooms graced her skin, Yasha couldn’t help but think it was worth the trouble.
He was thirteen the day Foxglove was born.
He’d been sitting out in the woods just beyond his home, against a fallen log, when his hands were littered with soul blooms in the early afternoon. The first being the one responsible for the sudden outbreak, the pink, bell pedaled bloom of his new born soulmate.
And then rest from this particular branch in his bouquet. First Aster, then Gladiolus and finally White Rose. He’d almost been too surprised to respond in kind, but Astrid snapped him out of it.
“Is that a new one?” She muttered at his shoulder, her eyes barely leaving the book in her lap. Next to her Eadwulf leaned over her shoulder, a curious look on his face.
“One of ours?” He asked. Astrid gave him an amused look reaching over and pulling his bloomless hand up to his face.
“I think not, Wulfy.” She smirked as the boy yanked his hand back with an embarrassed blush. He tried to play it off, putting his hands behind his head and leaning back down.
“Then I don’t car- oof!” Astrid brought her elbow to his gut in a practiced motion. Bren felt sorry for his soulmate. Astrid rarely held back.
“Don’t be an ass.”
Bren smiled fondly at their squabbling, but ultimately ignored the soulmates at his side in favor of letting the caretakers of his most recent soulmate know of his existence along with the rest of his bouquet. His rudimentary, but lovingly made poking stick does good work and he sends his fire poppies in tandem with Aster, Gladiolus and surprisingly Rose. He’s almost more shocked to see Rose respond so quickly than he is to see this new soul bloom.
“Do either of you recognize it?” He asked, gently plucking the bloom from the back of his hand. He admired it just as his last soulmate, White Moon Lily, sent him a congratulatory poke.
Eadwulf climbed over Astrid’s lap, a move Bren knew was intended as revenge for elbowing him. Astrid scowled at the back of her soulmate's head as he blocked her book to get a better look at the bloom in Bren’s hand. Bren brushed the white moon lily off of his knuckle.
“Uh.. it kinda reminds me of your one bloom, Lilyturf. But like pink, obviously.” He said finally after scrutinizing the bloom for a time. Bren agreed. There certainly were some similarities between the ever silent Lilyturf and this new bloom. Bren hoped that this new bloom wouldn’t share Lilyturf’s penchant for odd injuries. or at the very least would have the decency to respond to his or the others poking.
“It's Foxglove, dumby. They represent protection and trickery. Oh and they also have a few medicinal properties.” Astrid corrected, pushing Eadwulf onto the ground.
“Hmm.” Not for the first time, Bren wondered just who his blooms belonged to. He’d learned in the past year after meeting Astrid and Eadwulf, that blooms and people didn’t always match.
Astrid was just as pretty and graceful as the peonys she brought him, sure. But she was far sharper, far less dainty than her pretty little blooms led him to believe. She’d actually yelled at him once for overstepping in trying to protect her when one of the other village boys was bullying her.
No, she’d broken Eadwulf’s nose herself and inadvertently caused both Bren and herself to sneeze out daffodils.
Needless to say big, loud and crass Eadwulf was nothing like the fragile daffodils that bloomed on Astrid and Bren’s knuckles every time the older boy got into a fight. Not on the outside at least. On the inside though… Well, the flowers that represented his soul were much more honest than the boy wished.
Would Lilyturf or White Rose act the same? His two most rambunctious soulmates by far, despite the best efforts of Eadwulf and Gladiolus. Would they also hide their thoughts behind their terrible injuries and brash exteriors?
Would Aster be as wise as their blooms suggested? Or had they perhaps spent their many years learning nothing?
Was Gladiolus as bright and curious as they seemed? Always poking out of nowhere and never the same place twice. Never mind that they were supposed to be too you to poke at all.
Bren would love them all. Regardless.
“Welcome to the flower patch, mein freund.”
Somewhere far far away, a forest in the wilds of Wildmount, a tall orange haired trickster stared wide eyed at the little Foxglove that had bloomed on his finger. Curious green eyes observed the bloom from multiple angles, while disbelief and amusement riddled their entire form.
Fey didn't get soul blooms. At least not near frequent enough for them to matter. That they'd out live whomever the blooms were attached to was only part of the equation. Really it was a mortal thing.
Artagon had danced across the realms to a tune only he could hear all his life. Not his fey brethren despite all their wild and wicked ways. Nor still the mortals of Exandria with their petty lives and boring whims. No, he danced alone and he was content with that.
And yet now, after years innumerable, life times innumerable, something pretty and pink dared to dance with him in his palm. A grin that promised mischief and malcontent marred his sharp features.
“My, my… What poor soul do you belong to?” Moments later, a new bloom grew on the back of the same hand. The customary response to a newborns soulmate(s) after they made themselves known.
Except, the trickster never poked. Which meant his little Foxglove had more than one soulmate. Many more if the number of returning pokes was to be believed…
Laughter echoed throughout the Savilirwood.
“Well, I can't say I expected this. But it has been some time since I've had something to do.”
The laughter grew, until it permeated the very trees and soil.
“Ah. This will be fun .”