The Apathy of Acceptance - DSMP x Reader

Chapter 3 - Wisteria

Wisteria was his favorite of the flowers. Twisting together, little tendrils branching out against the windows, against the banisters, it rose up to the skylights and down around the walls, it crept up the terraces and made for such a lovely sight in the morning. Shades of violets and lilacs melded together, curving and reaching around, flowing from the trees, flowering so beautifully, stunning against the window panes and their vases. The sight grew better in rain, droplets carrying down the leaves, dripping down the petals, to where he thought they'd be natures perfect windchimes, in a more ideal world.

The trees were planted near his office windows, blooming year-round in the stained glass above his desk, purple petals a mirage of color exploding behind him, vibrant in the morning and so calming in the afternoon. Light passed over both the glass and the flowers as if it belonged that way, and he liked to think it did, dew drops kissing them so nicely in the morning. They were glorious, strong and pliant all at once, and smelt so freshly unique sat on his desk, streamed in his tea, immortalized in his windows, growing on his walls, he so loved having them there, a part of him complete. It was silly to think, but walking throughout the gated garden pathways, lifted above the small rivers that rushed between him, the flowers dangling from above and crawling up the banisters beside him, he felt one with them.

His guests adored them too, it was far and wide that rumors of his palace spread, of the gardens and the beauty that they held, to where guests would be led straight through them, parties held in spring always the freshest, the dots of color curled overhead breathtaking and fragrant. Willows sat further down and around near the lakes, towering red rhodeahendrons and pink hyacinths lead the paths up the drive, but the wisteria trees were the highlight. Towering over the covered garden paths, branches the width of people or more, grass and water teaming with the lost petals, found so frequently throughout the halls he had maids dedicated to gathering them and turning them to soaps and perfumes, though it wasn't really needed.

In spring and summer the palace was flooded with the smell, streaming in through the open doors and windows, the features of the decor. The scent was so distinct and detailed that it was near impossible to mistake, and the first fleeting hints of it were always the sweetest, filling his and everyone else's senses so completely it was what the staff were known for. When they ventured down to the city for their days off it was said you could tell a mile away when they were coming, petals found in shoes and loose in pockets, stuck in hair and even in the folds of skirts, they were wonderful. He loved them so, that he named his favorite general after them.

His kindest gift, a placeholder for the true name she wanted erased, and taking hold of branches from the vase before him he'd gifted her the new title. And normally, his duties were so full he'd have them brought to him, rather than picking them fresh himself. He was busy in times of war, flipping through reports and requests, sending aid to his soldiers and best wishes to diplomats, frequenting his office so often, most nights he'd have breakfast sent to him. Meetings filled his mornings, pulling at the collar of his shirt with the heat, overpowering scent taking hold of him as his advisors sat going over paperwork, flipping through cases and maps that called upon his attention. Through to the end of Serenity was an overflow of paperwork, his gloves washed daily of their ink stains and smudges, letters set in front of him concerning placements of troops and still work over seizing Dry Waters and the Rapids even then.

Anything concerning the new cities being built that needed his stamps of approval, the calling on troops home or to the field, the names and aliases of all his former enemies-all of which he had the chance to pin off on another, toss to his advisors, but he wasn't his father. He ensured every city built was up to his codes, every map searched relentlessly and with such vigor he'd send them back to the architects and engineers with almost disappointment at their lack of detail. He wouldn't have a sub-par city holding his families title, nothing that was his would be lesser than grand.