AN: I hope you've enjoyed this story; it began as a prompt on tumblr that grew legs and ran away with me, but I've had a lot of fun writing it. And thank you so much for all your lovely comments!

Disclaimer: Fairy Tail and its characters belong to Hiro Mashima; I own absolutely nothing. Cover image by Meagan/krocatoo.

epilogue: greener pastures still to come

"Uncle – Uncle!"

Lily shielded his eyes from the sun, watching the yearling scramble through the high grass towards him, arms full of wildflowers and his wreath askew on his head – a crown of primroses and gooseberry blossoms.

"You making wreaths for the whole herd, youngin?"

The yearling looked down at his armful, a familiar frown pulling his little brows down, above which jutted a pair of blunt antlers that were just coming in. "Is it too much? I was gunna make one fer ma."

Lily held out a hand. "Well, there's no rule that says how many flowers you can put in," he said. "Come here and I'll help you pick out the best."

The grin was all his mother's, and he nodded eagerly as he bounded over to settle down beneath the tree, gently placing the mound of flowers before them. "Ma likes the blue ones," he said, holding up a solitary bluebell. Then he scrambled for a forget-me-not, "But this is her favourite!"

Lily hummed. "So it is. And you'd want some marigolds, too, yeah? Your aunt likes those, and they are very good friends."

The little yearling nodded eagerly. "And pink snapdragons! Aunt Lu makes wreaths for uncle Natsu with those!"

Lily grinned. "Your mother will be wearing the flowers of the whole herd on her head at this rate," he noted.

There was the frown again, and there was so much of Gajeel in that, Lily could never fully get used to it. "Is that okay?"

"Oh, I'd say it is. You're going to have to make a very special one to outshine your da's."

The small nose wrinkled. "But da's crowns are all thorny, and they've got no flowers."

Lily laughed. "That's true. But your mother likes them, doesn't she?"

The yearling's ears twitched, and he seemed to be thinking it over. "I don't have any briars – they're prickly."

"I think you've got more than enough without them, don't you? Here, let me show you." And he picked up a handful of flowers. "You go like this, see? Under and over." Eager garnet eyes tracked the movements of his fingers, and when he handed the partially braided crown of flowers over, the yearling scrambled to grab it.

"Like this?"

"Yeah, but you've got to weave them a little tighter, or the wreath will come apart."

The instructions were followed, and for a moment they sat in silence beneath the branches, lush and green with midsummer leaves. The yearling said little, tongue caught between his teeth as fingers unused to the craft braided the flowers together – marigolds and forget-me-nots. He struggled with a snapdragon, and Lily reached over to help when the crown was proffered, until it sat in the lad's lap, whole and round, though perhaps a little lopsided.

"Will you be weaving a crown for your little sister this year?" Lily asked then, but the lad grimaced at the question.

"Maybe."

His father's frown was firmly in place, and Lily tried not to smile. "She's new to the world this spring, you know."

"Mm."

Lily only shook his head, and looked up and across the clearing at the rustle of leaves announcing the arrival of Gajeel and the subject in question. "There they are now. She's a little unsteady on her hooves still," he said, watching the silvery-coated doe amble at her father's side, hanging by his hand. She was a tiny thing, only so tall that the dark crown of her head was visible over the grass. Gajeel lifted a hand in greeting, but his gaze was quickly drawn back to the fawn tugging at his fingers, attention caught like in a snare.

The yearling at his side pursed his lips at the sight. "Da's got her if she falls," came the mutter, and this time Lily did laugh. It wasn't at all uncommon for yearlings to feel some jealousy for their younger siblings, and in this he was his father's son, right down to the disgruntled jut of his lower lip.

Lily glanced towards his old friend, only to find him pulling leaves out of the fawn's hair, wild and unmanageable like her mother's but dark like the rich soil underfoot. She'd been born early, but had grown strong and fierce like the strong summer winds – a hurricane of silver and eyes large and dark in her face, the apples of her cheeks forever ripe and round with her easy smiles.

"Are you happy, Uncle Lily?"

Looking down at the little deer, Lily was surprised to find concern there, on the face of someone who had only ever seen the best of life – who had never seen the impression of bootprints in the snow, or heard Man's voice mimicking theirs, to lure the young ones into the open. But the lad had heard the stories, of the reason why his mother was the one who made his uncle a wreath every spring, and why he didn't have any fawns or yearlings to call cousin. He'd heard, and the sentiment was true, vivid on the small, expressive face that so clearly showed his every thought to the world.

There was an ache behind his ribs, but Lily grinned. "Happy as I could be, kiddo." He reached out, pushing the wreath back in place, the yellow and white flowers bright against the dark hair. "And don't you ever doubt that."

The yearling looked at his flower crown then, sitting in his lap. He chewed on his bottom lip, and seemed to turn things over in his mind – his mother's son then, in the thoughtful, far-away look in his eyes. It was an amusing sight, to be sure.

Then he looked up, chin lifted in that determined way Lily remembered from the summer he'd been dared to poke a large hornet nest the herd's fawns had discovered.

"Ma has a wreath already," he said, tail twitching, and Lily recognized the defensive way of speaking, but kept his smile from stretching too wide. "And...I guess someone should make one for Shagotte." Fingers smudged green and yellow from the flowers tugged at the blades of grass by his side, and when he looked at Lily next there was a question there – clear in his garnet eyes though he would never voice it out loud.

Lily nodded. "She'd love that."

The yearling mumbled something about duty and being the eldest, and Lily could only smile, watching as the lad made his way towards where his father stood, the wreath hidden behind his back as he cut his way through the tall grass. When he reached them, he dropped the crown on the fawn's head without ceremony, which prompted the little doe to launch herself at her brother with an elated shriek. Gajeel shot Lily a patient but humoured look, before his attention was once again claimed, this time to adjust the crown on his daughter's head.

Lily drew his eyes away as he leaned his head back against the tree, ears listening for the laughter across the clearing as he looked up through the branches. The sky visible beyond the leaves was a perfect, cloudless blue – the kind that made it easy to forget life's hardships forever lurking in the shade of the forest, a constant weight to carry in a heart heavy with equal parts sorrow as joy.

But what he'd told the lad had been the truth – he was happy, or as close to it as he could get in the softly swaying grass under the warm summer sun. The years hadn't made a southerner of him yet, but he'd found home with this new herd. There were flowers around his antlers every spring and summer, memories weaved in blue and white, and littleuns who tugged at his hands, asking for stories and calling him 'uncle' with a fondness he'd long thought himself undeserving.

He was happy. The summer warmth was hazy and the forest wild and thriving with living things, and life was good beneath the sky as blue as the flowers in his crown. And Lily kept his memories close, but his new family closer still, always making sure to remember what was in front of him and not behind. He'd watch his niece and nephew play and grow, and keep his heart firmly rooted in the rich, southern soil of the present moment.

But if he thought he saw the silhouette of a white doe in the corner of his vision, ambling free and wild in the evergreen pastures of the hereafter, well, that was his business.

AN: If anyone is interested, I might write some extra pieces with the other deer-folk in the herd?