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You realized fairly early on that your Leader isn’t like the rest of your garden.
The Leaders you heard about, their tales told in song since long ago, did not have a second skin, nor did they have an odd bubble around their heads that they were incredibly protective of. Nor was it impossible for you to feel their thoughts through their stem, smell their emotions.
In fact, you doubted your Leader was even from a garden to begin with. If they were, it was one completely alien. But then did that make them not a part of the garden at all, a convincing facade of the Leaders from the songs?
It’s utterly unthinkable otherwise . Of course they were.
Your Leader still uprooted you from the ground, like all Leaders must with sproutlings. Your Leader still gave orders, sheltered you in your warm Nest (though they never came to nestle inside with the garden, instead favoring a strange, mechanical Nest that always looked one step away from destruction, weirdly enough). Your Leader was able to take down any beast that stood in your way, even if through strange methodologies like throwing you headfirst into danger. Your Leader could use the commanding songs, even if less melodic and more shrill. For all intents and purposes your Leader was your Leader, whether they were a flowerlet or not.
Y our Leader was nothing like the ones sung about in hymns. But even so, they were most certainly your Leader.
Even if you sometimes found yourself fearing if the day they would leave you would eventually come.
The rest of the garden knows too. They must, otherwise you never would’ve gotten as far as you did with your grand plan to save them.
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Fire roared as Leader’s Nest crashed down from the sky that dreadful night.
It was all you could hear, rushing down, down, down towards you and the garden. You couldn’t help but watch, entranced like one would watching a ferocious beast swallow dozens of you in the blink of an eye, as the Nest falls back down in a blaze of hot air and metal.
And then just like that, it was over. The Nest crashes a short ways away with a deafening slam , and almost immediately after, you were on your feet to investigate the smoke trail now blooming.
The rest of the garden followed after. The stench of anxiety and fear permeated the air, enough to overwhelm the youngest sproutlings. Every light touch of other stems with your own sent mirroring concerns over your Leader’s safety flooding through your body.
These concerns were founded, it turned out.
You found your Leader on the brink of death in front of the smoldering ruins of their Nest. Their body lay broken, bent at unusual angles. Cracks run down the bubble surrounding their head. Their gills gap open and closed, like a fish desperate for air. Certainly, even if night wasn’t so so dangerous, they would not live to see the sun rise ever again.
So what was a small, fledgling garden like yours to do? Without a Leader, you were completely and utterly defenseless.
Fear, grief, anger, and guilt all flooded your senses at one. Some of it even your own. A marigold standing next to you, a flowerlet only a couple days younger than you, begins to weep. You feel tears sting your eyes too.
Your Leader wasn’t just a Leader, but your Leader. They may not be like the Leaders passed down in songs one bit, but they still helped you uproot grass for nectar, turned their gills upside-down like a bluebell would, a “smile” they called it, at the games you would play with one another, and would hug you on the verge of tears you could never understand the cause of.
At least...until now.
Did...Did your Leader know this would happen? Was that why they would cry in the quieter, less busy hours of the day? They had to, otherwise…
...Oh why, oh why , couldn’t your Leader give you some kind of sign, anything , to tell you they were going to die? They couldn’t understand you, just like how you could never really understand anything about them without being able to get a whiff of their emotions, but even so...
(Except they did. Instead of their gentle surveying to make sure everyone got back into their Nests safely, they only spared you a single glance as they rushed into their Nest right before the fateful crash. You could’ve sworn the words they mouthed before being taken inside were “Goodbye.” The permanent kind.)
Your sight blurred with overflowing tears. No amount of trying to understand Leader’s action will bring them back to full health. They were simply gone, their soul bound to depart underground just about any moment now. To lose a Leader, the hymns chant, meant almost certain death when they’ve yet to build a Nest that could plant their successor.
To lose your Leader was like feeling the petals of your flower be plucked off, one by one in time with their dying breath.
You were the first to approach your Leader’s dying body, to kneel down before them and wrap your roots around the bubble shielding their head. If they were aware of you, they didn’t show it. They only let out a low croak, their bright red, five-pointed roots shakily reaching upwards, as if to grasp a star shining through the foreboding onset of night’s darkness…
Was this truly it? The end for not just your Leader, but your garden?
No. No, there had to be a way! Some way to save them! Your Leader was not like you or the rest of the garden, but surely, fate would not have gifted you them if things were to end like this…
That’s when it hits you.
Of course. If your Leader was truly part of the garden, the idea that leapt to the forefront of your mind would be utterly preposterous. Insane, even.
But Leader is not truly part of the garden. If they were, your Nest would’ve never attempted to absorb them like a common beast, instead of shelter them within it like with any other flowerlet that passed out from exhaustion so close to it.
Which meant...maybe, just maybe, your Leader could be saved after all.
Yes, the Nest could save your Leader. Fix them up, and perhaps even break down whatever barrier is keeping you from understanding them. Then, certainly, your Leader will never need to worry about anything ever again. Nothing will ever need to matter to them anymore, but the garden’s well-being.
And isn’t that the most any good Leader could want?
The rest of the garden approached. You explained your idea. A rose called you mad for daring to even assume it.
But even if no one ever vocalized about how different your Leader is, they all knew deep down they weren’t a true part of the garden. They all felt it, the dread that one day, they would abandon the garden and flee to only your ancestors might know where. Amongst the stink of concern and disgust, you could smell hope and excitement.
This way, your Leader would become a true part of the garden, and become an even better Leader than they already were.
This way, your Leader would never leave again.
It did not take much convincing once that thought crossed your mind.
Your Leader let out a couple more weak groans as you picked them up. Their breathing quickened a little as they shudder in your roots, before, eventually, stilling within death’s cold grasp. The Nest absorbed their body with ease.
You dare not look away as the seedling that would sprout into your Leader’s new body planted itself in the ground. They looked almost as if they were just sleeping, buried like this.
The garden cheered. Your Leader was alive, safe, and finally, finally all yours.
Which is why you couldn’t begin to comprehend why your Leader wasn’t happy about that when they finally emerged as a sproutling.
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Your Leader was not the same Leader you knew after clawing their way out of the ground.
You thought that surely, surely your Leader would be overjoyed to finally understand you and how your emotions smelled. You thought that with them now a true part of the garden, they would be as busy a Leader as they were before, only twice more efficient.
You couldn’t have been more wrong.
You could smell your Leader’s emotions now, but instead of the sweet scent of happiness and excitement upon being completely accepted into the garden, you were instead met with a horrid concoction of sorrow, fear, anger, and, most perplexingly, grief. You can understand the tunes they would often hum to both themself and you now, but they were lamentations full of heartache and longing, not the odes of joy you had anticipated them singing. You could feel their thoughts on the rare occasion their bud would touch your flower now, but they were full of complex words and alien titles. Not to mention, having their thoughts felt always seemed to startle them, scare them almost.
You could comprehend your Leader now, but you could not understand them.
Your Leader spent the first few days after their...transition, as you’ve taken to calling it, doing little more than staring at the charred ruins of their old Nest. Occasionally, they would cry, murmuring apologies followed by those strange titles. Any attempt to dare approach them would have you met with a sickening wave of anger and sadness. A complex, overwhelming miasma that, when combined with the extra strength a Leader’s emotions normally waft from them, was enough to make any flowerlet dizzy.
The few times you, or anyone else, managed to approach them, to pull them back into the Nest come sunset, they wouldn’t dare look you in the eyes. Once inside the Nest for the night, they would just paw at the wall, as if searching for something no longer there. It was like every ember of warmth in their soul had been snuffed out by a flood of grief.
Why? Why wouldn’t your Leader focus on anything else? Laugh or smile? Rejoice in the miracle of life the garden has given them?
You just want them to smile again, like how they used to in the quieter moments.
Surely, once they fully accept the loss of their old Nest, they will be back to their usual self, right?
But alas, even once your Leader finally stopped mourning the loss of their nest and started giving orders again, the grief persisted.
------
Something was terribly, terribly wrong with your Leader.
Where your Leader’s orders were once focused, swift, and precise, they were now haphazard, hesitant, and vague. Many times, the garden was left confused, scrambling, and crashing into each other when orders collided with each other. They less sung the commanding songs, and more mumbled their way through them.
(Often times, after singing, they would break into a loud fit of coughing, heaving a few times even, disgust roiling off them in waves. One time, while waiting for your turn to be commanded, you caught their roots tracing the bob of their throat, wide-eyed and shuddering. When you tried to touch bulbs with them in order to try and feel out what’s wrong with them, they grabbed you by your stem before they could touch and pulled their own as far back as they possibly could, the shake of their head saying everything. You only backed away when a quiet hum of “Please don’t” reached your ears.)
And yet, whenever anyone tried to voice their concerns, your Leader just smiled and sent you to work like nothing was wrong. Like you couldn’t smell the sorrow wafting from them in every moment.
The entire garden could tell. Roses, marigolds, and bluebells all gossiped amongst themselves about your Leader’s perpetual grief, both sproutling and flowerlet alike. It was hard not to notice when your Leader would sometimes lay down and do nothing for hours, just gazing up at the sky, seeking something.
The only time the misama of grief seemed to fade for a little while was when they had opened up what looked like a hidebound stack of leaves and took to drawing strange symbols with this odd stick that squirted ink. But even then, the grief returned not long after they put both down, dulled instead of fading.
Some of the oldest flowerlets would sometimes try to distract them in small ways. These mainly involved showing them new patches of nectarweed or small bobbles they might find interesting, but sometimes, they did more important things with little prompting. Once, your Leader ended up creating a new second skin for themself with their help. All it did was make them stink less of anxiety.
It seemed nothing you did did anything to make your Leader happy, even if their tears had mostly dried. It made you worry for them.
The fact that your Leader was no longer very affectionate with the garden did little to alleviate them. They used to frequently hug you and pat your head, usually accompanied by a small smile. Once, they ended up having to pat the heads of a good hundred of the garden when they started trying to soothe a good five sproutlings at once.
Now, they only hugged you when they were crying. Otherwise, they kept their head down and their stem pulled back, only focusing on giving you orders that you weren’t sure even had an underlying goal to them anymore. And whenever anyone touched them, even a light brush against their arm, they would jolt and back away, as if they had been burned.
You had thought that surely, surely, becoming a true part of the garden and a true Leader would help. Make them happy, as they would never need to leave. Instead, it only made them distant, unfocused, and worst of all angry.
“It’s all your fault I’m like this now,” your Leader’s feelings sung to you, even if they never lent their voice to those lyrics. If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought they hated being part of the garden, and being your Leader along with it.
You had just wanted to save them, like they had saved you. And even now, you still wanted to see them smile again and rejoice in simply being alive. You just weren’t sure how.
Eventually, your Leader gave you the answer.
------
It all came to a head one sunny afternoon.
Some sproutlings had wandered out of the formation your Leader had set while scavenging for supplies to build yet another bridge. They had stumbled into the path of a buried serpent, something your Leader calls a “snagret”. By the time the garden realized, they had arrived just in time to watch the sobbing sproutlings be gobbled up, never to feel the sun’s warmth again.
Tragic, yes, but not uncommon either. Sproutlings were foolish like that, and then paid the price for it. This sad fact of life used to make your Leader shudder like a leaf, but now they normally just let out a quiet sigh and clasp their hands together, mumbling some kind of hymn.
Normally, that is. But this time?
This time your Leader snapped .
The next time the serpent emerged, they had launched not just you but themself into the line of combat, letting out a songless shriek as they tear its feathers out, bulb coming down on its eye again and again. They hang on long after it had shaken everyone else off.
It was only when the cawing serpent was well and truly befelled that your Leader snapped out of their frenzy. They pant, covered in slick, red ichor.
Then, the corpse coughed up a strange mechanical contraption. You recognize it as one of the parts to your Leader’s old nest they were having you gather.
Your leader looks up at their dirty bud, their bloodied hands, and finally the device…
And then, your Leader broke .
Contrary to the sudden nausea their emotions left as they marched off, they did not break loudly. They did not break like the Leaders sung in ancient elegies, screaming and fighting until the moment they were devoured. No, the only sign they had well and truly snapped in some way was the reverberating thought of “Leave me alone!” from the flower at the end of your stem to the tips of the roots you use to walk.
And it was because they were so so quiet when they broke, that the rest of the garden didn’t think much beyond it being yet another sign of their unpredictable funk. They simply went about mourning the deceased sproutlings and preparing the fallen serpent for absorption by a Nest. You were the only one to stand there, watching them walk off into the distance.
They also didn’t notice as you race after your Leader. It shook you to the core, disobeying them so blatantly like this. But you had to. You had to.
For the all-consuming terror that your Leader might do something they regret would overpower any command they could give you.
You find them sheltered away in a small grotto, a stream running by a few steps away from them. They were curled up with their head tucked between their legs, their stem drooping down in front of them. Muffled sobs echo from their frail frame. They were crying again.
Grief, anger, sorrow, guilt . They all hit your feelers with equal, incredible force. You feel your chest tighten.
They were alive, breathing, photosynthesizing. But that was all. Your Leader was little better than a walking corpse, a shell of their former self.
Even now, you couldn’t understand. Only comprehend the curses they uttered, hurled in all directions and aimed at nowhere.
“Oh, why did they have to do this to me...Why couldn’t they just let me perish where I lied? Why must I be grounded here, of all places? Why must I live again, but so so far away from home?
Am I doomed to one day forget? Succumb to these...to these instincts and be little more than...than their sad shell of a leader? A pathetic leader who can’t even look a Pikmin in the eyes without seeing…Why-”
It was about that point you stopped listening. You had left to gather nectar. It was the least you could do after disobeying their orders like this. The garden always felt better after indulging in it. Perhaps your Leader is no different, now especially?
You approached them slowly, a glob of nectar in hand. It takes them until you were standing right in front of them for them to notice you were even there. They must’ve gotten a whiff of your concern.
They look up at you. They let out a small gasp, scooting back a little, almost reminiscent of when they first woke up after...the transition. You didn’t let their trembling stop you as you hold out the nectar for them to take.
The nectar never leaves your roots. Instead, you hear a soft whisper, “...For me?”
“For Leader,” you affirm, daring yourself to look them right in the eyes.
The skin around their eyes was weirdly red and puffy. They eye you warily, hands clenched and trembling. You do not budge.
After a moment, “I...do not deserve this.”
“Leader does. Leader needs nice things too.”
A huff, anger flooding your feelers, “You all die under my watch. I am not your leader. I am not any sort of leader, really. I don’t know why you...why you…”
Tears gather at the corner of their eyes. You desperately, oh so desparately, want to link bulbs with them and feel their thoughts. But as if sensing this was coming, their stem pulls back, away from your flower.
But however, as it pulls back, the bud at the end grazes your flower, and with it comes a jolt of conscious thought, the complete question on their mind:
“Why would you make me one of you?”
Your shock must’ve shone in your eyes, because your Leader puts a root to their gills, covering them.
But...wasn’t the answer obvious?
“Because Leader is Leader,” you state, for that was the simple truth, “Leader was dying. We would do anything to save Leader. This way is for the best.”
Your leader cocks their head at that, the twisting scent of confusion wafting from them.
“I am not one of you. Or perhaps, was not one of you is the better turn of phrase. I was never meant to be doing…” Their roots trail down their throat, “...Any of this.”
It was your turn to be confused, “But...Leader is one with the garden now. Leader can sing the commanding songs, send out their thoughts, and everything else a Leader should do. Even better now.”
“...You are not understanding, little one.” They look away then, their anger bubbling up like a noxious gas.
You still couldn’t understand why.
“But...isn’t Leader happy to be...part of the garden?” You finally ask, trying to be more blunt, “Doesn’t Leader...want to be with us forever?”
“No!!!” They shout, standing up abruptly. You had to take a step back then. Their anger was like a punch to the gut, “I was trying to go home! I want to see the stars again! I miss my family!”
“...What’s a family?”
It was an innocent question. You couldn’t help but ask it, trying to understand. But it seemed...It seemed your Leader didn’t like that, to put it lightly.
Their ears twitch, face growing redder and redder. Their stem waves back and forth, almost like they were going to attack you.
“Why couldn’t you just let me die?!” They shout, the lyrics echoing, “I never asked to be brought back! Much less as...as...as this thing?! Do you even know how...How sick I feel every day, loathing what you have done to me?!”
“...But...But Leader-”
“Olimar!!!” Their roots grip their head, pulling at the tufts of leaves gathered at its crown, “I’m not Leader! I’m Olimar! Please...I’m not just…”
And just like that, Leader was on the ground, sobbing once more. A whimper escapes your throat.
You...You had no idea that your Leader...Felt like that.
Your Leader was not originally part of the garden. You knew that full well, but you had always thought the differences between them and the garden were superficial outside of the communication barriers between you, and the ever present possibility that they might leave because of this simple fact. By making them a true part of it, you effectively prevented that fear from ever coming true.
It never occurred to you just why your Leader may want to leave. Or really, that they were anything beyond your Leader. They have always been your Leader since the day you were plucked, and you never saw them as anything more. Only understood their importance.
But right now...Who was before you was not a Leader, but a fellow flowerlet. A flowerlet who came from a different place and had a Leader of their own, somewhere, that they took orders from. And by making them part of your garden, you have effectively prevented them from returning to that Leader.
...Oh.
Was this...Was this why your Leader was so angry? Because of you?
You feel like such a parasite.
Your Leader must’ve smelt your guilt, because they looked up suddenly. Their face was less red, and they were breathing pretty hard. Their eyes go wide.
“Oh my...Oh my Stars...What have I…” They clasp their roots together, “I am so so sorry little one. I lost my temper there and took it out on you. You’re not at fault here, I didn’t mean any of that...”
“...Is this why Leader is so sad? Because we...took you from...your garden?” You ask, your song wavering with each note.
They hesitate, but their scent says it all.
It was now tinged with an odd sense of...Relief, was it?
They gulp down air with their gills. Their stem droops down in front again, their roots rubbing their arm, “...Yes.”
So now you finally understood.
Before you was not the brave, witty Leader you cherish so dearly, but a flowerlet from somewhere you couldn’t ever hope to understand, foisted into a position by circumstance.
And in making them part of the garden, you’ve severed them from everything they ever held dear.
You don’t regret your actions. The garden needs a Leader, and that Leader was the flowerlet before you, but...But even so...To finally understand…
“Oh-He-Hey, don’t cry. Please don’t cry. Do I look mad?” You squint through watery eyes at your Leader. They have crossed the distance between you and them, and are now gently leaning down to wipe the tears from your eyes.
“I-I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to burden you with these feelings. You were simply doing what you thought was best for yourselves.”
“It actually felt pretty good to get that all off my chest. But why did I have to make this poor thing cry in order to do it?”
You look up through your tears. Your stems were touching.
Your leader follows your gaze, and then immediately pulls their stem back, shuddering. You became suddenly afraid your Leader was going to cry again.
“No no! We...I’m sorry Leader! I just wanted to...To make you happy…”
Before you knew it, you were bawling once again. Your Leader’s happiness was all that ever mattered to you, and in making them truly yours, you had torn that away from them.
It was cardinal selfishness. You had no one to blame for your Leader’s sorrow but yourself.
“Hey, look at me, alright?” Their song is gentle, not a hint of the commanding song compelling you to obey them.
You obey anyway.
Your Leader’s stem has lowered, just within touching distance of your own. Even a sproutling could figure out what they were asking.
You touch your stem to theirs.
“You are not at fault for this. No one is. You were simply trying to do what was best for your garden. I was just a more critical part of it than I could’ve ever imagined…”
“But we still hurt Leader. We’ve done irrepariable damage to Leader.”
“...Even so, what’s done is done. Like it or not, I am your Leader now. Neither of us can change that simple fact of life. You were simply following your instincts in violating me altering me. My feelings don’t matter anymore.”
“Leader’s feelings matter. Leader’s feelings always matter. If Leader is sad, than we are sad. We just want Leader to be happy.”
Leader drew their stem back then, rubbing their head. A loud sigh escapes their body. They refuse to meet your eyes.
“I...I don’t know if I will ever be happy again, little one,” they finally admitted, all the warmth gone from their song, “But...I am willing to try. If only for your sake…”
“...Would nectar make Leader feel better?” Once again, you hold the nectar out to them.
This time, they slowly, but surely, take it. They squint at it, as if to study it.
Then, they raise it to their gills, and pour it down their throat. You watch as they swallow it all down, a mixture of disgust and, at long last, joy meeting your feelers. You trill as they finished. It was complex joy, not pure joy unfortunately, but it was joy nontheless.
When they finish, they hum, “Well that...Was certainly very sweet.”
You weren’t focused on that at the moment. Right now, you were entranced by the brilliant red flower that has bloomed at the end of their stem.
Your Leader follows your gaze.
“...Ah.”
“Leader Flower!” You point, excited, at the flower, “Leader Flower!”
That’s when you hear it. A loud, deep, booming laugh. Just like from your early days. Just like before your Leader’s transition.
And that is also when you finally see it. A slow, geniune smile graces their gills, amusement licking at you as it does so.
“Yes, I suppose so. Though I personally prefer to be called Olimar...Would you please call me that instead, little one?”
Your Leader-No wait, Olimar beams at you as they make the request. As if it were a mere suggestion, without the force of a commanding song behind it.
But even without it, how could you ever refuse a request from them?
Olimar looks up at the sky, now tinged a bright orange. Just like that, their smile fades into a determined frown, “Oh dear, it’s almost sunset...Come, let’s go gather everyone up. I have some apologizing I need to do.”
You still couldn’t understand whatever they needed to apologize for. But as you follow after their hurried steps, you found that didn’t matter.
You were just happy to finally understand your Leader, Olimar.