The Garden, Chapter 3

Undyne looked at the large monster sitting on her couch. Asgore looked… broken. She wanted to get angry, angry at someone, at something. Her first thoughts turned to Toriel, but she knew Asgore wouldn’t want her to blame her. He still cared for her deeply, Undyne knew that, and he understood why Toriel would hold hard feelings about him.

He had felt the same way about himself for years.

Suddenly, his phone rings. A simple tune, just enough to catch his ear in a busy room. He stood up as he pulled the source of the noise from his pocket, looking at the screen. His sad face brightened up.

“Who’s that?” Asked Undyne, trying to get a peek at the device.

Asgore’s smile widened, “It’s Frisk.” He traced his finger along the surface, placing the phone on his cheek. It was the biggest model, but it was still dwarfed by the sheer vastness of his face. Undyne would’ve chuckled if the mood were lighter.

“Howdy, Frisk!” He was happy to hear from the savior of the Underground. They hadn’t talked in what felt like forever, which in reality was about three days. Time seemed to go by so slowly aboveground, there was an odd relaxed feeling it. There was no rush, they didn’t need to escape, he didn’t have any speeches to prepare for and worry about. It was a simple life, one that he enjoyed a lot more than being king.

“I’ve been doing fine, thank you. How’s the best diplomat in the world doing?” He laughed heartily, his toothy grin reappearing on his face. Undyne smiled too; it seemed like just talking to Frisk made his day twenty times better.

He chuckled at something Frisk said. “That sounds great!” he exclaimed, absolutely beaming. “Anyway, is there a reason you called, or are you just saying ‘Hello’?”

His face turned to surprise, though not unhappily so. “C-Come over?”

Undyne looked up.

“For the weekend?”

A small smile grew on her face

“Is T… your mother ok with it?” He paused, listening to the child talk. “Well, if she’s fine with it, I’m fine with it. Do you need a ride? Should I pick you up after school?”

“Oh, it is Saturday, isn’t it.”

“Ok, when are you getting dropped off?” He checked his watch.

“Eight o’clock? Ok, I’ll be at my house. See you then, child.”

He smiled as the call ended, looking down at his phone before placing back in his pocket. He looked at the half drunk cup of tea, the steam all but gone. His grin turned apologetic, turning his attention at his old guard, a small blush on his cheeks.

She smiled and closed her eyes, standing up to hug the old goat dad. “It’s fine, don’t worry about wasting tea. Tell Frisk I said ‘Hi.’” She released the hug.

“Go have fun, fluffybuns.”

~~~

Asgore sat on his porch, the small space all he really needed. He sipped on a glass of iced tea, the cool drink good for a slightly warm morning such as this one. Ok, so the main room was nice and tidy, the kitchen was organized, though he was lacking food. He might have to go restock soon, but not while Frisk was here. His room wasn’t a mess, the guest room had fresh sheets and the bathroom was spotless.

He sighed and reclined in his seat, hopefully Frisk has a great time.

Before he could go any further in his worrying, Toriel’s car rolled up. It was a simple old station wagon, all she really needed. Frisk was sitting the back seat. Before the car came to a complete halt, Frisk was out of the door, running up to Asgore’s house. He smiled and picked up the human, pulling her into a big hug. She giggled gleefully, climbing up the monster. She sat perched on his shoulders, her hands holding onto his horns.

He laughed, gripping onto her legs as he ran around, letting her ‘steer’ with his horns. An almost childlike happiness came over him, a big smile plastered on his face and laughs matching Frisk’s. The sound of the car door shutting stopped the merry making, Toriel walking up to the other two.

Asgore’s smiled nearly vanished as he set down Frisk, rubbing the back of his neck, “H-Hey, Toriel.”

The old queen looked at her ex-husband. “Asgore,” she said with a curt nod, her face and voice devoid of any emotion. Asgore already felt like he had done something wrong, afraid to speak up. A tense silence grew between the boss monsters, Frisk knew what was going on but kept quiet.

She sighed, obviously not thrilled by the conversation, “Just be sure that she goes to bed early and that she doesn’t watch too much TV. I will come by at seven tomorrow afternoon to pick her up.”

Asgore tried to respond, the words forming in his mind but dying in his throat. He pursed his lips and nodded, his fist clenching slightly. Why was he such a coward?

Toriel looked down at Frisk, a small smile on her face, “Have fun, my child.” Frisk smiled back, hugging the monster goodbye. Toriel left to her car, driving away. Asgore looked down at Frisk, his eyes a little misty. Frisk looked up at him.

Asgore braved a smile, “Would you like that cup of tea?”

Frisk grinned as well, nodding enthusiastically.

~~~

Asgore’s house was plain, nothing much about it. There was a simple foyer that was built into the living room, a kitchen a few steps away. A table was separate for eating, a laundry room to the far right, which had an entrance to the backyard, along with the garage. The furniture was plain, a simple couch that looked cozy enough, and a rocking chair. It didn’t look like Asgore would ever be able to comfortably sit in it.

The walls were a dusty beige color, which didn’t look nice, but it wasn’t ugly either. Next to the couch was a small coffee table, little coasters with small little phrases such as ‘Nice Day Today!’ and ‘You Look Great!’ There was a medium sized bookshelf, which was level with Frisk’s chin under a window. A fireplace that looked like it would be cozy was in the corner, a small mantle on top.

Asgore went to the kitchen, grabbing his kettle and cups. “It’ll be ready in a jiffy!” He promised from the stove, the flame flickering into life. Frisk looked around, noticing a few things that she didn’t expect. There was not a single potted plant in the room. It seemed like the man who loved gardening almost as he loved his tea would at least have some plants inside, but the room was bare. He might not have had the chance to go out and get some, but it still struck Frisk as odd.

There weren’t many pictures, either. She counted one or two, but besides that she couldn’t find any other in the entire house. Asgore seemed like the sentimental kind of person, and the fact that he had very little resemblances of his past in his home seemed very odd. Frisk shrugged it off, it’s only been a week, maybe he was taking a bit longer to move from his old house.

One thing that she did not expect to see, was a simple stand up piano against the wall, a matching bench under the keyboard. It was black, a little worn, but still nice looking. Frisk wouldn’t say it tied the room together, but it sure wasn’t an eyesore. Before she could explore further, the whistle of the kettle sounded, the tea was nearly ready.

Small clinks and sounds of metal on porcelain sounded, Asgore emerging with two cups balanced in his hands. He handed Frisk a cup, sitting himself down and blew lightly on his drink. Frisk sat in the rocking chair, holding her tea firmly with both hands.

Asgore sighed after he sipped. “I put two scoops of sugar in yours, I hope it tastes OK.” It didn’t taste ok, it tasted great! Frisk now saw why everybody loves the king’s tea, it was just sweet enough without overwhelming the subtle taste of the tea itself. She hummed as she sipped, the drink making her relax fully. She’d never really been a tea drinker before, but she could get used to it.

“So,” said Asgore, looking up from his tea, “How is school? Have you made any new friends?”

Frisk nodded, swallowing the sip she had taken, “It’s ok. I’ve made a few friends, but it’s still school.”

Asgore chuckled, “No one likes school. I remember when I was younger my mother would have to fight me to go.”

Frisk hadn’t realized she had drained her cup, and set it down. “Really?” she giggled.

“Oh yes! I hated school,” His eyes looked off at the wall, staring at nothing in particular, “That was so many years ago, but I remember it so well. They say you keep the best memories with you.”

Frisk smiled, “Well then I guess I’ll have plenty of memories when I’m older.”

“Hohoho!” Asgore laughed, “That you will.” He noticed that her cup was empty, getting up of his seat to refill it, “I see that my tea is satisfactory.”

“Way more than satisfactory, dad.”

The words hit his ears, but he couldn’t believe them. She called him Dad. She had called him dad. He nearly skipped to the kitchen, his smile growing large and his hips shaking slightly. She called him dad.

It’d been so long since he’s heard the word as a title for himself, the last time way back when Undyne was still a bit of a young brat, her attitude more bodacious and fervorous than anyone he had ever met.

They had a rather rough day of sparring, her tripping up and getting a small scrape on her knee. She sat, her eyes trying their best to beat the tears into submission, not letting them retreat down her cheeks, while Asgore saw to the minor wound. It was nothing a little bit of healing magic couldn’t fix, but she fussing and squirming so much that it was hard for him to concentrate. He got the job done, smiling as the skin formed back together, good as knew.

Without thinking, the Undyne of old said, “Thanks, Dad,” though she immediately shut her mouth. Asgore was shocked, his cheeks flushing and his eyes wide. She immediately tried to apologize, the flustered fish embarrassed by her slip-up. Asgore calmed the child, explaining that he was just surprised to be called that. He told her that he was honored to be called it. That cheered her up a bit.

As Asgore celebrated and reminisced at the stove, Frisk turned her attention to the piano. It seemed like the one thing in the room that actually had a bit of ‘Asgore’ in it, old and worn, but still working. None of the books on the shelf looked like his, they just seemed like some sort of filler, something he’d never read but just had for show.

He returned from his tea expedition, a fresh steaming cup for his daughter. He was still slightly giddy from her words. They sat in happy silence, small sips and the clink of china the only thing breaking it.

“Do you still play?” Frisk asked.

Asgore looked confused, “Hmm?”

The human looked over at the piano, the instrument seemed to grow at the attention. Asgore caught on, “Oh, why yes. Undyne taught me, she was always either fighting me or playing on her piano. One day, I came to just listen and enjoy some tea while she played. It was amazing, and after I gave her a small bit of applause, she offered to teach me. Saying that she owed me for teaching her to fight.” He got up, chuckling as he set his teacup down on a coaster. He opened the cover, revealing the white and black keys. A few fingers were placed down experimentally, a nice sounding chord ringing out. He smiled a bit, “Would you like to hear me play?”

Frisk nodded as soon as the words fell from Asgore’s mouth. The king chuckled as he lifted up the seat of the bench, stacks of paper lazily strewn in the small space. He looked through the stack, leafing through the yellowed pages. His fingers stopped flipping, a small smile finding it’s way on his face as he looked at the staff. It was the most genuine smile Frisk had seen on the monster.

He opened the page, making sure that it was in order and smoothing out any wrinkles. He closed the bench, sitting himself down on it. After getting all settled, he pet his lap, looking down happily at the child, signalling her to join him. She crawled up, sitting in his warm lap, looking at the sheet music he had on the stand.

She never learned how to read music, but she knew the basic concepts, the circles and lines meaning notes, the squiggle thing at the beginning being a Treble clef. Though, it looked like a silly drawing or rudimentary scribbles to her, giggling at what looked like a smily face, which was actually a tied note. Asgore set his fingers down, taking a deep breath.

“I may be a little rusty, but here goes.” He said, breathing out. His fingers depressed the keys, a B flat and a broken major chord ringing out. Even the first note made his smile grow a little amount, continuing with the piece.

The piece was quiet, but beautifully so, his fingers brushing against the keys just enough. Frisk swayed slightly in his lap, the music flowing through her. His left hand moved gracefully, playing the bass note and the rest of the triad an octave up seamlessly, while his right hand played the somewhat fast runs and melodies with great precision. He leaned in and out with the music, picking up the pace at some parts to impress the imaginary audience, as well as Frisk. When the music swelled, he did. When it fell back, he followed suit. Though he showed no strain, a simple smile on his face, his eyes soft and content.

Frisk looked up at her goat father, happy to see the ends of his lips turned upwards. This was something he enjoyed doing, yet didn’t do it often.

Four Fs were played, all written the same, yet each unique, a small difference between all of them. A sudden change in mood, the notes turning somber and quiet, yet still had energy to them. Asgore showed it, in his posture and his face. There is a saying that you can tell the rhythm, the tone, and the feelings expressed just by watching a performer, even with no sound. Cotton could be blocking your ears and you could tell if it was a major piece or a minor piece, fast or slow, somber or sweet. Just by watching the expression of the musician.

Asgore slowed down slightly, his notes gaining sound then diminuendoing back down, more quiet than they were before. His right hand stopped, holding an F as his left held played a slow arpeggio. He scooted forward slightly on the bench, preparing for the finale. He took a breath, his fingers moving impossibly fast for a flurry of grace notes, each note audible. He closed his eyes, focusing entirely on the music, his smile slipping for a small second, only to reappear as the notes resolved, major chords leading up to a final, major triad.

He held still, the notes still echoing and resonating off of everything in the house. The world seemed still as the tones disappeared into oblivion, the tense strings in the piano still quivering. He opened his eyes and looked down happily at Frisk, then at his fingers.

“Hohoho! I still got it.” He laughed, stretching the talented digits. Frisk smiled, and laughed with him.

“That was pretty,” she said, nearly breathless. “What’s it called?” She looked at the sheet music. ‘Nocturnes’ sat above the actual score, though that hardly answered her question.

Asgore hummed in thought, looking up and tapping his bearded chin. “I don’t remember the name, I just know that the name means ‘Night’ in English, and that it was your mother’s favorite.”

Toriel’s favorite.

There he goes again. He sighed, looking back down at Frisk, who looked worriedly back at him. Without a single word, he could tell that she knew exactly what was going on. For a girl who barely opened her eyes fully, she sure did see a lot. He tried to brave a smile, but Frisk didn’t buy it.

She wordlessly wrapped her arms around his chest, the limbs barely long enough to reach each other. Her lips turned upward, her chin resting on Asgore’s chest. “Well, now it’s my favorite too.”

Asgore grinned, though this time it was real.

“Thank you Frisk. That…

“That means a lot.”