She’s scared, Ren realized, a fresh spike of fear surging up their spine.She knows she did something bad, and she’s afraid I’ll find out.
“What did you ask of him?” they demanded, yanking their hand away as they jerked to a sudden stop along the fringes of the crowd clustered around the nearby stage.
“I didn’t ask anything of him!” Pansy protested, looking almost hurt by the accusation.The gall. “All I did was ask him a question.”
“Like:How do I get rid of a goblin?” they sneered, ears flattening against their skull.
Pansy flinched; it was as much an answer as the flush that crept across her cheeks, staining her skin a mottled, ruddy red. “That’s not— I didn’t askthat.”
“Then what? What are you so afraid I’ll find out about?”
“It’s no—”
“Don’t tell me it’s nothing!” Ren snapped, eyes flashing. “Iwas there, Pansy. I saw the way you reacted when that wizard started talking! You know something.”
“I don’t know anything! I just –ugh! I just don’t like him, okay? I’m probably the only halfling in all of Haverow who doesn’t. But every time I look at him, all I can think about is the fact that he’s the one who recruited my grandmother to fight in the Great War against the last dark lord. Maybe that’s petty of me. My grandmother was her own person; she made her own choices. But still.Still.” She looked away, the bone-white of her jaw flexing hard beneath reddened skin.
It took half a second for Ren to deflate, all their anger, their righteous indignation, smothered beneath a sudden avalanche of understanding. Now, the heat that had pooled beneath their skin burned in a different way – sour, shameful.
“I’m sorry,” they mumbled after a beat, their gaze pinned between their feet. “I saw that he was a wizard, and I— Never mind.” They shook their head. “For what it’s worth, I think you have good reason to dislike him. He took advantage of your grandmother, saw her only as a tool to be used rather than another living being. And when she was no longer useful to him, he discarded her without a second thought. That’s not something a good person would do.”
Pansy blinked, surprised. “You agree with me?”
“Absolutely. We can be in the I-don’t-like-Agvaldir club together.”
“Shh! Not so loud!” she said through a smile. “He’s very popular around here, you know.”
Of course he is. “Well, halflingsdotend to have terrible taste,” Ren pointed out.
“Hey!” Pansy gave them a light shove on the arm. “I have great taste! I’m here with you, aren’t I?”
Ren’s eyes widened. Now,that, they hadn’t expected. “I… y-yes,” they stammered, their face going hot.
In truth, they should’ve continued to press her for an answer to their initial question, still hanging between them, unaddressed. If there was any sort of possibility that they might wake up one day and find a wizard-shaped problem on their doorstep, Ren wanted to know about it ahead of time.
And yet, standing there, caught in the radiance of Pansy’s smile, now fully realized, they couldn’t bring themself to raise even the first syllable to their lips. Surrounded by music and laughter, the smell of spiced wine and sweet mead, it seemed wrong, ruining this otherwise golden moment. Plus, did it really matter what she’d asked Agvaldir? Pansy didn’t even like the man! Surely, there was no danger here – a conclusion Ren rushed to reassure themself of all the more when Pansy reached out and took their hand in hers yet again.
“You know, Ren,” she began, a weighty quiver creeping into her voice, “I—”
“Are you the one who grew that really large pumpkin?” asked a youthful-looking halfling, the thick crop of dark facial hair growing along his jaw doing little to mask the overall softness of his features.
If he realized he’d butted into their conversation at an inopportune moment – which, to be fair, the ale-slick tankard he clutched in one hand might’ve precluded – he gave no indication.
Either way, whatever Pansy meant to say she promptly swallowed back down, replacing it instead with a too-stiff smile and an overly bright, “Ren here did most of the work, actually.”
“Ren? The goblin, you mean?” The halfling looked at them, his eyes going wide.
Immediately, Ren braced themself for some variety of derision – or, at the very least, a vaguely thoughtless comment. But the halfling cocked his head to the side, let out a soft, “Huh”, and promptly began questioning them about their technique.
“What sort of fertilizer did you use?” he asked, pressing in close enough that Ren nearly took a step back out of reflex. There was an intensity to his stare – no, anenthusiasm– that seemed ill-advised given the comments Pansy had been forced to endure on the way in.
Did he not care that he was talking to a goblin? Ren wondered, blinking in surprise. No matter how drunk he might’ve been – which, in retrospect, might’ve been far less than they’d initially presumed – engaging with the “enemy” was, surely, a line every Halvenshire halfling knew not to cross.
But, then again, Pansy had certainly crossed it. Her parents, too. Perhaps this “line” wasn’t so much a hard rule as a vague guideline – and an oft-disregarded one at that.
“I think that sort of thing counts as a trade secret,” Pansy said, her tone still registering as friendly even as she angled herself into the space between Ren and the halfling. A silent request that, thankfully, did not go unheard.
“Come on,” he pleaded with a pout that only served to undermine his beard further as he moved back a few paces. “I promise I won’t tell!”
