Chapter 13 Pansy #3
“Yes. Their name is Ren, and they’re the kindest, most gentle person I’ve ever met.
I need you both to remember that, okay?” She gave her parents a hard look, hoping to impress upon both of them the seriousness of this moment to her, the importance.
Her fingers found the bird skull, now suspended on a leather cord around her throat, and gave it a barely there squeeze.
Caught by the motion, her mother’s gaze snapped to the necklace, and something in her expression softened. “All right,” she agreed, finally releasing Pansy. “We’ll meet them.”
“And we’ll be nice,” her father added with a smile.
Pansy let out a breath, the snarl of tension between her shoulder blades finally unspooling. She smiled. “Then you should probably take down Grandma’s old dagger from the mantelpiece.”
“Oh!” Pansy’s mother said, one hand flying to her mouth, as if she’d forgotten the dagger even existed.
“That’s probably a good idea. Honestly, I’ve been wanting to take that thing down for years, anyway.
I never liked it. I was just waiting until I had something to replace it with.
The sitting room would look so empty otherwise. ”
Pansy didn’t bother challenging her on this.
She knew her mother’s relationship with her own mother had always been…
complicated, for lack of a better word. Full of conflicting emotions, knotted together in the most perplexing of ways.
Obviously, they hadn’t gotten any easier to sort through in the eight months since Angelica Underburrow had passed.
In fact, the task had likely only grown more difficult.
So Pansy simply said, “I’ll go get Ren.”
There were tea and cookies waiting for them when Pansy and Ren made their way into the sitting room.
So far, a much better reception than the last time she’d been here.
Granted, the fact that Mrs. Millwood wasn’t perched on one of the sofas helped tremendously.
Then again, her reaction in this instance might prove rather entertaining.
Here was the goblin she’d lost her mind about only a few ten-days ago, sipping barley tea from an “obnoxiously halfling” – as Ren would no doubt put it – floral-printed cup.
The irony of it all was downright exquisite.
Though not as exquisite as the butter biscuits her mother had set out on an equally “obnoxiously halfling” plate, rimmed with delicately painted florals and vines.
A sentiment Ren seemed to agree with, considering the speed with which they’d devoured their first biscuit.
Now, they looked at the ones remaining on the plate, their stare full of longing as they sucked the last sweet crumbs from their fingertips.
“You can have another one, you know,” Pansy assured them with a soft chuff of laughter. “Honestly, I’m sure my mother will love it if you help yourself to as many as you want.”
Hearing this, Pansy’s mother, sitting primly in one of the adjoining armchairs, to the point where her back had become an unbreakable rod, jolted out of her otherwise guarded posture.
“Do you like them?” she asked hesitantly, her gaze focusing on Ren with an uncommon intensity – one Pansy recognized.
Although she and her mother were dissimilar in many ways, the quickest way to both of their hearts was an open appreciation for their cooking.
Which, come to think of it, Ren had done with her, too.
“They’re delicious,” Ren said around a mouthful of biscuit. Normally, the lack of manners inherent in speaking with one’s mouth full would’ve prompted a frown or some other form of silent disapproval from Pansy’s mother, but evidently all could be forgiven by simply reaching for another serving.
“Wow!” Pansy said, eyes widening in mock surprise. “From the way you’re wolfing down those biscuits, I’m starting to think that you prefer them to mine.” She paused, a devilish gleam rising to her eye. “Well, do you?”
“Uh…” Ren paused mid-chew, eyes widening to near-perfect circles as a handful of crumbs dropped from their slackening jaw.
“Don’t say anything! It’s a trap!” Pansy’s father laughed.
“He’s right. I’m only teasing.” Pansy gave Ren’s thigh a gentle pat. “Enjoy the biscuits.”
“That being said,” Pansy’s mother said after a beat, her tone bordering on sly, “if you do prefer mine, that’s perfectly fine too. I have plenty of food to go around. Oh!” She popped out of her chair. “You should try my apple crumble!”
“What?” Pansy’s father said, aghast. “You told me it’s for the festival!”
“It is.” Her mother sniffed. “Besides, you have no right to complain, sir. I know you swiped some earlier while my back was turned.”
Pansy laughed. So, she’d been right on that front. Her father, meanwhile, flushed anew, until his face was as red as his thieving hands. “It’s okay, Mum. We’re going to the festival later, so we can have some then.”
“And fight the entirety of Halvenshire for a slice? I think not. You’ll take your portion in advance. And if you do manage to get another slice at the festival, well…” Her mother shrugged, already on her way towards the kitchen. “Call it the privilege of being family.”
Family. One that now included Ren. Because when her mother returned, she did so with two plates, each laden with crumble – though one proved a touch more generous than the other.
That serving, which would normally be given to Pansy, was instead passed into Ren’s waiting hands.
It had taken nearly three decades, but Pansy’s position had been finally usurped, and as far as she was concerned, it couldn’t have gone to anyone more deserving.
Pansy had nearly finished polishing off her plate – Ren, for the record, had already beaten her there – when her mother straightened up in her seat, eyes widening around the abrupt spark of an idea.
“Borage, darling,” she said, turning to Pansy’s father, “do you think we should give Ren the dagger? The one that was on the mantelpiece?”
Feeling Ren stiffen on the sofa beside her, Pansy pressed a hand against their shoulder and explained, “It was my grandmother’s. She won it during her time as an adventurer and brought it home with her.”
“And I should have it because…?” Ren’s voice had gone flat; no longer pleasantly neutral, but cautiously so.
“We think it was originally a goblin dagger,” Pansy said quickly, her heart thumping hard against her chest. She wanted to scream!
Things had been going so well. Ren had been enjoying themself, their ears pricked high for all to see.
Now, they sat hunched over, knuckles blazing white around the plate in their lap, their ears gone flat against their skull.
“We understand that you’re not the original owner,” Pansy’s mother rushed out, her expression creasing with worry. “In fact, it’s unlikely you’re even related. I just thought that… well, a goblin dagger might be more at home with a goblin, instead of decorating a halfling burrow.”
“Can I see it?” Ren asked.
Following a quick, pointed gesture from Pansy’s mother, her father scrambled out of his seat, returning a minute or so later with the needle-like dagger, tucked inside a mossy sheath, its hilt, plain and unadorned, gleaming in the light.
He held it out to Ren, who took it after another pause, the motion almost grudging.
“As a general rule, we goblins don’t like to fight,” they said.
“We believe that violence isn’t a first resort, but a last. Unfortunately, there are people in this world who disagree.
And, sometimes, when a goblin who has been stripped of absolutely everything cries out for help, it’s only those people who are willing to answer. ”
“Dark lords,” Pansy murmured in understanding.
Ren nodded.
“I’ve often thought,” Pansy’s mother said, once the silence had stretched beyond the bounds of what was comfortable, “that a wizard is, in many ways, not too different from a dark lord. All they do is take advantage of another kind of desperation: the desire to be seen, respected, treated as an equal. I’d say they treat us like children, but we’re far too expendable for that.
We die so that their children may live. It’s—” She swallowed, her expression tightening.
“I don’t understand why we tolerate it. But perhaps I’ve already answered my own question: desperation. ”
“It’s a powerful motivator,” Ren said, their voice soft.
“Yes, it is,” Pansy’s mother agreed.
Setting the weapon down beside them, Ren said, “Thank you for the dagger. I will treat it like the gift that it is.”
“Oh. I— you’re welcome. Though I sincerely hope you never have cause to use it.”
Ren’s expression was grim. “As do I.”
A weight settled into the pit of Pansy’s stomach at Ren’s words. They felt… foreboding, ominous, a precursor to some disaster she couldn’t quite make the shape of – or, rather, simply didn’t want to. Desperate to chase the sensation away, she hopped to her feet and began clearing the empty plates.
“Don’t bother,” her mother said, quickly moving to wave her off. “I’ll take care of the dishes myself.”
“Too late,” Pansy replied, her hands already full of floral dishware.
“Should I help?” Ren asked, shifting forward in their seat, as if to rise.
“No,” Pansy and her mother barked in unison, sending Ren sliding obediently back into the sofa.
“And you,” her mother continued, leveling an almost accusatory finger at her daughter, “are a guest. You shouldn’t be cleaning up anything.”
“Oh, well,” Pansy said with a shrug, already on her way out of the room. “Next time, then.” As if she wouldn’t do the same exact thing…
Her mother, of course, was acutely aware of this fact. She said as much, chasing after Pansy into the kitchen, where she finally managed to haul her daughter away from the sink before she could fill it with water.
“Mum,” Pansy huffed. “It won’t kill me to wash some dishes.”
“I know, I know. But you’re my baby. Fully grown and out of the burrow, which leaves only so many ways for me to take care of you; so, forgive me if I’m a little protective.” Her mother smiled, a touch wan.
She’d missed her, Pansy suddenly understood. Granted, she’d said as much. But Pansy’s absence had cut deeper than she’d realized.
Taking her mother’s hand in hers, Pansy said, “I want to come visit, Mum. Leaving Haverow, meeting Ren – none of that changes the fact that I love you and Dad. That’s why I promised to come by for dinner every ten-day.
Not because I felt obligated, but because I wanted to.
It just…” She sucked in a deep breath, lips thinning.
“It just really hurt me that you and Dad turned something I’d been looking forward to into something so – so awful. ”
Her mother’s expression crumbled. Shoulders slumping, she looked towards the floor. “I – I know, sweetheart. I was just so worried about you. I saw the way you’d left home, and somehow all I could think about was my own mother – your grandmother – and how she’d left home too.”
“Mum…”
“I try not to talk about it, especially not to you.” She swallowed, blinking hard against the moisture glazing her eyes.
“A parent shouldn’t burden their child with such things.
But… It was hard for me, growing up with a mother who was never there, even when she wasn’t off on an adventure.
Her mind was always… well, you saw some of it.
Your father and I couldn’t hide everything from you, no matter how hard we tried. ”
“I know. I remember,” Pansy said, and she did.
She remembered the screams in the night, the sounds of her grandmother waking up from yet another nightmare; the vacant, unseeing looks throughout the day; the names of lost friends and allies that she would call to in moments of distress, moments when her grandmother seemed to have been transported somewhere else entirely, sometimes even mid-sentence.
And, of course, Pansy remembered what had happened at last year’s Harvest Festival – though, doubtless, everyone did.
“When you were born,” her mother said, a whisper of old happiness curling at the corner of her mouth, “the moment the midwife placed you in my arms, small and precious beyond words, all I could think about was how I needed to protect you from all the horrors of this world. I would be the mother my own mother never was. I would be there, every day, a shield around your happiness. And somehow, along the way, I let my own fears get the better of me, and instead I became the sword that cut it down. I’m sorry, Pansy. ”
“Thanks, Mum,” Pansy said softly, pulling her into a hug. “I forgive you. Just promise me you’ll never invite Councilor Millwood over again when I’m around.”
Her mother laughed and swiped lightly at her eyes. “I promise. But Pansy…” She pulled away, her expression serious. “I need you to answer me honestly. Does Ren make you happy?”
Pansy didn’t even need to think about it. The answer sprang to her lips immediately: “Happier than anything in the world.”
“Good. That’s all that matters to me. Though, I suspected as much,” she added, smiling in that knowing, all-too-motherly sort of way.
“A mother always knows when her baby’s in love.
Does Ren know? Have you told them? Honestly, you should at this point, considering you’ve already brought them to meet your parents.
It’s a little out of order, don’t you think? ”
Pansy flushed. “Mum!”
Thankfully, it had gotten late enough that she could plead needing to head down to the festival, thereby sparing herself any further embarrassment at the hands of her mother.
But just to be sure, Pansy more or less rushed Ren out the door, the festival once again serving as the perfect excuse.
Who knew what else her mother might say if given the chance?
Pansy certainly didn’t want to find out, her face still burning from earlier.
“They’re nice,” Ren said as they made their way down the garden path, the dagger now strapped to their hip. “Your father was surprisingly interested in foraging. He started asking me all kinds of questions while you were in the kitchen.”
“It went better than I expected,” Pansy agreed.
Ren cocked an eyebrow. “You expected the worst.”
She shrugged. “It’s not like I didn’t have good reason to. But I think, in the end, the only thing my parents care about is my happiness. And I’m… I’m happy now – with you.”
Ren’s eyes widened, a brief beat of surprise before their features softened into something tender and warm. They smiled and said, “I’m happy too.” And Pansy knew immediately, her heart soaring higher than ever before, that they meant it.
Now, if only the rest of Haverow could see them the way her parents had.