Chapter 15 Pansy #6
Because Ren liked her. The necklace was proof of that.
Yes, perhaps liking alone wasn’t enough, their circumstances being what they were.
But Ren had trusted her enough to bring her here, and Pansy – Pansy wanted to show them that that meant something to her, something that words alone couldn’t express.
A halfling might have cooked something or taken care of the washing or done some other practical chore that conveyed care and closeness, but a goblin, Pansy had come to realize, often gave gifts, small tokens that seemed to say, I saw this and thought of you.
“I’d like to trade for one of these crowns,” Pansy said abruptly. “Do you like pumpkin pie? I baked it fresh this afternoon!”
Nana blinked at her. “What could you possibly want with one of these?”
“I want to give one to Ren. To show them just how important they are to me.”
The old goblin let out a soft chuckle at that, her wrinkles growing more pronounced as her lips stretched into a small but genuine smile. “I don’t think they’ll have much doubt about that if you do.”
“Perfect! So, does a slice of pie work? Honestly, I can give you the whole thing if you feel that’d be more fair. Granted, a couple of slices are already missing.”
“Oh, no, no,” Nana said, waving off her offer with one hand. “I don’t sell these crowns. The happiness they bring is more than enough payment for me.”
“Are you sure?” Pansy pressed. “I mean, I feel similarly when I see someone enjoy my cooking.”
“Take it, Nana,” Thorn said, suddenly appearing at Pansy’s side. This time, his entrance was heralded by neither frenzied shouting nor shattered objects, rendering it all the more unexpected. “If you don’t eat it, I will.”
“Thorn!” Pansy jumped, the shock kicking hard against her ribcage. “I thought you had a stand to tend to.”
Thorn shrugged. “I sensed something interesting was happening, and apparently I was right.” He grinned, his gaze pointedly dropping to the crown Nana had retrieved from her pile.
“I think Ren will like this one,” she said, passing one made of rust-colored hydrangeas, yellow begonia and oak leaves into Pansy’s hands. “And don’t worry about me. I’m too old for sweets these days. You can go ahead and give the pie to Thorn. I’ve no doubt he’ll enjoy it enough for both of us.”
“Don’t mind if I do!” Thorn declared, already moving to liberate the remaining slices from Pansy’s basket.
Months ago, this might have offended Pansy, registering as nothing more than another example of “rude” goblins understanding nothing of manners. Now, she found Thorn’s enthusiasm – and the gusto with which he wolfed down each slice – somewhat endearing.
And maybe, on some level, so did Ren, now returned, given the way their mouth twitched before they said, “You’re going to turn into a pumpkin pie at this rate.”
Thorn retorted with something that might’ve been “No, I won’t”, but had otherwise been rendered unintelligible due to an imbalance in the ratio of pie to mouth-space.
Turning to Pansy, Ren held up a surprisingly scant bundle of what she assumed was Cold Flower.
“The herbalist was a jerk. Demanded two vials of growth potion in exchange for this pittance, but I managed to get his remaining stock in the end.” They grinned, the flash of triumph across their face hitting Pansy like a bolt to the chest.
All the more certain that this was something she wanted to do, she thrust the crown out towards Ren. “Here,” she said, barely able to stay still as every inch of her buzzed with anticipation. “This is for you.”
Ren blinked at the flower crown now occupying the space between them, seemingly stunned by the fact that Pansy had offered them a gift. “Are you sure?” they asked after a long beat, looking over at her with eyes full of uncertainty, but also hope.
“Of course I’m sure, silly,” Pansy said with a soft laugh. “Why wouldn’t I be? You’re special to me too, Ren, and I want you to know it.”
Ren was kissing her before she even knew it, lips crashing against hers with such desperate want that it almost hurt.
She let out a gasp, largely muffled by the all-consuming heat of Ren’s mouth.
The ground lurched beneath her, sending her scrabbling for purchase against Ren’s back, fingers twisting in the loose fabric of their tunic.
They were tipping her back, she realized, arms sweeping around her waist with surprising strength.
Someone, somewhere, let out a hooting cheer; Thorn, probably, Pansy guessed, the thought hardly more than a distant bubble as she sank into the depths of Ren, their warmth, their smell, the way they seemed to fit against her perfectly.
In that moment, there was nothing beyond them.
When Ren finally pulled away, a handful of heartbeats or an eon later, Pansy nearly whined at the loss, her grip on their shoulders turning all the more desperate, insistent.
But they weren’t alone, even less so now than before.
And Pansy quickly shoved aside the heat building in the very depths of her belly in favor of some semblance of decorum.
That wasn’t to say it was easy – especially once she caught sight of Ren, breathing heavily beside her, their lips dark and wet and gleaming.
Gods, they looked positively wrecked.
Thankfully, Thorn was there to douse the fire that flared back to life inside her, clapping two large hands on either of their shoulders as he said, “So, are we thinking about a summer wedding, then?”
“Wedding?” Pansy repeated breathlessly, the word dragging her right back to the cold, hard earth without mercy.
“Oh, yeah!” Thorn grinned. “I’ve always wanted to go to a halfling wedding. I hear they’re wild!”
He might have said something more – about goblin weddings or summer weddings or some other sort of wedding – but Pansy was no longer listening. Her head swam, lost in the panicked thrum of her own pulse. Had she just accidentally proposed? It was just supposed to be a gift!
It’s called a “Union Crown”, dummy. Of course it’s a proposal, sneered a voice from the back of her mind, a reminder that instantly left her feeling foolish. Because Thorn had called it that. How could she have missed it?
But is it really so bad that you did? asked another voice, kinder and gentler than the one that had preceded it.
No, Pansy supposed not. But her error had already made itself known, and Ren was looking at her with something like betrayal – or, hopefully, just disappointment – skittering across their features.
“We need to talk,” they said, grabbing her by the hand and yanking her away from the growing crowd, now swelling with a different sort of hooting, led, unsurprisingly, by Thorn.
There might have been some words shouted, too; something along the lines of “We’ll see you in the morning! The whole clan can’t wait to celebrate!” But Pansy, for better or worse, was no longer listening.
“Talk” turned out to be a rather generous way of putting it, given the two of them ended up sitting largely in silence once they reached their destination, another cavern, significantly smaller than the first, located several offshoots away.
They were closer to the surface now, as evidenced by the night sky, glimpsed beyond a massive tear in the cavern’s ceiling.
Water dribbled through it, sliding down thick sheets of moss and cascading vines before dropping, at last, into a large, impossibly blue pond, its waters turned reflective in the light of the full moon.
“So…” Ren said at last, their gaze fixed on the nearby waterline lapping gently at moss-covered banks. The word hung between them, as impossible to ignore as a barrel loaded to the brim with spellpowder. “You didn’t know what that garland meant, did you?”
“No,” Pansy admitted, after a beat spent worrying her lower lip.
Ren blew out a bitter-sounding huff. “Right.” Reaching up, they grabbed the crown, still perched atop their head, the oranges and reds of its flowers contrasting beautifully with their dark hair.
“Wait,” Pansy said, before they could start to remove it.
Their eyes snapped to her, confusion and hope – that same damnable hope! – streaking across their brow. If the hesitation steadily clotting in Pansy’s throat had planned to seize her, it had already missed its chance. No way could she back down now.
Swallowing, she curled her fingers into the fabric of her skirt, uncaring of the new creases she dragged across its surface.
It was already wrinkled beyond belief anyway; not to mention covered in mud.
“Do you…? Are you sure you actually want to marry me?” she asked.
“I mean, Thorn’s right. Halfling weddings can get pretty crazy.
” She huffed out a small laugh, only to cringe at how flat it sounded, even to her own ears.
“Pansy,” Ren said, their tone nothing short of serious, and when she turned, she found them watching her with an intensity not even the sun itself could hope to match.
“No one else has made me feel the way you do. My day is better simply because you’re in it.
And when I think about the future, I can’t imagine sharing the rest of my life with any other person.
So, yes, I’m absolutely certain I want to marry you. ”
“Ren, I—” Pansy choked, the font of emotion welling up inside her less of a steady stream and more like an erupting geyser.
Dozens of words rose to her lips, each more inadequate than the last. Honestly, how could she hope to encapsulate all this – the rush of warmth, buzzing just beneath her skin; the way her chest felt like it was primed to burst – in a handful of syllables? It was impossible!
And still, she had to try.
“I want…” she started to say, in halting, half-strangled speech.
“I want to wake up beside you every day, with no more blanket walls to separate us. I want to help you in the garden, even if I’m bad at it and, yeah, kind of don’t like it, because what I like most is being with you.
I want to see you smile every time I cook your favorite foods, and I want you to tell me when you don’t like something, so I don’t make it for you again.
I want—” It was then that the sob welling up in her throat finally got loose, tearing through her so fiercely her entire being shook from it.
Ren’s eyes widened. “What? Why are you crying?” They reached for her, panic sweeping through their voice like an arc of lightning tearing across the sky.
“I’m…” Pansy sniffled, her lips parting around a sodden laugh that to Ren’s ears, no doubt, sounded like a sob. “I’m just so happy! I was worried you wouldn’t want to be with me. Because – because of what happened at the festival.”
For a moment, they could only gape at her. “The – the festival? I couldn’t care less about what happened at the damn festival.”
“But Agvaldir—”
“Well, I’m not talking about marrying him, am I? I love you, Pansy. And, from the sound of it, it seems like you feel similarly about me.”
“I-I do,” she said, rushing the words out so quickly she nearly tripped over them. “I love you too, Ren.”
“Then smile!” said Ren, sounding as exasperated as they were perplexed. “Don’t cry! What in the world is wrong with you? Who cries when they’re happy?”
Pansy laughed again, louder this time. “Well, I do, and you better get used to it,” she said, swiping at the dampness clinging to her cheeks. “Because I’m definitely going to cry at our wedding.”
Huffing out a breath, Ren shook their head. “Honestly… What am I going to do with you?”
“Kiss me until I can’t think straight?” Pansy suggested, a hopeful lilt rising to the corner of her mouth.
Ren snorted. “You’re incorrigible,” they muttered, but they were already shifting towards her, one leg sweeping over her hips. “At least this time I don’t have to worry about you causing a scene in public.”
“Me?” Pansy asked, aghast, even as she let Ren ease her down onto the soft bed of moss beneath her. “You were just as much a part of that as I was!”
“Because you drive me crazy,” Ren breathed, each word misting hot against her lips. “I look at you, and suddenly it’s like the rest of the world doesn’t exist.”
Pansy fully expected them to kiss her then. By that point, they practically had her aching for it. But, instead, they dipped their head towards her neck, peppering the skin there with quick, butterfly-soft kisses.
“Ah! Ren,” she whined, arching up into them, “don’t tease. I’m getting moss stains all over my clothes for this.”
“Shall I play the part of the hero, then?” Ren intoned, their voice turning husky, seemingly dropping a whole octave as their fingers skimmed up her side, each point of contact another charged spark between them. “And divest you of your clothes?”
“Yes,” Pansy said, her voice hitching as Ren’s fingers, needing no further encouragement, slipped beneath the hem of her skirt to trace the white-hot outline of her thigh. “I think I’d like that very much.”