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Elsie likes to think she spotted it first.
After all, back in the Capital, she had dozens upon dozens of romances, and he seen just as many blossom along the way. So when the new farmer showed up, well—she figured it was only a matter of time before someone sparked her interest.
Mistria was a small town, smaller after the earthquake. Available partners weren’t exactly common like they were in the Capital. Surely it was a matter of time before someone started fancying the new farmer.
Who wouldn’t? After all, Isabella seemed flawlessly perfect. Helpful, eager to learn, friendly, and objectively pretty.
One thing that Elsie notices very early on is that Isabella liked gifting presents to people, out of the blue. Mostly flowers, that first spring, and the occasional fruit from a tree or crop she had harvested, but later on trinkets from the mines or food she had cooked at the inn.
And since Elsie loved gossip, she figured it was a win-win to share some of what she knew with the farmer. Gossip sessions with Isabella were almost as much fun as they were with Juniper.
It was how Elsie came to notice it first; the way Isabella always poked just a little bit more about what their traveling merchant liked. The way she would blush whenever Elsie poked a little too much about the obvious interest.
With Balor, however, it was harder to tell. Though he loved good gossip almost as much as she did, he gave away very little about his personal life, and his tells were few and far in between.
But Elsie knew how to work people, even the skittish ones. She began to notice the way he would look towards the tavern door whenever it opened up, brightening when the farmer walked through. The way she caught him musing about an article of clothing and wondering if Isabella would like it.
Likely, young Balor didn’t even recognize it himself, if she had to guess. But Elsie knew.
“Soooo… who do you think is going to confess first?”Elsie asks as she pulls out a barstool and leans over the counter.
Next to her, Olric hums, taking a sip from his beer. “What are you talking about?”
Eiland, though, is a bit quicker to catch on, her eyes following Elsie’s towards a now-familiar sight at the front of the bar. He is, after all, much more familiar with his aunt’s interests than most.
There, at the front, is Balor and Isabella, the same as they have been for the past two months. Isabella’s hands gesticulate wildly as she tells some sort of story to the merchant, who’s leaning forward, full attention on her.
“The farmer and Balor, of course,” Elsie continues. “Jo, dear, can I have a glass of white whine, please?”
“Coming right up.”
As Josephine bustles off to get Elsie’s drink, Olric sets his mug down, frowning, and glances over towards the two. “What about them?”
Eiland tries not to jump when Juniper appears on the seat next to him. Based on the smirk he gets, he’s entirely unsuccessful.
“What she means, my dear simpleton, is that Balor and Isabella are completely smitten with each other.”
Oh great. Eiland sighs, shoving another spoonful of pudding into his mouth. As much as he loves hearing his aunt’s gossip from the Capital, it’s a little different when it comes to people in Mistria, especially his friends.
Though, Eiland also can’t deny that it’s… pretty obvious to pretty much anyone who knows anything about romance. He’s seen the way she’s taken gems from the mines to give to Balor, the way he can later catch Balor looking at them when she’s not around.
“Oh yeah! That’s awesome, how good of friends they are.”
…Unless you’re Olric, who probably wouldn’t know romance even if someone tongue-kissed him. Eiland loves the guy, he really does, but his… simplemindedness, for lack of a better word… Well. He’d never seen anything like it.
Elsie, at least, takes it stride and laughs, while Juniper does the opposite and drops her head on the bar.
“They’re much more than that, you know,” his aunt says, glancing over at them again.
“Woah, like best friends?”
“Or, rather, they will be, if one of them can actually work up the courage to say something about it,” Josephine says as she comes back, setting Elsie’s glass down on the counter, steadfastly ignoring Olric.
“Hmph. Isabella doesn’t exactly strike me as the most forward of people,” Juniper muses. “Or, rather, she’s unnervingly friendly with just about everyone in town. It’d be hard to notice a difference in behavior, I think.”
Josephine hums. “Well, Balor is very secretive. He keeps a lot of people at arm’s length. He’s been coming to Mistria for four years now and I still don’t know that much about him.”
Eiland supposes that was true. The perils of being a traveling merchant, he muses as he takes another bite of his pudding; it’s harder to put down roots.
“Well, now you can see where my curiosity comes from,” his aunt barges on, swirling her wine in her glass. “Neither of them seem to be the type to make the first move, hmm?”
Eiland really, really shouldn’t be entertaining this.
“Well… Balor seems to me like he’d be the traditionally romantic type. I think if he did like the farmer, I could see him being to one to make the first move.”
“I do think Isabella’s… generosity would make it hard to determine any deeper meaning behind her actions,” Juniper muses.
“Still, she’s a lot more forthcoming and friendly than Balor is,” Josephine adds on, refilling Olric’s glass. “It would probably be harder to pry any sort of truth out of Balor than Isabella.”
“Yeah, she is! Friendly, that is. Isabella keeps giving me cool rocks and ores she finds in the mines.”
It seems like she’s been doing that with just about everyone, Eiland muses. Especially Balor. Not that he’s complaining about the extra treats.
“Well, I do know that Isabella went to the summit alone during the festival,” Juniper muses. Was it just Eiland’s imagination, or did she sound smug at that? Ugh. “Perhaps you’re all just overthinking it.”
“She has only been here a little over half a year,” Eiland says anyway, squinting at Juniper. While he likes to think they’re friends, he’s not exactly sure he would have said yes if she had asked him to the shooting star festival. “And not everyone is as inclined towards spur the moment romances like you, Aunt Elsie.”
“These things can take time,” Josephine tacks on.
At that moment, as if summoned by the mere mention of his name multiple times in a row, Balor appears at the counter on the other side of Elsie. Josephine smiles like they hadn’t all just hadn’t been gossiping about his love life.
“Hey, Balor! How’s the meal coming along?”
“Great, Josephine,” the merchant replies, reaching for his purse. “I’d like to add another order of cheesy bread, though. Isabella and I have been tearing through this one.”
Was it simply the conversation getting to him, or was Balor blushing? Eiland couldn’t quite move to get a better view without being obvious about it.
“No problem! I’ll go tell Reina to get started on that, it should be out soon.”
“Thanks!” Balor drops some tesserae on the ground, before turning to face them with a raised eyebrow. “And if I wanted to hear baseless gossip about me, I’d go back to the Capital.”
Juniper makes a tsking sound, put out about having been caught. Josephine bustles to the back as though she had no saying in the conversation. Elsie just smiles, shooting him a wink. Eiland sighs and goes to finish his pudding.
“Gossip? About what?” Olric asks, continuing to eat his meal unperturbed.
Balor just sighs.
The farmer liked giving gifts.
It was something Ryis had noticed back as early as spring. He or any other townsfolk would be simply going about their day, when Isabella would pounce upon them like a cat, handing out gifts with a beaming smile, be it flowers, crafting supplies, crops or home-cooked meals.
To be honest, it reminded him of something, he just couldn’t say what. But it was charming, in a very Isabella way. Even if she didn’t always get it right, he appreciated the effort.
He didn’t mind it, and neither did anyone else—even March, as much as he complained about her at the beginning. He was prideful, sure, but not so much so that he would turn down free ore.
It was nice to see March warming up to the farmer as time went by. His fiery personality had put Ryis off at first, and he was worse towards Isabella. He was glad the blacksmith didn’t run her out of town like that. She was single-handedly keeping the town afloat.
Though, Ryis admits as he watches March inspecting the wheels, Balor also has a lot to do with it.
“I don’t think it’s the wheels this time—maybe something with the undercarriage itself?” The merchant hedges, leading his horse away from the cart. “I went over a few big bumps on my way there and back. Now that the snow’s melting, it’s creating bigger divots in the road than my wagon can handle.”
“Don’t worry, whatever it is, we can fix it,” Ryis reassures as though they don’t have this song and dance at least once a month.
Balor sighs, dropping the reigns and rubbing his hands. “You know, I feel like half my pay goes towards baths at the bathhouse in summer, and the other half goes towards getting this thing fixed.”
A gleam caught Ryis’ eye, and he turns his head towards it.
His eyes widen. “Is that a new bracelet, Balor?”
Adorning Balor’s left wrist is a simple silver band, with leaf-like indents on it, each one adorned with an emerald chip. The sunlight catches off of it nicely, though it tries its best to blind Ryis.
“Oh? This?” Ryis notes with interest the pink that color Balor’s cheeks as he looks down at his wrist, covering it up in a motion that seems unintentional. Hm. Though Balor wasn’t the kind of person to flaunt his wealth, he wasn’t exactly subtle about it either. “Ah- yes, actually, it is.”
“It’s very nice. The craftsmanship was well done. Did March do it?”
“As much as I would love to take credit for it, blacksmithing isn’t the same as jewelry making. Though I can’t disagree with Ryis’ statement.”
“Did you get it when you were in the Capital?” It would make sense—Balor does go to the Capital a lot, by virtue of his job. Whatever isn’t locally sold goes there, and there’d be a lot of places to get nice jewelry there. Ryis could remember three different jewelry stores near his family’s bakery alone.
“Sort of?” Ryis kneels down, setting his toolbox on the ground so he can get started on figuring out what’s wrong with the wagon this time. “Bella’s given me so many emeralds, and I don’t want to sell them but I didn’t know what else to do with them either. Then I saw the gem bracelet she donated to the museum and it got me thinking. And I happen to know a rather exceptional jeweler in the city. It was finally finished this trip.”
March sighs, taking a seat next to Ryis. “Why am I not surprised. I can’t believe that she just finds more gems and ore than either of us could afford in a year and just hands them out.”
“You say that, and yet just the other day you were asking me for advice on what to make with that perfect iron ore she got you,” Ryis reminds March, elbowing him.
The blacksmith sputters. “Wh- that’s different! At least I can use the ores for stuff. What worth do gems have other than to sell for money so other people can look nice with them?”
“I will admit, no matter how many times it happens, I’m still always a little caught off guard,” Balor muses. Out of the corner of his eye, Ryis can see the kids speeding out of the town, followed by a harried-looking Reina.
“I think it’s kinda cute,” Ryis admits, smiling at the cook, who seems too busy chasing the kids to notice. “It’s like how Reina is always making food when people are sick or she thinks they haven’t eaten enough. Also, what do you think the Dragonguard did now?”
The conversation steers in other directions after that, but after that initial remark, he… well, he starts to notice a pattern.
Now, Ryis knows about as much as Balor as the next person, which is practically nothing. What he does know, however, is the slowly increasing amount of jewelry the merchant stars wearing. Curious, because for all his talk about the proper looks, he doesn’t actually have that much jewelry. Or at least not as much as any of the other merchants he’s seen in the Capital.
But after that conversation, Ryis notices not just that bracelet, but others two. At least three different, alternating bracelets, one new earring and even a ring. Ryis doesn’t mention all of them, but he notices the way Balor looks at them sometime.
And then one day, Ryis is carrying some wood back to the shop when she spots Balor and Isabella, the two of them talking animatedly… and Balor holding a small box behind him.
At this point, Ryis isn’t entirely unaware of the farmer’s feelings towards Balor—most of the town isn’t, really—though he was curious if it was mutual or not. He wonders if it just might be so.
Later that evening, the farmer comes by to see what she would need for a new house upgrade when Ryis notices a new necklace. Ryis raises his eyebrows.
“Ooh, I like the necklace, Isabella. Where’d you get it? I thought you normally don’t wear jewelry.”
Isabella’s hand goes up and rests on said necklace, a flush crossing her cheeks. “Oh! Uhm, normally I don’t, nice jewelry is far too expensive for me, but- Balor got this for me when he went to the Capitol the other day.”
“A gift, hm?” Ryis knows damn well her birthday is in fall, not spring. “Any particular reason why?”
“I think as a thank you gift?” The blush gets deeper as the farmer looks down at it. “I mean, he mentioned I’ve been doing a lot for Mistria this past year, I think he wanted to do something nice.”
Ah, Balor. If Ryis knew the merchant better, he might have something to say about that, but he doesn’t, so he drops it instead.
Three days later, Ryis is birdwatching out by the eastern road when it hits him.
“It’s a courtship thing,” he says outloud, to no one. “They’re giving each other gifts like they’re birds.”
He needs to tell Elsie immediately.
When Hemlock heard that Balor and Isabella went to the Shooting Star festival together, well… he was excited.
Out of everyone in town, Hemlock liked to think to think he knew the merchant the best. Which, really, wasn’t saying much at all, but still. What little Hemlock did know seemed like enough.
The kid’s had it rough, that’s for sure. Rough in a way that he’d hate for any of his own kids to go through. It was why that, even if for little bits at a time, Hemlock was able to help Balor here and there. A free room at the inn, an extra helping of dinner waiting when the merchant came back late, a sympathetic ear when needed.
Early on, Hemlock had accepted Balor likely wouldn’t easily change in his ways; cautious, independent, closed off. All he could hope is that someone would be able to reach the merchant in a way he or any of the other townsfolk couldn’t.
That person was, aptly, Isabella—Mistria’s new farmer, whose sole existence seemed hand-crafted to help Mistria in any way possible.
Even before the festival, gossip had been circulating for months, the way the two seemed to circle around each other. Hemlock stayed out of it best he could, out of respect, but being a bartender, not overhearing it was practically impossible.
The night after, Jo tells him about the light in Balor’s room. Hemlock just smiles and kisses her cheek.
It’s enough for her to get it, and Josephine smiles and says that Balor is a very lucky man.
“Not as lucky as me,” Hemlock jokes, and her smile is still as radiant as it was the day he first asked her to the festival all those years ago.
Three weeks later, when Balor asks Hemlock for a favor, cheeks bright pink, he agrees. The Sleeping Dragon Inn, after all, has catered dozens of first dates over the years.
Frankly, when Wheedle does walk in, a part of Hemlock wants to bash him over the head with his lute.
“Of all the times,” Josephine hisses as Hemlock regrettably pours a glass of their finest. “Should we tell him to just fuck off and come back another time, or lie and say that Balor isn’t here?”
Hemlock shakes his head. “I don’t think that’d help.” After all, while he didn’t exactly hear the full extent of Wheedle’s business the last time he was here… Well. He didn’t think Wheedle was the type of man to give a damn.
“Plus, I think there’s more to this… thing, between Wheedle and Balor than we know. It might be best for Balor to deal with it himself.”
Josephine sighs. “Right. I’ll go tell him, then.”
It doesn’t take more than five minutes, though, before Balor comes storming down the steps, eyes narrowed, Isabella hot on his heels. Hemlock pretends to busy himself organizing some dishes as Wheedle leans back in his chair.
Frankly, Hemlock wasn’t sure if it was his place to hear the conversation that followed. The way Balor’s eyes flicked between him, Josephine and Isabella makes his chest tight.
He could see it, that brief moment of worry in the merchant’s eyes after Wheedle calls him a crook, the clenched fists as his secrets are aired out for the three of them to hear. Even hearing Balor’s shame-tinged confirmation of it makes it worse, as though he’s worried one of them might give him up to a soldier.
Hemlock, though, doesn’t give a damn. He’s seen the way the merchant’s changed since coming here, his sincerity to help those in need, the way he worked to help Mistria rebuild.
“Shut the hell up, Wheedle.”
Apparently, Isabella is of the same mindset, pushing past Balor to get right in the salesman’s face. Hemlock’s eyes widen, and he can see Balor’s doing the same, before a soft, almost fond, smile crosses his face.
“Hah! Took the words right out of my mouth!”
Yeah, Hemlock thinks, watching the salesman storm off, Balor’s arm looped around Isabella’s waist. Those two are good for each other.