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The bell over the door chimed as Vex pushed into one of the many shops around Pumat Sol Exandria, the warm scent of incense and old parchment drifting out to greet them. Tary followed close behind, arms full of lists he’d rewritten three times on the walk over.
A Pumat, one of the middle ones, waved cheerfully. “Welcome, welcome! Feel free to peruse, friends.” His voice made Tary calm, as he waved back. Vex nodded back and drifted toward a display of enchanted arrows. Tary hovered near her, pretending to examine a rack of potions but mostly juggling the fighting with his hem and keeping the paper smooth.
“You’ve been quiet,” she said, not looking up from the arrows. His ears tightened, and he could feel them grow warm.
Tary cleared his throat and squinted at a stack of mess kits. “Just… thinking. About supplies. And… other things."
Vex plucked an arrow, tested its balance, and finally turned to him. “Other things like your father.”
Tary winced. “Was I that obvious?”
“Pain usually is.”
He let out a shaky breath. “No, no. I am great! I loved seeing my father again.”
Vex stepped closer, lowering her voice. “He doesn’t know you.”
“He does. He knows I will never be a Darrington hero....I won't be a hero. I am not good enough."
Vex leaned a hip against the counter, watching him with that sharp, perceptive calm of hers.
“That’s your problem, Tary. You’re trying to look like a hero instead of realizing you already act like one.”
He blinked at her. “I… do?”
She nodded toward the potions he’d been pretending to inspect. “You’re here because you want to keep everyone safe. You’re thinking ahead. Preparing. Writing things down. That’s heroism.”
Tary swallowed hard. “It doesn’t feel like enough.”
“It never does, because of our parents. They always have a different idea of what we are supposed to be."
He looked down at his hands, the gloves, the careful stitching, the way he always kept them immaculate. “I just want to be someone worth choosing, like Percy is. It is as if he is everything I am not.”
Vex rolled her eyes. “Look, I know you love your father, and you were right. He doesn't care, so why do you? I know he is your father, but he isn't acting like a dad. You are someone worth choosing; we did. Vox Machina doesn’t keep people around out of pity. We keep them because they matter.”
Tary’s breath hitched. “Even if I’m not… legend-Darrington?”
“Especially then,” she said with a smile. “Legends are exhausting. Real people are better. Even if you are a little much, we aren't going to let you down.”
"I'm sorry." He felt tears welling in his eyes.
Vex set her hand on his shoulder. "I am proud of you, Tary."
He felt his stomach lurch. "I'm sorry."
Vex hugged him. "You don't have to be sorry anymore." He wrapped his arms around Vex.
"I'm sorry." He wished he could stop saying it, that it wasn't a habit. He wished every time someone spoke to him, it didn't remind him of the way he knelt at his dad's feet, begging for forgiveness.
A Pumat wandered by, arms full of scrolls. Vex pulled away. Tary felt heavier as if he left a hug behind, for now, free from his dad. “Y’all doing alright over here?”
Tary managed a small smile. wiping his face. “Yes. Actually… yes.”
Vex nudged him toward the counter. “Good. Now help me pick out something explosive for Grog. He’ll be thrilled.”
Tary laughed, a real, warm sound, and followed her deeper into the shop, the weight on his shoulders just a little lighter. If only gunpowder were lighter.