“Whoa there,” Childe catches you before you can throw yourself into another pile of work. “Slow down, comrade. When was the last time you took a break?”
He recognises it; the desperation hidden in your tone when you tell him there’s too much to do to mess around, and that you were fine.
You were obviously not fine. Childe has seen many work themselves to the bone only to burn out in terrible ways. He doesn’t want that to happen to you - selfishly, he likes you better with some light in your eyes.
“Then how about this? Come have lunch with me, and I swear I’ll let you get back to work after.” He extends his hand to you, palm up, with a boyish smile. You wonder if he’s been in your position before, in some shape or form. “But you have to promise not to think about work while we’re hanging out, alright? Focus on one target at a time.”
“…Traveler.” Zhongli’s voice is gentle as he sets a teapot onto your desk. A calming aroma drifts from it; when did he brew that? Were you so distracted that you hadn’t heard him?
The man only chuckles at the question written on your face. “I’ve been here for a while.” He gestures to the window, sunlight streaming in like ribbons from a dance. “You’ve been working for hours.”
…You didn’t have the time for what he was suggesting. There would be other days, where–
When you meet those amber eyes, you feel your excuses deflate. “…Perhaps I’ll go for a walk, just a short one.”
There’s amusement in the way he pretends this wasn’t the outcome he was hoping for - for you to take a break, however short, and remember there was a world outside filled with color. A bit of the weight on your shoulders lifts as you take a walk with him, allowing your world to slow down.
“Catching up… to me?” Ganyu repeats in surprise. Understanding crosses her face when she realises how her work habits must’ve made you feel. Guilt comes next; she’s promised you a long time ago that she would take care of herself, but it seems like she’s failed to recognise when you started to need the same attention.
“Y/N, please don’t ever feel like you have to match or surpass anyone’s progress.” Ganyu’s gaze holds yours, and you’re unable to look away. She takes both your hands to give them a squeeze.
“There is value in you regardless of work results. You’re plenty irreplaceable without pushing yourself like this; your friendship in itself has made an impact on me, more than you’d know.”
“I… I wish to be someone you can rely on, just as you’ve accepted my insecurities.” Ganyu laughs lightly. “I suppose in that way, we’re both hoping to catch up with one-another, so don’t treat yourself too harshly, alright?”
10:12PMldon’t you know in your heart is a powerto change everything?
you used to swat his touch away without thinking about it. a hand on your shoulder, an arm around your waist, any inkling of childeattempting to cozy up to you was immediately ignored.
and despite the title that loomed over his head, or the knowledge of his power that stuck itself in yours, it would only delight him. the man known to kill without a second thought would merely tilt back his head and let out a hearty laugh, as if your rejection was the most charming thing.
“do you trust me?” he’d ask, hand outstretched obnoxiously.
i don’t trust you because i know you, you had always thought. though, he never really needed to hear it to know the reason behind your coldness.
“not particularly.” you’d reply, lips turning up with the ghost of a smile.
because while your feelings towards him have always been quite clear, you are bound to him by contract – a spy and a harbinger, brought together by nothing more than the duties that plague you. your relationship is a convenience moved by the tsaritsa’s will alone.
but, playing such a role requires it, trust. you’ve always liked to think that childe understands this as well as you do. that being truly close to him is not something that aligns with your interests.
hence, you thought you would be happy when he finally forced himself away from you. you thought that a bit of space was all you needed to calm the incessant burning in your chest, something you’d assumed was annoyance.
yet, instead of your heart forgetting the stimulation, it grew restless.
perhaps that’s what pushed you to make exceptions you shouldn’t have. drunk on backfiring change, an eager heart had persuaded you beyond points you had planned to explore, to a point you were always forbidden to know.
you still pushed away childe’s hands and friendly words with ease, but your personal turmoils made the moments you were forced to act more real.
“may i?”
in that snezhnayan town square, he had extended his arm to you. an invitation you could only stare at, wondering which persona of yours would fight its way to the surface first.
“it would be my pleasure.” you respond, lips curling into a dainty smile that poked at your already softening resolve.
you were contracted to act like this. you were contacted to look enamoured with the tall man in front of you, so long as other eyes are on you. but it was the public’s trust you needed to gain, so why did it seem like his was beginning to mean more?
you had no choice but to look a bit deeper into the man’s adoring eyes, into the look that despite the man’s personal convictions, was supposedly only a show.
and as your heart finally began to still, you were thrown further from the tsaritsa’s path than you had ever intended.
sometimes, you wonder what happened to that fearless and daring person you had once been. you had successfully stared your future in the eyes many times, calm all the while, as if there wasn’t a worse punishment than pretending to be in love with someone you were trying so hard to avoid.
i’ve become weak, you think, as you eye childe’s outstretched hand.
“do you trust me?” he asks, grin wide.
because you are no longer in a position where you will deny yourself the things you want, you take it. you take his hand and even though it’s not the first time his fingers have locked with yours, or you’ve felt your heart jump at the trace of contact, you smile.
♡ When everything you know is shrouded in light, it’s often hard to remember to peek into the darkness. Your family has long since been a part of those who avoid it, choosing to hide comfortably amongst the high ranks of Mondstadt’s nobility. Your father, the King, has fought hard to keep it that way, especially following the Queen’s unfortunate death. However, with a sudden push from the Fatui, certain old wounds are quickly reopened.
It’s why upon tragedy striking, you aren’t alone in the assumption that the foreign nation is to blame. But when unseen circumstances quickly push the question of the culprit’s identity over to you, you find that the situation is much deeper than meets the eye. Between the mysterious nature of an unknown killer, familial doubts, and the 11th Harbinger launching himself into the scene by making an attempt on your life, you think you’re completely in over your head.
Even if Childe claims you have the picture all wrong.
And so, in a gruesome twist of events, you’re faced with a choice – trust Childe’s convenient involvement and get to the bottom of everything together, or risk becoming victims yourselves.
♡ warnings: mentions of death + father issues
♡ word count: 6.08k
The purpose of your detour was not lost on you, truly – but, Diluc should have known better than to suggest that the glaring displeasure you hold for your father will ever be anything but potent. Such a record can’t be easily forgotten, and you’re reminded of the same foul feelings the very moment you step into the castle again, when a travelling troupe sweeps right by you.
You wave to the friendly ringleader that side-steps you, but you can’t help the way your smile drops at their departing backs. Their presence can only mean the preparation of the yearly celebration of Ludi Harpastum. A bitter feeling manifests in your chest as you watch them depart.
Sooner or later, you’ll need to begin thinking about making preparations yourself, but the timing is oddly cruel. The sister celebrations themselves are still two months away, and the subtle reminder is almost insulting – it’s as if someone has thrown a time bomb at you, giving you the honour of watching it tick and tick and tick, until you’re reminded of the event you too can’t bear to postpone.
It’s what sends you to the king’s office, barging in without so much as a knock. If your father wants to try and stop you from fixing things yourself, fine. If he wants to hide behind his claims of business and responsibility, so be it – but you won’t let his fear take the memory of your mother away from you.
He looks up immediately. You take great pleasure in the surprise that passes over his features in the split second it takes him to recognise your face. But, the king doesn’t even attempt to comment as you come forwards, leaving the large door slightly ajar in your wake.
“Good afternoon.” You comment idly, slipping into one of the chairs in front of his desk. A thick silence permeates the air as your father acknowledges you with an empty gaze
“___,” His weary tone of voice warns you, though there is a noticeable layer of uncertainty – has he done enough to be unsure of what you find issue with?
“Choose your next words carefully.” He says.
“…I was targeted and left in hospice for a week, if you haven’t already forgotten.” You take in a breath, purposefully avoiding his gaze as an unsteady finger points to your covered neck. Diluc had ingeniously suggested patching it up again, knowing that this time, you would have no choice but to accept.
Having such a physical piece of evidence surrounding the event your father had left you to handle alone, you would rather bet on the slim chance that it will glean a drop of sympathy from him; or, more importantly, an explanation of some kind.
“But, I’m told you had more concerning matters to deal with.”
Letting your hand drop again, you frown.
“Master Diluc informed me that you neglected to visit, even once.” You point out quietly, hating the way your voice trembles. “I just– I’m not sure what to think. Why? Where were you?”
Your father goes silent.
“If something had happened to me, would you have just tacked my name next to my mother’s and let the people of Mondstadt honour me for you?”
Hurt flashes across his face, perhaps the most emotion you’d seen from him in ages. When he doesn’t answer you press on quietly,“…Can’t you at least give me some kind of explanation?”
“…You must understand. ___, someone was killed this morning.” Your father mumbles, thick brows twitching with a foreign sense of defeat. “I’m afraid to do much.”
A barrage of feelings crash into your chest. At first, you assume that he’s merely trying to change the subject, but slowly, the rest of his sentence reaches you.
In an instant, your chest curls in on itself. The familiar deep-rooted feeling of shame cracks through your ribs, begging to sprout from the cage of bone you’ve long since confined it to. It blocks you from the world with a vengeance. You’d been so selfish that you’d barely even considered how life had continued on without you.
He reassures you quietly, unaware of the struggle you fight within your own head. “I left you alone only because you would be better protected there.”
Unable to help the frown that slips onto your features, you deflate slightly in your chair. Your heart beats wildly at the words you know are a lie – the nuns are as helpless as any citizen in the event of a threat. But you don’t bother to correct him anymore.
“…Who?” You ask softly.
He fixes you with an unconvinced look, taking in your slouch and dressed neck. You hadn’t gotten the opportunity to look in the mirror since waking up in the infirmary, but you can only imagine your appearance would be enough to shock any other noble sharing your name into their own room in hospice.
But, the king looks at you in an odd way for a moment. Something in you wavers as he releases a breath, accepting whatever judgement he had just come to the conclusion of.
“The harbinger contacted a lawyer from Snezhnaya, to help with the case proceedings.” A shallow laugh leaves the man. “Something about missing out on a home court advantage.”
You let out a helpless sigh. How predictable of an order.
“But, that lawyer was found on the brink of death outside of his jail cell this morning.”
You hesitate. “How were they…?”
“She was killed in the same way my chamberlain was.” He admits. “But, I don’t know if the culprit is the harbinger locked up right now, it’s too soon to tell.”
As silence begins to sink in between you, you sigh. “…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions so easily. You know, it’s just, with what happened to Mom—“
“She would be happy to know history didn’t repeat itself.” Your father interrupts you, and suddenly reminded of who you’re talking to, you revert to a nod.
“Yeah.” You breathe, chest tightening. “Right.”
Her sense of trust had gotten her killed, but first and foremost, your mother’s life was stolen from her in almost the same circumstances you almost lost yours. An intruder had snuck in almost expertly. Though, unlike Childe, they had wasted no time in making their decision.
For weeks, the culprit was unknown, until it was discovered that a maid had cleverly devised a way into the royal bedchambers one night. The motive is thought to be a robbery gone wrong, seeing as the young woman was discovered to be dressed in your mother’s jewellery upon capture.
You suspect the reason your father refuses to acknowledge it is because he feels some sort of blame — after all, it has been his decision to send the queen to bed early that night. Your mother had been a capable woman, ruling her country and raising her child with the same beaten hands. A break was only what the woman deserved.
The maid originally took advantage of the odd night only to attempt stealing a few necklaces. But, it was just by some count of misfortune that your mother had stirred mistakenly, causing the anxious young woman to pull a knife.
Despite the holes that litter the story due to reiteration, the detail that remains in each is the fact that the queen had simply been dreadfully unlucky. Still, you had always found the sequence of events strange — especially seeing as your mother wasn’t the biggest collector of jewellery anyway. You’d always noticed that everything she owned was well worn, though of course, you had little sense of value then.
“Well, let me remind you:” Your father brings you out of your thoughts, breaking the tense atmosphere. “Times are changing, and the last thing I need is for you to be caught up in something you shouldn’t be. I told you that I would arrange for investigators, and… I’m in the midst of it. I promise.”
You nod, chest tightening. I know better than to trust that.
Pulling the large mahogany door shut behind you as you depart, you rest your hands on the wood for only a moment. Your body is taut with shame still, so you attempt to shake some feeling back into your limbs. But, faint voices come into earshot exceptionally fast. When you turn your head, you realise it’s only a pair of maids, headed in your direction with a tray of food and linen respectively.
Their chatter is indistinct even as they draw closer, and begrudgingly, you hide your face in the door so as to not reveal yourself. Most maids harbour only the best intentions, however, you’d rather not have your appearance outside the king’s office become a high topic of gossip.
“I keep dropping these off to the prisoner in the dungeon,” An older voice sounds as they pass behind you, the slight shifting of metal indicating a gesture with the tray of food. “But they’re always still completely full when I pick them up again.”
“…Well, I probably wouldn’t be very hungry after this morning if I were him.”
The prisoner? You wrack your brain for a moment, and frown once you realise who they must be chatting about. You’d heard that the Harbinger was jailed when you spoke to Diluc, but hearing about the situation from someone outside of that scope of importance only reminds you how big the situation has grown.
When you turn your head, they’ve already almost disappeared. But, you have the sudden incessant urge to go after them and ask for more information, namely the things your father avoids providing, but sense of duty be damned – your fear stops you first.
You’re not sure you want to face the harbinger just yet.
Habitually, you briefly consider contacting Diluc — the idea of having a friend at your side makes the entire process seem much less daunting. Yet, you hesitate. You’d already taken up so much of his time, you’d feel bad requesting his attention for any longer.
Though, mainly, you’re having an admittedly hard time scrubbing the look he’d given you this morning from your mind. It’s not unusual to see Diluc being exceptionally caring with you, as he knows as well as you do that he is the only person you will let pick up such a role. And yet, something had been innately different. The nature of his gaze, you still can’t quite place it in a way you can understand.
But the quickly fading sound of footsteps pulls you out of your troubles. Whether or not you’re comfortable or ready, there are decisions you will have to make eventually — it’s only a matter of when.
Cursing bitterly beneath your breath, you pivot for a moment before jogging slightly to catch up to the pair. They don’t notice you until you’re beside the one carrying a tray of food, and your face has been painted into a clear smile.
“Hello! Can I stop you two for a second?”
You make yourself known with the easygoing personality that most of the castle staff are more accustomed to, despite the way your nervous heart thumps wildly. Before the chamberlain’s death, it had been simple to fall into the familiar personality. Yet, now, you can barely fathom letting your guard down within the castle’s walls.
The older of the pair regards you familiarly, and half heartedly, you realise that it’s the same maid you had spoken with in the library the night you’d been attacked.
Her eyes wrinkle into a friendly smile as she greets,
“Hello, my lady.” The deep green of her eyes moves over your neck, silently observing. “I was deeply saddened to hear of what happened to you, are you doing alright?”
Bristling slightly, you nod.
“Yes, of course, thank you.” You assure her in a delicate voice, one that she waits patiently at the sound of. Something seems to click in her mind as you gesture to the tray of food in her hands.
It is a singular portion, covered by a silver dome lid — obviously not meant for anyone of importance due to its condition, and very likely going to the man that had tried to kill you only nights ago.
“So, could I… maybe take that off your hands?” You smile slightly, an awkward laugh leaving your lips. “I’m sorry to inconvenience you, but I just recently woke up from the state my injury put me in. I haven’t had real food in about a week.”
Not a lie, technically.
The other younger maid is the first to answer.
“Your highness, this food is certainly not the standard you’re looking for.” She frowns. “Would you like me to make a trip to the kitchens for you?”
“Ah,” You feel yourself go pale as you shake your head. “No, no, that’s alright. I’m not feeling especially picky in a situation like this.”
The maid seems like she wants to say more, but hesitates. In the meantime, the older woman’s gaze turns contemplative.
“…Here, my lady. Take it.” She offers the tray to you, and you can’t help the surprise that permeates your expression. “I can easily fetch another, please go on.”
The thinly-veiled knowing tone should catch you off guard, but at the moment, you’re too relieved your plan had worked to comment. You sigh out your thanks. When you take the tray from her, you know you don’t have any time to waste – so, despite its surprisingly heavy weight, you walk off with it regardless.
It’s strange, the feeling you get when you begin to walk away. You feel like you could easily take on Childe if he suddenly appeared in front of you, and yet, in the same breath, you still realise that you’re terrified of him — it’s a cruel swirl of emotions that messes with your thoughts.
Clearing your throat uselessly, you methodically count your strides with each breath. The sensation of blood rushing into your ears nearly blocks your senses entirely, but you continue on to gain some semblance of control over your pounding heart, if nothing else.
You hate to admit them, your weaknesses. You were raised learning that things such as fear are only hindrances, something that doesn’t deserve your acknowledgement or time. But, you are human, after all – fear is an inevitable experience. You can push away things that you don’t want to face, and avoid those who care a little too much, but you need them. You need them both to be human.
Diluc alone is proof of that. The way you feel when you’re with him, you halfheartedly wonder if that’s how normal people feel all the time. The situation now only proves how deeply your views have cut, and how utterly unable you’re able to deal with the things you dislike.
Your breathing comes out unsteady as you turn your head. The dungeon you’re looking for is extremely close, only a mere few turns away, but still you hesitate. The rational part of you tells you to ignore your nerves, because Childe has lost to you, and he does not deserve to be feared. But, the other is wary of seeing the same wicked curiosity in the man’s sapphire eyes once again.
“…I already got this.” You whisper, reminding yourself of the tray in your hands with a shallow breath. “I can’t back out now.”
In truth, you probably couldjust eat whatever the maid had been ordered to deliver to him. But, that’s another issue entirely; every bite taken would likely only remind you of what you’d chickened out of. If you were reallycommitted to figuring out how to stop these murders from happening again, you would need to gain the courage necessary to face the man that had almost killed you eventually. It would only be hypocritical to avoid the situation now.
It’s why you find yourself meandering down the hallway that leads to the holding cell you’re looking for a few minutes later – because for all of your shortcomings, you will never let yourself handle this issue worse than your father.
There are multiple dungeons that sit hidden around the castle, varying greatly depending on who they’re designed to hold. Crime has always been a fluctuating statistic in Mondstadt, and those before you had been sure to equip you with the resources necessary to keep any potential threats contained.
The ladder in which you determine where someone will go is fairly simple, and the places that the Harbinger could be are naturally at the top of that spectrum – the best of the best guard those doors in locations that are seemingly random, in completely ordinary spaces only to stave off any curious eyes.
For this reason, they’re among the least used of the holding cells.
The one you think of is notably guarded by two knights. Though as a whole, the sight isn’t necessarily unusual, as most doors here and there have some sort of post stationed nearby either way. You only figure it’s the right dungeon because the door is at the end of a long hall, not to mention that the pair of maids had been headed in this direction. But, you can only make your decision quickly and find out.
Begrudgingly, you take a look down at your clothes that aren’t those of a maid, and choose to settle for fashioning your hair to cover your face slightly – every bit of obscurity will help, you think, as you come upon the knights. And despite the urgency you possess, you’re already beginning to regret your decision. Perhaps going out of your way to lie and take the harbinger his meal wasn’t the best idea? After all, the metal platter in your hand is already starting to show its weight.
Though, you have no choice but to go through with your rushed plan when the knights guarding the narrow hall finally notice you. Holding your breath under their immediate scrutiny, you nearly come to a full stop in front of them. But, the two pairs of eyes that meet yours almost unwillingly are silent as they gesture for you to continue ahead.
You’d initially covered your face hastily in anticipation of being recognised, though you aren’t yet sure whether you can accept this strange alternative. Your stomach curdles. All that keeps you walking is merely the possibility of being stopped, so, quickly, you take the hint and pray that their silence is a good thing.
You release a bated breath once you finally reach the unmarked door at the end of the hall.
Surely, you’ve thought this through enough? The arm that holds the platter aches, and for a moment, the weight of your situation strikes you once again. Lip curling, you anxiously try to bat away the sensation that nibbles at what little resolve you’d managed to build. Though, for a weak moment, you do consider it – turning back, forgetting that you’d ever made this rash decision. That you’d been brazen enough to think you could succeed when someone had been in your shoes only hours ago, and had paid for it.
Anyone with sense would be able to tell you that you may be mere steps away from making a grave mistake.
But, your pride has always been stronger than your sense of fear. Facing Childe is something only you can do. Finding the culprit behind these murders is something only you can do, and he may be the only one who can give you the information necessary to do it. It’s for that ironically sympathetic reason that you let your pride win.
When the final moment for someone to intercept you passes peacefully, your clammy hand that grasps the door handle twists. A shrill, damp smell hits you like a wall. The scene that meets you is exceptionally dreary, and suspiciously dark for a time where the sun is at its highest – however, there is somehow no sign of light in the small staircase, so you chalk it up to the rainstorm’s doing.
Your heart skips in a nervous rhythm as you descend the cobblestone stairs cautiously, nudging the door shut in your wake. A terribly simple room unfolds as you take the last steps in – all one shade of brown stone, with the barest of furniture adorning the empty side of the space. And, just as you’d predicted, the amount of light in the pathetic room is small. It leaves most of the space to an assortment of old lamps.
With a small smile, you surmise that it’s only what Childe deserves.
Though, the holding cell opposite everything else is larger than you’d expected. It even falls back into the dark, where you suspect more traditional prison commodities are present. Shifting your weight onto one side, you pointedly ignore the large holding cell opposite the stairs and search for a surface to dump the platter onto. Despite any physical prowess you may have, you regard the pain in your arms bitterly.
You would really rather not acknowledge whoever is behind bars, but alas, it’s what you’ve come all this way for. So, you turn around begrudgingly, leaning forward slightly to let your eyes adjust to the darkness.
For a moment, you truly can’t see a thing. Only the prisoner’s silhouette is visible, and even as you squint, it’s hard to make out distinct features. It’s easy to grumble internally at the embarrassing situation, but all thoughts abruptly cease once you’re able to see properly.
It’s not one silhouette behind the bars, it’s two.
Your blood runs cold as you consider for a moment, had you assumed Childe’s location too quickly? Biting back a curse, your face twitches with regret. If you’d guessed wrong, then who’s cell have you just walked into?
“Ah,” An unfamiliar voice rings out, and the shorter of the two silhouettes suddenly stands up straight. They hold a box in their hand as they do so. “Where’s Christina? Are you delivering the meal today in her place?”
Dully, you register the man’s words. There’s two of them.
Christina is the name of the older maid you’d taken the platter from, expectedly familiar to whoever sits behind the bars now. The most rational conclusion you can manage is that you’d simply just taken the liberty of assuming the prisoner she mentioned was the one you were looking for – but, what does such an assumption mean for you?
If anything, you must have made a wrong judgement somewhere. Perhaps the situation is fortunate, though – with this innocent mix-up, you have the perfect opportunity to turn back and gather yourself for the time you actually manage to find Childe.
“…Yes. She was in a hurry, so she passed it off to me.” You nod slowly as your body relaxes, already trying to outline your escape route. First, you turn to the domed platter you’d sat down previously, attempting to determine the procedures that follow. The shiny metal betrays no secrets regarding the matter.
The man doesn’t respond for a short while, perhaps watching you struggle, before kneeling back down to shift his attention elsewhere.
“I see. I’ll be quick then, please don’t wait up for me.” He says.
You don’t respond. In fact, you barely hear his words over your own inner voice, garbling orders to the hesitant hands that hover over the dish. It would only be right to assume that a maid takes care of all somewhat laborious duties – the small details people usually don’t think of, and very things that set the scene for those ahead. Regrettably, though, you have never paid much attention to the people who complete such duties.
With an inward sigh, you press forward and grasp the handle, lifting the tray. Beneath it is a fittingly plain assortment – nothing more than a smaller plate and a sealed drink.
You stare at the food almost longingly. Despite the meat’s sad look and the even less alluring appearance of the vegetables beside it, you feel like you haven’t eaten in ages. Memories of your days in the infirmary come back to you abruptly, though you do your best to brush them away. They won’t serve you in any way here.
You set the tray down with a bated breath, turning around to ask one last thing – “Is there anything else I can do for you?”
Silence answers you, and for a moment, you think you’ve said something wrong.
“No, thank you.” The man says.
Another laugh rings out, clearly belonging to the person below the other. You aren’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed at the familiar sound.
“Go easy on her, can’t you see she’s new? Let her wait if she wants.”
The jovial tone of the stranger’s voice immediately puts you in a tight spot. Despite any of your previous doubts, you’ve found the right place – and without a doubt, thankfully. It seems your contingency plan is no longer necessary, but even if Childe’s first reaction is to mock you, you find solace in the fact that at least your judgement has proven correct after all.
Now that you know what to look for, the scene unfolds in front of you.
The more polite of the two holds a tin in his hand, marked with a giant red plus, showing his status as a medic. He kneels beside the familiar man sitting on the ground, trying his best to quickly resume tending to the wounds on the prisoner’s face. You can’t help but snicker when you notice Childe’s condition — bruised cheek, a split lip. It seems you’d managed to at least inconvenience him.
“Is there something wrong?” The medic mumbles, eliciting a quiet sound from the man beneath him as your face drops.
“Ah,” You tip your head, looking up in surprise. The dark must obscure your identity more than you’d anticipated. “…No. It’s nothing.“
Before you can think of any way to dig yourself out of the hole you’ve fallen into, the medic silently wraps up his duties. From what you can see, Childe’s respective injuries have all been carefully treated – though truthfully, you don’t get a very good look. The medic rises from the ground with practised grace.
You eye the medic carefully as he fishes through his breast pocket coolly, producing a set of keys to unlock the cell door. Meanwhile, he makes no move to even peek back at the harbinger. He walks away from Childe with an insurmountable amount of trust.
You almost comment on the odd dynamic the two seem to have, but remembering the man’s frosty nature, you think better of itt. Instead, you brace yourself for a scolding of some kind, befit for the new hire he seems to think you are — instead, you’re merely met with a brief heavy hand on your shoulder as he passes.
“He likes to scare people that don’t have their wits about them, but if you work fast, he won’t bother you much. Good luck.”
You aren’t sure whether to take his words as a sign of success or failure, but whatever the case, his warning is much too complicated to properly read into. Especially when so much already occupies your thoughts. Your eyes trail the medic as he walks off without any further explanation, kindly pretending not to notice your ruffled state.
Though, for someone who comes with his own warning, Childe is oddly docile.
“So, you dirtied your hands just to visit me?”
You turn to face him, but when you fail to retort, he continues, “I am honoured, though. Truly.”
He raises a hand in an aimless gesture before leaning back into the stone wall of the holding cell. Childe’s eyes twinkle in the low light even as you remain silent. Though his words are outwardly casual, you have long since become an expert at picking small talk apart; being a member of the royal court has only warranted it.
And it relieves you to no end to see that Childe is just as unsure of your presence as you are his.
The silence is only broken once the medic has ascended the stairs, the slam of the door marking his departure clearly.
“I don’t know what else to say.” Childe remarks honestly. “I didn’t expect this.”
“You could start with an explanation.” You offer, feigning a smile. Your heart beats wildly as you consider the words you’d mentally rehearsed. “Though, for some reason, my intuition tells me you’ve been quiet at every other turn thus far.”
His jaw ticks ever-so slightly as he nods.. “At least your intuition is good for something.”
“…But, there is one thing I am curious about.” You ignore his taunt, eyes drawing back to the uncovered food on the table next to you. Halfheartedly, you pick it up and approach the holding cell. You would leave him to rot in a heartbeat, but no amount of resentment will delude you to taunting him in the same way he does you.
Childe’s eyes are quiet as you kneel to slide the platter into a small gap. He watches you still, even as you retrace your steps to a safe distance.
“What happened should be simple, but you neglected to kill me even though you had ample opportunity. So, answer me honestly. Is this your twisted way of silencing me? Of silencing my investigations that will surely put someone you know behind bars?” You prod him, far past feeling shy now that you have facts behind you.
He seems to think for a moment, eyes elsewhere before he says, “The Fatui aren’t responsible for anything.”
“Why were you in my room that night, then?”
“Have you not considered that silence is just because my pride is just important to me?”
You shake your head. “I’ve seen men like you on their knees in front of the court hundreds of times.” You are unfeeling as you say it, gaze turning to a lit candle across the room. “None of you do it just because you want to save face.”
Diluc had been right. Your theory of Childe being captured on purpose, whether in an attempt to spy or otherwise, doesn’t really make much sense in the grand scheme of things. Of course, there’s also his proclamation of the Fatui’s innocence to worry about, but it could also simply be a lie. Assuming you know who the killer is could be a grave mistake, but what other options do you have?
Childe arches a brow. “Are you implying that there’s more to what I did? Maybe it had nothing to do with my neglect, but my failure instead.”
Your gaze flickers back to his, challenging. You think it’s then when he finally notices the bandages that wrap your neck, remnants of nights past suddenly burning behind the veil of his blue eyes.
“You called the king a fake.” You remark, the words tight in your throat. “I don’t think failure played any part here.”
“But, let’s say you did fail. It still doesn’t explain your appearance in the first place.” When he doesn’t respond, you continue, “Were you telling the truth about not wanting any sort of ransom?”
Childe’s brows twitch in interest.
“…If you won’t answer that – since your capture, have you had any contact with the king?”
Diluc had been gracious enough to inform you of the king’s neglect to visit you, but everything else, that was your father alone — when you were told he was merely busy, that he had assumed leaving you alone was better than risking your life, he’d forgotten that those were only reiterations of the same excuses he’d been giving you all your life.
Because you know better. You’ve alwaysknown better.
Obviously, you don’t want to suggest such a partnership in the first place. However untrustworthy you may find your father, Mondstadt has been actively fighting against the notion of working with Snezhnaya for years. There’s simply no reasonable way to explain such a change in heart. It’s why you feel as though questioning Childe about it may be the only way to gain some sort of understanding.
The harbinger’s face shifts slightly, a foreign sadness passing through his eyes as his adam’s apple bobs. But, it’s gone as quickly as it comes. A heavy sigh echoes through the room, hitting you like a wall once you’ve realised what you said. You ruffle immediately and clear your throat before he can say anything.
“Just avoid him if you can.” He mutters.
Not a suggestion. An order.
“Why?” A simple question, but you hesitate to answer when you notice the remnants of something else in his voice. It’s not quite the sadness you think you’d glimpsed, but it grips onto you like something greater. Suddenly, you can’t help but wonder what he pictures when he thinks of your father – what kind of monster he is in the eyes of the enemy, and if it’s any worse than the monster he is in the eyes of his own daughter.
When you don’t answer, a small smile comes back onto his face.
“Trouble on the inside?”
You shoot him a defeated look, to which he just shrugs.
“You’d be doing yourself a favour by confessing to me, and saving yourself the pain of those who come after me.” You say loosely. “Consider it a debt paid, if that helps.”
Childe lets out a hearty laugh at that.
“I don’t owe anyone anything,” He waves a hand, still holding onto the edges of his laughter. You straighten. “You’re alive, so consider that my gift to you.”
Unimpressed, you sigh. Maybe this is the reason no information has yet surfaced – Childe is unnervingly casual, expertly deflecting each serious topic like a blow against a blade. He seems intent on taking his motives to the grave, or, at least wherever the world chooses to drop him next. You can’t imagine those after you being any more thrilled to deal with him than you are, though.
“Fine. If not to me, then what about your lawyer? Do you owe her nothing as well?”
You haven’t yet attempted to look, but you’re certain that if you squinted, you’d be able to tell just where exactly the attorney’s life had ended. Swallowing a lump, you continue in Childe’s silence. Such damning evidence is not so easily removed.
“I don’t know what your motives for being here are, but I willfigure it out. So, if you don’t want to speak, fine. But know that only means you will owe so much more the next time we meet.”
His voice is unintelligible as he makes yet another snide remark, and the noticeable lack of fire behind the words is like an axe of hope in the stone wall of your heart. For once, it matches his worn appearance.
Then, he shakes his head, “You’re nothing but talk, Your Highness.”
Your stomach drops as he stands. Childe still manages to exude a threatening aura even as his body moves stiffly, kicking his disused joints back into use. You can almost hear it, the phantom hisses and groans of a machine powering back up as he wiggles the sleep out of his fingers. Being held in such a way had no doubt affected him badly.
You keep your gaze on his steadily as he walks to you, holding yours all the same. For a few moments, the only sounds in the dreary room are his soft footsteps and your incessantly climbing heartbeat. But, before you can comment, he stops in front of you, nose mere inches from the bars.
Something desperate deflates in you as he holds up his arms, chains groaning with the movement.
His wrists are bound. Shackled to the wall, he’s unable to reach past the bars – unable to reach where the memories of bloodstains lie beneath your feet.
“I told you then that I haven’t killed anyone, and it’s the truth.”
“But…” Childe trails off, taking a wandering step back as he lifts his hands into a half shrug. “If you think you have everything under control already, feel free to do what you want.”
♡ When everything you know is shrouded in light, it’s often hard to remember to peek into the darkness. Your family has long since been a part of those who avoid it, choosing to hide comfortably amongst the high ranks of Mondstadt’s nobility. Your father, the King, has fought hard to keep it that way, especially following the Queen’s unfortunate death. However, with a sudden push from the Fatui, certain old wounds are quickly reopened.
It’s why upon tragedy striking, you aren’t alone in the assumption that the foreign nation is to blame. But when unseen circumstances quickly push the question of the culprit’s identity over to you, you find that the situation is much deeper than meets the eye. Between the mysterious nature of an unknown killer, familial doubts, and the 11th Harbinger launching himself into the scene by making an attempt on your life, you think you’re completely in over your head.
Even if Childe claims you have the picture all wrong.
And so, in a gruesome twist of events, you’re faced with a choice – trust Childe’s convenient involvement and get to the bottom of everything together, or risk becoming victims yourselves.
♡ warnings: diluc
♡ word count:5.8k
A sharp noise forces your eyes open to the dull light of the moon, focus fading in and out as your mind struggles to find its bearings. Every small sound comes too easily to you, drawing your focus in multiple different directions. You attempt to turn your head to the source of an odd one. But, you’re stopped short by the agonising constriction of your wound. Pain paints your vision red as you let out a cry.
Someone appears over your head, gently guiding your head back into place. It’s then that you feel the bandages over your neck, covering the treated wound – your movement must have interrupted one of the sisters’ healing work.
Yet, as your gaze struggles to focus, you realise the person is most certainly not a nun.
Vermillion eyes stare down at you, a carefully intimate hand coming up to wipe the hair slick with sweat from your eyes. Diluc.
He smiles bittersweetly as he talks, though no real words reach you. All you can do is lay there and listen to the tone of his voice whilst he holds a gentle hand beneath your head. An unfamiliar emotion spreads through your chest as you watch his lips move. In this vegetative state, all you can do is watch – you provide him with nothing, and yet the affluent man still soothes you despite it.
You try your hand at responding once again, but the words catch uncomfortably in your tight throat. Groaning, you close your eyes, another wave of nausea coming over you before it compels your eyes shut.
When you wake again, the day has broken above the horizon. As your eyes adjust, you faintly recognise the signs of the sun filtering through a thin red curtain, the simple design significant to only one wing in the entire castle – the infirmary. You let out a sigh of relief.
While there’s no telling how long you’ve been here, the fact that you remain alive leaves you immensely grateful. You’d thought for sure that the moment you’d fallen to the ground would be your last. But the shift from night to day leaves you frightened. Such a miniscule change should represent so much time spent since–
Abruptly, your eyes widen in shock, a quick hand reaching up to your throat.
Numb fingers linger over the cotton that wraps your skin. The sisters must have healed most of the damage done, though there is a distinct shot of pain that runs through your head whenever you attempt to move too fast. Unwillingly, your mind goes back to the man that had held a knife to your throat.
You want to believe that the familiar man’s intent was to kill you in some fashion. The force he had used, though limited due to the circumstances, was too harsh not to be real. And yet, you still can’t shake the feeling that your other theory holds importance – he was undeniably stronger, taller, and much faster. Yet, he had given up those advantages because, what? He had wanted to prove some kind of twisted point? Had some unknown force wanted to remind you that history is doomed to repeat?
You know the latter is a stretch. But if the man had really intended to kill you, he likely could have done so easily. Despite his overconfidence, he had seemed mindful of not leaving lasting damage. So, why did he stall in such a way, if not to do something like only guarantee his capture?
The life you lead has brought many odd enemies into your circle, and whether recognisable or not, the option of this opening into a scheme of bigger scale is still on the table.
It’s the price you have to pay for being born in such a position. In the eyes of the public, you are your father’s weakness, his loose end that he’d neglected to properly tie up. Perhaps the man that had broken in ultimately shared a similar view.
Yet, the theory of him threatening you only to get to your father makes less sense than you’d like. Those who come to you with malice stemming from your father are typically more resilient, and noting what you know about the man, his performance was half-hearted at best.
The faint click of a lock brings you out of your thoughts. You remain still, assuming it’s one of the sisters, perhaps checking on you or one of the other patients in the infirmary. Nonetheless, the interruption is welcome; trying to make sense of that night’s events is likely not something that should be left to your drowsy mind.
Then, someone calls your name, and finally, you turn your head.
ah.
Diluc stands in the doorframe, his grip light over the handle. You hesitate to say anything. Memories of asking for him before your collapse resurface gradually, and you have a hard time fighting the embarrassment that flares in your chest.
An unknown emotion flashes briefly through his eyes before he exhales.
“You’re finally awake.”
The unabashed relief is evident in his voice, and pleasure flares in your chest at the tone. You had done well to make your preferences to stay disconnected from most well known, but Diluc is your exception – in every possible way, he is perhaps the only person whose unease with you will make you feel as intended. The trust you fail to place in others finds a snug home in the words of your dear friend.
Expression dissolving into a slight smile, you shrug. It’s not much of a greeting, but he’ll have to cut you some slack. Diluc’s narrowed eyes wander to your neck and the bandages that wrap it. The cloth may be startlingly clear, but evidence of the happenstance still lies elsewhere.
You clear your throat, voice rash from disuse. “Barely.”
He gives you a good-natured smile as he turns to shut the door quietly behind him. However, even with your tired eyes, you notice that something about him is different. The circles beneath his eyes are deeper than before, and his actions are too sluggish to belong to the steadfast man you know him as.
Anxiety bubbles in your chest, indiscriminate to your underlying conditions. It holds your voice captive as you can do nothing but watch him silently take the seat next to you, leaning back into it as if letting a weight go.
“How- how long have I been here?”
A sigh comes from low in his throat, the unmistakable weight of his eyes finding your neck once again.
“Long enough.” You understand what the words mean, but not when they come from Diluc’s mouth. “The sisters made quick work of you, it was just a matter of when you recovered.”
You nod, not sure what to make of the information.
For some reason, you don’t quite believe that Diluc is being fully truthful. The secrets that he keeps are certainly bountiful, but he has never been able to carry them alone – being such a keeper of information cracks his edges, wearing him down until even he is unsure of which piece plagues him.
Yet at this moment, he is refined. He attempts to act as if he is without burden, though under your knowing eye, you know it’s a mere pleasantry. Maybe it’s due to your position in the infirmary, perhaps it’s something greater. But you know it’ll be a trial to get something out of him if he goes to such lengths to hide it.
“There’s something you have to say to me, isn’t there?”
His eyes narrow slightly.
“You said it yourself,” You exhale a bated breath, leaning your head back into the pillow behind you. “The sisters made quick work of me. I’m in a good enough condition to hear whatever it is.”
You stare at the panels of the ceiling as you say, “Though, if we’re going by your standards, I suppose I may never be in the right condition.”
Diluc studies your face for a few moments, as if turning you over in his hands; examining you for all you’re worth. There’s a fine line between coherency after a traumatic injury and pure adrenaline, and you know it’s what he searches for. So, unable to prove your curiosity in any other way, you let him.
“You’ve had a hard time recently.” He relents, leaning forward to put his hands together. “Are you sure you want to know?”
You turn your head to him, shrugging.
“You won’t get away with keeping it from me now.”
Diluc hides his own smile with a struggle you delight in witnessing.
“I’ve been divulging pieces from the man that attacked you in the week you’ve been unconscious.” He starts off, air shifting into a more serious tone as he watches for any adverse reactions on your part. “He’s tough to crack, but that much, we should expect.”
You raise your brows, prodding him on.
“…He’s a harbinger, ___.”
chilling blue eyes stare back at you, clean and free of emotion. for a moment, these eyes seem hauntingly familiar
Suddenly, you feel oddly short of breath.
You know the harbingers by title only, by their actions that are recorded in militial reports and how they affect the city you reside in. Though you’ve only spoken to a few of them in passing, you know that they are known particularly for their precision. So, for someone so high within their ranks to seek you out in such a confusing way—
Abruptly, you sit up. Diluc leans forward, too, a cautious hand reaching towards you should the movement shake you. He backs down when he notices the look in your eye.
“That bastard,” You grumble, wincing as the healing wounds on your neck strain. His hand jumpstarts to move you back into a more relaxed position. “He’s playing games with me.”
Whilst you lay back, he sighs. “What are you talking about? This is why I didn’t want to tell you yet.”
Your lips twist into a frown.
“…Sorry. I just can’t believe Childe is brazen enough to try something like this— it is Childe, isn’t it?”
He nods unsurely, as if hesitating to give you the information.
You scoff.
“What the hell could they want with me? I’m not the source of their problems.” You mumble quietly. “My absence would mean nothing.”
Diluc studies your expression as you mutter to yourself, brow twitching. You know him well enough to know that he’s certainly holding something back, but this time, you don’t engage him. Instead, your mind is elsewhere — on the many things the Snezhnayan government could be trying to take revenge for, of the reasons the fatui in particular would want something to do with you.
You’d spoken with Childe before; face to face, even. Though, he personally should have had no reason to bring a knife to your throat like he had that night. It speaks little of his humanity, but it would be more outlandish to expect the foreign diplomats to have any in the first place.
They truly govern under a different set of morals.
“You know, I’m glad you made it out okay.”
Your attention turns back to Diluc, eyes questioning.
He exhales, leaning an elbow on his knee. “The Fatui are known for their ruthlessness, you were quite lucky to make it out unscathed.”
“…I’m not so sure.” You mumble, swallowing a lump in your throat. You wince at the sensation as Diluc quirks a brow.
“Childe, the night he attacked me, it didn’t seem like he was trying too hard.”
Sitting up, you shoot Diluc a look of warning as he moves to force you back down. His eyes narrow while you attempt to situate yourself.
“I was able to get on top of him, a grown man. All because I knocked a knife out of his hand. Plus, he didn’t even use his vision as a last resort.”
“That is odd.” Diluc agrees. “His skills are unfortunately well-developed, it shouldn’t have been hard to overpower someone like you.”
You quirk a brow, lips curling into a tentative smile.
“What do you mean by that? Are you saying I’m not strong enough?”
He shrugs, eyes betraying his malignant frown. “You could use a little work.”
“Then… Do you think this is what he wanted? For me to win and send him to the dungeons?” You pause, pondering the possibility.
“But, it doesn’t add up. He can’t spy from those cells. Hell, I doubt he’ll be able to do much of anything down there.” Diluc says, expression relaxing into one of deeper thought.
A hand involuntarily reaches for your neck. “Maybe it was for ransom, or even intimidation or something.”
His gaze follows your movement, uncertainty settling beneath his eyes. You want to reassure him, to tell him that he can continue that thought – but Diluc is not someone you can get away with lying to.
“Maybe. But let’s not jump to any conclusions while we’re ahead.” He resolves, expertly dismantling the situation in a way only he can. He stands casually, letting out a small breath as he gestures to where you lie. “Are you planning on staying in that bed forever? Or, would you like to get some fresh air instead?”
It takes a moment for his words to register, before you have the coherency to be confused.
“You’ll let me up?”
He gives you an incredulous look. “Don’t act so surprised. You’re up and moving, it’s only the next step in the recovery process.”
You take the hand he offers with bated excitement.
Your legs are brittle after a week of being bedridden, unused to the weight and kinks that roll out as you take a step forward. But there’s a hand in yours that follows you in every small movement, acting as a silent pillar of support.
When his hand hesitates to leave yours, you finally look up at him. He stares at you openly, eyes slightly narrowed in a way that tells you silently that he might regret his choice. You bite the inside of your cheek as you reassure him softly,
“I’ll be fine.”
The open air is crisp in your lungs, startlingly fresh against your oil-laden skin. Whether a product of your evidently showerless time in the infirmary or just a side effect of the previously gaping wound on your neck, it’s almost painful to take a deep breath in. Still, you take in as much as you can regardless.
Diluc keeps a small distance, arms crossed as he trails soundlessly behind you. Despite your positive efforts, he has been reluctant to speak since leaving the infirmary. With the way his eyes are following your every move, it’s obvious he doesn’t believe you’re completely ready for the ‘next step’.
“I’m not made of dust, I assure you.”
A faint blush envelops the tips of his ears as he looks away with a grumble.
Absentmindedly, you stop mid-step when you finally catch a glance of the courtyard. Connected to the infirmary is a small outdoor path, protected under a beautiful walkway that is intended to border the more presentable edges of the castle, as well as those that face the general public. After all, not even the smallest details offer an escape from the deception your father paints the castle with.
Beneath your feet and the dainty wall that blocks you from the waist down, the stones in your view are cracked and edged with moss. It’s likely this particular area hasn’t been tended to in a long time. Frowning, you reach up to scratch at the bandages that wrap your neck.
Another hand reaches it before you, though, gently guiding your own away. Your gaze flickers to Diluc who now appears beside you.
“Those were only replaced recently, it would be more of a fuss for your wound to rip them off now.”
“It’s mostly healed, I just… I don’t like the feeling of it on my neck, that’s all.” You mumble, begrudgingly adjusting the tightness around your throat before adhering to his advice. The bandages had graciously been replaced before you left, after you’d brought up the headache inducing smell.
“I get it,” Diluc nods, the ghost of a smile on his face as his hand drops. “I think we were fifteen, the day we were practising your sword-fighting and you accidentally stabbed me in the arm. Do you remember that, or is it conveniently blocked from your memory still?”
Delighted to see him attempting to interact with you, you scoff and hide behind your hands.
“How could I forget? It builds character, Diluc. I was only helping.” You say it with a laugh, still so focused on his body language that you miss the adoration that courses through his eyes.
“You wound me so.”
Shaking your head with a smile, you gesture for him to continue walking with you. A comfortable silence settles over you as you outline the day in your head – the schedule is odd, moving around the hours you were unconscious and predicting things that may not ever occur. But, at least once, you intend to visit your father to provide more details on the night you were attacked.
Hopefully, he already knows a fair bit, though you should be suitable in filling in the blanks.
“Once you deem me ready,” You pause to emphasise the joke. “I need to visit my father. He must’ve been informed that I’ve awoken, but I feel like I should see him myself.”
Diluc nods, though there’s something unsaid that lies beneath his expression.
“___, I feel you should know the current situation.”
You frown. “…Has something happened?”
His eyes flicker away, a sign he’s nervous.
“The king has been wrapped up in political duties all week. I… strongly advise you to start from the top of the event.”
His adam’s apple bobs suddenly, and you fight the urge to laugh.
“…So– wait. So, you mean to tell me that he hasn’t even bothered filling himself in? Is this a political opportunity before an attempt on my life?”
Diluc attempts to soothe the fire in your eyes. “The king has been very busy recently. A harbinger attempting assassination is a big deal, one he’s being sure to milk for all it’s worth.”
Snezhnaya has been an independent country for thousands of years, however, its rule under the newest Tsaritsa has only proved that it is more than capable of forgetting its previous battles. It looms not over Mondstadt, but in it – as advisors, store owners, and worst of all, as friends. There has been no shortage of pressure from the Tsaritsa to secede to her, effectively instigating the surrender of Mondstadt to foreign rule. It would destroy your family’s legacy in only a few words.
She has weaved the streets with patient threads of insurrection for years, and perhaps this was intended to be the final straw. You shudder to think of what the future could’ve held had Childe chosen to succeed.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve killed no one yet. You should worry about yourself.”
The man’s words bounce around in your head once again. The situation is rocky at best, with different pieces of information that don’t seem to fit together in any capacity.
Among the rest of his strange jabs was the moment he had called your father a fake – it likely wasn’t to serve any purpose other than catching you off guard, but the nature of the interaction has its own loose ends. Suddenly, you find yourself inexplicably tied up in another mystery, all thanks to the king yet again.
“He hasn’t visited only because he hasn’t had the time, I’m sure. Capturing a harbinger is fortunate, and he’s using your experience to try and turn things in Mondstadt’s favour.”
Your brows crumple, thoughts running blank. “What? You mean to tell me he can’t spare his own child a minute of his time? That he can really get the full story of what happened when he’s neglected to even check on the source?”
Diluc’s mouth opens, but quickly shuts again at the look of hurt that must paint your features. You almost feel sorry for him, for letting him get caught in the mess between you and your father, but to try and convince you that your father’s intentional ignorance towards you is justified – you don’t shy away from showing your distaste for it.
“I was unconscious for at least a week, Diluc.” You hiss, hurt bleeding into your words as you shake your head. “He had the time, and you know it.”
His jaw tightens, and for a moment he says nothing. An insufferable silence passes between the two of you, each of you tentative as to who will speak first.
“Maybe so. but your relationship with your father has never been my business.” Diluc ends the conversation faster than it can flare up, but this time, it’s no more than an annoyance. The serious words sound dismissive rather than an attempt at comfort. “We can talk about it once you have a chat with him, ___.”
When you don’t answer, his expression deflates almost unnoticeably.
“…I shouldn’t have dropped that on you so quickly.” He sighs, voice careful as his eyes close after a few crushing moments. “My apologies.”
“I can— I willtake you to him when you think you’re ready.”
You nod silently. However bitter you may feel, Diluc is not the person to direct it towards. You don’t blame him for your father’s absence, and though your outburst may have suggested otherwise, your father’s actions are not Diluc’s responsibility. Even if he had been aware of it, the less stubborn part of you recognises that it’s more likely he had no say in the matter.
“It’s fine.” You say it faintly, nodding again. “Thanks.”
He’s quiet for a moment, a contemplative look on his face – it’s almost stabbing, the pause, but a small chuckle escapes him before your worries can reach much further.
“You were right to be angry.” Diluc nods, staring forward as his steps begin to slightly dawdle. You take a hesitant peek at him. “I shouldn’t try to explain anything for him.”
“It’s not your fault, you were just trying to reassure me.” Shaking your head, you pivot to a stop as the shell of a plan forms in your head. The courtyards may face the general public, but there is a humble door that connects it to the back main hall — perhaps it was built as a precautionary measure, but it has served as your route of escape on many occasions.
“Then, how would you feel about me taking you up on that now?”
Diluc stops beside you, uncertain of what you refer to until you step forwards the door. A grunt of surprise escapes him as he catches up to you quickly, a heavy hand landing over your head and blocking it before you can pull it open. You shoot him a questioning look.
His lips thin, head turning to look back the way you came before drawing so close only you can hear him hiss, “Of all times, now?”
“You said when I was ready.” You protest, trying to swat his hand out of the way. He doesn’t budge. “He doesn’t deserve the calm version of me.”
He pushes and solidifies his body weight on the door, bringing his face closer to yours without intending to. “No, he doesn’t, but youdo. How would he ever take you seriously when you’ve just rolled out of a sickbed?”
Incredulously, you scoff. A rogue hand comes up to tear the medical tape from the gauze on your neck – a split second choice on your part, and perhaps not the safest, judging by the horrified look that passes over your companion’s face. But, as the bandages unwind and expose your skin to the air, his warm gloved hand stops inches from you.
“I told you, I’m fine.” You insist, the abandoned clean gauze falling into your hand. You know what he sees: the thin laceration scar, the ghost of fingerprints around your larynx – evidence of your troubled night lies on every inch of your skin, and it is still evident. But nothing limits your movement, nothing drags you down in the way he is undoubtedly expecting.
You watch him cautiously to gauge his reaction. No emotion passes over his face for quite some time, until he releases a heavy sigh.
“I don’t mean your injury only,” Diluc explains gently, taking the bandages from your open palm. You grasp at words to retaliate with, but only come up empty as he continues, “Your mind needs adequate time to heal, just as much as your wound does. You’ll be no use with anger blinding you.”
Your lips thin. “Then, please, do tell how to forget that my father neglected to visit me on what could’ve easily been my deathbed.”
He gives you a once over, his gaze burning over your neck. You fight the urge to reassure him it looks worse than it feels.
“I think you underestimate me.” Diluc finally looks up from the discarded bandage in his hand, fixing you a smile as your eyes dart away. “Did you say that you think your neck is healed?”
Uncertainly, you nod, eyes anywhere but him. Has he since gotten closer? It seems the gardeners had forgotten to trim a nearby bush, though, those kinds of problems are not usually your domain, so why worry now?
Warm hands pull you away from the door, and suddenly captivated, you have no choice but to let yourself be strung along as your heart beats unevenly in your chest. “I believe you, but tell me if it hurts. You don’t need to force yourself for my sake.”
You mumble incoherently as you make your way through the courtyard, cursing Diluc for caring so much, cursing yourself for letting him talk you down in such a way; but mostly, you curse the foreign feeling pushing your heart forward.
The late morning hour provides a short carriage ride to the Dawn Winery, but the emptiness of the trails is almost peculiar. As you look out the tinted window of the small vehicle, your nails dig into the wood of the frame.
“Did he make the event of the murder public?” You mumble it to no one in particular, eyes noting the absence of the usual trading merchants hovering around the road. You sigh and lean back into the seat as Diluc watches you.
He shakes his head, answering your question gently. “…No, not yet. It’s just not a busy morning.”
You nod silently, releasing a deep breath as your ears begin to tinge with heat. You’ve been outside for a few mere minutes, and yet you’ve already managed to jump to conclusions –perhaps Diluc was right, maybe you did need more time to gather yourself.
“I’m sorry.” You mumble sheepishly, avoiding his gaze. “I shouldn’t assume things like that.”
“….You only need to tell me if things get to be too much.” He reminds you, attempting to catch your gaze even as you vehemently focus on the passing landscape. “I’m not expecting you to adapt right away.”
You don’t know what he refers to. You aren’t sure you want to find out.
When you arrive at the winery, the crisp spring air tells of a coming storm – perhaps only another dreary addition to the day. The flames of unrest may still continue to nurse your brittle heart, but the mystery of Diluc’s plans are not lost on you.
You continue to fail to understand why he leads you through the grapevines until you break into a small clearing in the vineyard, the familiar dirt path beaten and worn. Thick emotion rises in your throat, though you attempt to play it off with a short laugh. When it cuts through the air, Diluc turns a knowing eye on you.
“You must have a lot of faith in my word.” You mumble quietly, feigning a quick glance around as you fight back tears. “If this is your plan.”
The midday sun is bright in your eyes as you attempt to calm yourself. You look down. The clearing you stand in is muddled with old foodprints squeezed into the sand, cemented between the occasional root. You had spent many long hours in this spot once upon a time, with a dagger pressed into your palm, and your dear friend opposite you. Diluc had been the one to teach you to fend for yourself, to show you that he believed in you in a way that wasn’t purely hierarchical – he was your best friend, and with every prideful comment or patient direction, he meant it.
This part of the winery had been long forgotten, its features buried in your memory alongside the children you had been the last time you’d set foot here. Diluc’s father and your mother had passed at unfortunately similar times, leaving a gap of time wherein everything shifted – being such a cataclysm, it became increasingly difficult to return to your typical lives.
Thus, for years, you ceased to try.
Yet, you could never manage to leave him behind. Diluc was a part of you, and despite the calamities that had forced you apart, you always made sure to find your way back. Long after things had settled down around you, it had been almost four years: Diluc was out of the country for some time, but was grateful to see you waiting for his return even if you hadn’t given him any prior notice.
So, knowing this, you can assume his purpose of bringing you back here – not only had he snuck a princess out of the castle after she’d been severely injured, but he had done it to swordfight. Unbelievable.
Suddenly, Diluc grabs your hand. Only a few instances pass between the moment he guides your fingers around a familiar handle, and he gently tips your head back with his opposite hand. You almost think you’re hallucinating as Diluc brushes your hair to the side. His crimson eyes trail over the very detailing of your wound, scanning for any irregularities.
You preferred to avoid wrapping it again before your arrival, vehemently insisting you were alright on the occasions Diluc offered to stop and pick up any applicable supplies. Though, he’s obviously still not entirely convinced. Suddenly, he leans forward, a gloved finger trailing across the remnants of your wound for just a second.
He’s too close.
But before you can react, Diluc takes a step back in acceptance, blissfully unaware of the way your heart batters in your chest.
“Go ahead, then.” He nods to the sword in your hand with a slight smile. You know he’s proud of himself, and for archon’s sake, you wish it weren’t so obvious. Seeing your hesitance, he remarks,
“Are you rusty?”
“…What?”
Diluc repeats himself, and you can’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of the suggestion as you catch your bearings. “I think you may have a gross habit of underestimating me.”
Diluc’s weapon of choice is a greatsword more often than not, but today, he holds a normal sword when facing you. For a minute, as your weapons clash, it’s as if you’re kids again – the gentle swordmaster and his disciple, though your roles have greatly evolved since then.
His thrusts are calculated but not aimed to harm, and you almost have fun deflecting them, turning them back on him until you win again and again. You aren’t so dim, though – you know the way he lets you push his sword out of the way over and over is purely to comfort you, to remind you that if you can beat him, you can beat anyone.
It’s truly a thoughtful sentiment. Though while you’re not exactly convinced of your newfound strength, you fail to notice just how successful the man had been at his goal until a smile splits across his face. It’s one that makes you stop in your tracks, stunned by the absurdity of the expression.
Diluc’s actions halt in an instant, sword clashing against yours one last time. He looks as if he wants to say something, but as the words begin to form on his tongue, the coming storm finally reaches you. You can’t help but laugh at his expression that quickly moulds into one of surprise.
“Come on!”
You shift past him as the rain begins to pelt down, eyes catching on his gaze that refuses to leave yours – the spring storm soaks your friend’s hair almost completely through before he has the sense to move. Even then, you take it upon yourself to grab his wrist before bolting further up into the winery, not willing to risk your clothes for his hesitance.
Diluc comes back to himself fairly quickly after you start running, matching his pace to yours as a deep laugh tumbles from his mouth. Curiously, you cast a look back at him, unprepared for the way your breath will catch in your throat.
Even though his long red hair sticks to his face, and there’s undoubtedly mud coating his expensive shoes, his grin is dazzling. Diluc looks oddly excited to be caught in the rain with you, and the thought brings an easy smile to your face.
By the time you finally reach the area beneath one of the main building’s many verandas, your breaths have grown laboured. A light silence falls over the two of you. Yet, it dissipates the moment you look up, both of you breaking into another fit of laughter at the other’s dishevelled appearance.
But, something catches in you the moment he calms himself down, chuckle fading out to be replaced with the words, “That’s the smile I was looking for.”
Your heart beats uncertainly from within your chest, obviously unused to the prospect of Diluc being so forward. Even your mouth has a difficult time articulating words.
Moving on expertly, he goes on to wring out his hair before he continues more modestly, “I’m sorry for dragging you out here, but if it helped, I’m glad.”
“It’s fine,” You nod, hoping he doesn’t catch the way your voice shakes unsteadily. “You’re crazy for attempting this, though. I hope you know that.”
You say it with a laugh, and yet, the incessant clamber of your heart does nothing but remind you of just how much of a fraud you really are. Who are you all of the sudden, to be shaken by a friend’s words so easily?
Diluc turns to his side, gloved hand reaching for the main door of the Ragnvindr residence. “I know. But, I’d do it over and over again if it means you’d be okay.”
“…Stop being such a sap.” You shake your head, shoulder pushing past his hand to break into the dry air of the winery’s lobby. “I told you I won’t die so easily, or do you not believe me?”
He smiles as he catches up to you yet again. You enjoy seeing it, his happiness, but there is something unfamiliar hidden beneath the slight curl of his lip — something unknown that ignites a completely different type of dread in you.
♡When everything you know is shrouded in light, it’s often hard to remember to peek into the darkness. Your family has long since been a part of those who avoid it, choosing to hide comfortably amongst the high ranks of Mondstadt’s nobility. Your father, the King, has fought hard to keep it that way, especially following the Queen’s unfortunate death. However, with a sudden push from the Fatui, certain old wounds are quickly reopened.
It’s why upon tragedy striking, you aren’t alone in the assumption that the foreign nation is to blame. But when unseen circumstances quickly push the question of the culprit’s identity over to you, you find that the situation is much deeper than meets the eye.Between the mysterious nature of an unknown killer, familial doubts, and the 11th Harbinger launching himself into the scene by making an attempt on your life, you think you’re completely in over your head.
Even if Childe claims you have the picture all wrong.
And so, in a gruesome twist of events, you’re faced with a choice – trust Childe’s convenient involvement and get to the bottom of everything together, or risk becoming victims yourselves.
♡warnings: violence, mentions of choking, blood, and knives.
♡word count:7.3k
You had long learned to never trust a man who is no more than his glare, because even the most innocent of dogs will still bear their teeth. And inside the walls of Mondstadt’s gates, this ideology very well may be known to many – because from the darkened alleyways to busy courtrooms, there will always be those who show more than they are ready to give.
Unfortunately, the same can often be said of the king.
You are as much of a stranger to his dealings as he is, though the difference in you lies in your capability of being disappointed. The King is extremely lucrative when he can be, handling his power in a way where those around him are left in a constant state of wondering, when will he strike next, and how? The answers are often underwhelming.
Of course, you know better than them. Each side-eyed glance and nuance of a threat is always held, but sometimes you suspect that behind your father’s guarded eyes, there’s nothing more than a man paralysed with fear. It’s why your first reaction is to write him off when you get to thinking about the person you’d lost – however much you want to blame him for it. His inherent innocence is the entire reason that the concept of a murder on the royal grounds terrifies you so much.
![[ ☆ ] doodles after labyrinth warriors :9c](https://64.media.tumblr.com/e91d1a7782ca3bfe5567f4ac552d9138/9d941144cb475e88-0f/s1280x1920/a4d7ab33deb23731f57a9a2bce3168801210ec4b.png "[ ☆ ] doodles after labyrinth warriors :9c")
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![[ ☆ Speedpaint! ☆ ] it’s orange boy’s birthday >:9 gr8 opportunity to try out clip studio paint](https://64.media.tumblr.com/f78b955e1cf7b64bd61d8d2618abfc03/0ac5ee42dd0dee13-98/s1280x1920/e71e4e6abbf86d479fb0304c6f5e06aad8579c64.png "[ ☆ Speedpaint! ☆ ] it’s orange boy’s birthday >:9 gr8 opportunity to try out clip studio paint")
![[ ☆ ] I AM ONCE AGAIN DRAWING…… THE FATUI BASTARD™ :^)](https://64.media.tumblr.com/d565d1fe0de5aceefa7eb32f0d0aae13/87e579a46233077d-35/s1280x1920/4c95e81f8a22ac86215aef5b48014333d2b75901.png "[ ☆ ] I AM ONCE AGAIN DRAWING…… THE FATUI BASTARD™ :^)")
![[ ☆ ] back on my tortellini bullsht](https://64.media.tumblr.com/4ba36710a1be3eee6a4298dbd51ed904/cbe6709842447e30-6b/s1280x1920/4c63de083eec00ca0454d6238eb47ab8e5438142.png "[ ☆ ] back on my tortellini bullsht")
![[ ☆ ] today i offer u,,,,,,,,, mr childe tartaglia ajax in Asuka’s plugsuit bc their color schemes](https://64.media.tumblr.com/74f47686afe42da09a63d1c93a8d0a44/34badf9affa5cf8f-81/s1280x1920/59dd4c3729f9a2964d33601b3a829e6b0ed1daf1.png "[ ☆ ] today i offer u,,,,,,,,, mr childe tartaglia ajax in Asuka’s plugsuit bc their color schemes")
