Chapter Text
Diluc can’t say he’s expecting visitors. Not at such late hours of the day. Outside, the sky is inky blue but clear— the stars are scattered across in bright clusters, almost as if someone’s thrown them out there with purpose, for people’s eyes to admire.
Summer nights are many people’s favorite, in Mondstadt.
Diluc finds himself agreeing.
Diluc is still in his office. The receipts he grabbed from Charles rustle in his hands as he scans the day’s revenues and prepares a list of beverages that need replenished tomorrow morning at Angel’s Share. He is swift in his writing; it’s a task he’s done too many times to count, but not one he’s bored of. It soothes his mind— neat rows of letters and numbers filling long columns, predictable in their repetitiveness. There are no unwanted surprises or unexpected turns in inventorying, after all. Not unless one counts an occurrence when three barrels of Dandelion Wine instead of two have been consumed in a day as one.
Diluc huffs a quiet laugh. Such days only happen when a certain bard pays them a visit.
He’s mid page when a soft knock interrupts his work. He lifts his head, frowning ever so slightly when his eyes take a moment to focus on where the knocking came from. He’s not expecting anyone— Adelinde has already come by to leave her day’s report, and so have Hillie and Moco. Besides, dinner time has long passed. The girls are free for the night, and so are all the other employees of Dawn Winery.
“Come in,” he says, curt, but his hand travels to the hilt of his Gravestone in a well-practiced movement all the same. The competition in his field is fierce, after all— the attempts on his life have lessened over time, but they’ve never truly ended, and Diluc can never be too careful.
He pretends he doesn’t wonder, just for a second, what would happen if he just gave in to the tiredness that hasn’t loosened its grip on him since he left everything behind, ten years ago, the next time someone barged in with a knife in their hand and death on their tongue.
“Diluc?” The word hangs, soft-spoken, in the warm summer air that floods the room from the window Diluc keeps open so that he can breathe likes to keep open, and Diluc knows that something is wrong.
Because Jean is in his office, hands as soft as the way she spoke his name while she closes the door behind her with no noise, and her eyes are rimmed red with tears she’s not yet done shedding.
In all the years they’ve known each other, Diluc has never seen Jean cry.
“Jean.” He stands up, discarding his greatsword by the desk. Then, he makes his way towards her, keeping his movements slow even though his heart is in his stomach, because people always get that anxious look in their eyes when they see him approach. As if they think he’ll attack them if they talk to him the wrong way.
His hand hovers in the air, just shy of Jean’s shoulder, before he realizes that she might not welcome his attempt at comforting. His fingers twitch, heartbeat-quick, as he reaches for a chair instead.
“Let me get you some water,” he says when Jean slumps down with a quiet little sob, trying– quite unsuccessfully– to conceal her face.
He turns around so that Jean knows he can’t see her crying, gives her time to dry her eyes. In the meantime, he grabs a glass from one of the cabinets behind his desk and fills it with water that Adelinde always makes sure is replenished in that unnecessarily ostentatious jug his late father bought somewhere, many years ago.
“Is all fine?” He places the glass on the desk beside Jean. He makes his way back to his seat, then, pulse slowing down a bit once he makes sure Jean isn’t visibly hurt.
“I– “ she starts, but her voice breaks midway. “Diluc, I–” she tries again, a bit firmer. Diluc watches her square her shoulders, watches her take a deep breath. A minute passes, but when she finally looks at him, she’s the Acting Grand Master of the Knights of Favonius again, every inch the fearless woman he’s grown to respect, even though her cheeks are still red and the look in her eyes is still uncertain. “There has been a report of a crime committed by one of our citizens,” she says, slowly, as if she’s picking her words carefully for Diluc’s sake.
Although the reason for her cautiousness eludes him, Diluc meets her eye and waits for her to continue. He knows petty crime is nothing she or her Knights can’t take care of in less than a breath. However, she has come seeking him specifically, so he sits and waits.
Jean’s gaze drops to the side, just for a second, before she looks back at him again, the lines around her bitten lips deepening.
“It happened on Fontaine’s soil.”
Oh.
Oh.
That makes things the worst shade of ugly.
“How certain is that information?” Diluc asks, trying to keep his voice steady and his expression calm.
“The letter has been signed by Miss Focalors herself,” Jean replies, and that’s all it takes for her façade to crumble again. With shaky hands, she reaches inside the inner pocket of her jacket and retrieves an envelope. The blue seal that kept it closed is broken neatly in the middle.
Diluc reaches for the letter, propping his elbow on the smooth desk and letting his hand hang mid-air, far enough from the paper so that Jean can still tuck the envelope back where it came from should she change her mind.
She doesn’t. Instead, she passes the piece of parchment to Diluc before letting her hands fall onto her lap, her left thumb worried between her right thumb and forefinger.
Diluc takes out the letter, the parchment thick beneath his fingertips.
As he goes over the text, his anger spikes so quickly it frightens him, for he was sure he learnt how to keep it squished tight. He has to count to ten, digging his nails into the skin of his palm hard enough so that he almost draws blood, or else he’ll burn the letter to ashes before he can reach the end of it.
What they gave Jean is an ultimatum. Catch the guilty or pay for their sins with her own lifetime.
How dare they— call upon Mondstadt, threatening Jean because of something that is not even remotely in her power— in the name of justice? The Court of Fontaine, which flaunts its jurisdiction as if it isn’t a laughable excuse for one, where trials are seen as nothing but petty entertainment and crime as something that can be absolved by dueling, even if it’s murder, as if a person’s life is worth as much as the weight of the iron used to forge the duelist’s sword—
It disgusts Diluc just as much as Focalors herself does.
The letter wrinkles in his grip as he goes over the text again. His irritation grows when he gets to the loopy, almost caricature-like signature of the arrogant Archon. He almost entertains the thought of telling Jean to disregard it all and let Fontaine take care of their own bullshit, but he is not naïve, hasn’t been for a long time. Not since things stopped being either white or black and people either good or bad, no in between, the realization four years too late. Not since his temper turned into exhaustion and his anger into guilt, hot and scorching and filling his lungs like cotton, because he used to kill people as if he were some kind of god.
Diluc centers himself before his thoughts take over. Doesn’t let them run free, not just yet. He leaves them for later, just as he always does, for the late late hours of the night when it’s just him and his head, and tries to focus on the problem at hand, grateful Jean isn’t looking at him.
There is no escaping the call of the Court of Fontaine. The summoning is absolute, and it does not differentiate between mortals and gods. Which can only mean two things. Either Jean delegates someone to take care of capturing the criminal in question, for she cannot leave the Headquarters unattended, not after the fiasco that happened last year, or she faces the trial. Master Varka is away and untraceable, so the responsibility, unjust as it is, falls onto her.
However, there is an issue with the latter choice. A flawed one. Because the fact is that the likelihood of Jean being found guilty far outweighs that of her being declared innocent, for if there’s one thing the hydro Archon is not renowned for, it’s level headedness when it comes to the trials held in that joke of a place she calls Court.
There is supposed to be a Iudex, in Fontaine, but Diluc wouldn't trust Focalors not to meddle with a trial she personally called upon. That’s if she’s not the prosecution herself. And if the first champion duelist hasn’t changed since the last time Diluc visited Fontaine, then Jean stands no chance. Gods, Diluc himself probably wouldn’t either.
“Would you like my advice on who’s best suited for the job?” is what he asks, because there’s no point in speaking all those thoughts out loud. Jean must know all those things already. Her expression is an indication clear enough.
“There’s a detail missing in the letter,” Jean says. Somehow, it sounds even more grave. “Something the Court doesn’t know or else the entire Order would’ve been summoned.”
Diluc places the letter on the desk.
“The person in question.” Jean gestures to the parchment, eyes briefly falling over the blue ink. She takes another deep breath, looking at Diluc as if she’s afraid that he will judge her for whatever she says next. He thinks he can see her eyes getting glassy again. “He’s a former member of the Knights of Favonius.”
Diluc takes a second to let the new information sink in.
“Oh.” His lips part, a little, as his hand pushes back some of the curls that always fall, unruly, on his forehead. Then, he sighs. “I see. Sending your men is out of question, then, as you can’t exclude that someone still has ties to this person.”
Jean’s eyes widen at his response. Diluc can’t help but register how her shoulders sag with relief, a movement barely noticeable if one isn’t used to paying attention.
“Jean.” Diluc starts, but the time he was good with his words is long gone. Still, he tries, because she called them friends one spring, when Diluc was at his lowest, and left Diluc with a salty aftertaste when he rolled the word off his tongue in the quietness of his house that same night. “I haven’t been a member of the Knights for a long time, but even I can see how things have changed for the better since you’ve become the Acting Grand Master.” He searches for Jean’s eyes. When they meet his, Diluc says, “I have no doubts you weren’t aware of any of this, and I know that you are not involved in whatever is happening. You cannot blame yourself for the wrongdoings of other people.”
At that, Jean’s gaze turns a little softer. A little strange. And all of a sudden Diluc’s throat is full of cotton, because he’s terrified she might say something like ‘so shouldn’t you, Diluc’, when blaming himself for not being strong enough is all Diluc knows, wouldn’t know how to function otherwise, has no other pivot. He’s terrified of what would be of him if he dared, even just for a second, to think that Crepus’ death had been his own father’s fault. That he’d been just a child.
“Thank you,” is what she replies instead, kind, and Diluc pretends his hands are not shaking under the desk. “You are a good friend.”
“That’s just basic common sense,” is what he retorts, at last.
“Still not good at taking compliments, huh?” Jean’s smile turns a bit less sad. Then, her face becomes resolute once again, and at that Diluc huffs a quiet laugh.
“So, when am I supposed to leave?”
“Diluc,” Jean speaks, voice the most serious he’s ever heard it be. “I won’t ask you to go if you don’t want to, even if I’ll have to rot away in prison for the rest of my days.”
“Is there anyone else you could ask?” Diluc retorts, even though he knows the answer already, because the only other person, Kaeya, is away with Klee and the traveler on one of those islands Alice keeps charming for her daughter. They left just two nights ago.
There’s dejection, etched across Jean’s face, when she admits, quietly, almost like she doesn’t want him to hear, “No.”
“Well then.” He stands back up and offers his hand to his friend.
His friend.
As if there’s ever been anything to consider.
When Jean grasps his gloved hand and helps herself up, he says, “It will be an honor to serve the Acting Grand Master on such an important mission.”
“Diluc, this is not a joke.” Jean scolds him, but he can see the worry lines around her mouth.
“I know,” he replies, which makes Jean look at him like she knows he means it.
She makes her way to the door, turning around when her hand wraps around the handle.
“Let’s discuss the details tomorrow. I’ll have a plan outlined by then. 10 AM, Angel’s Share?”
“Let’s make it eleven. We don’t open until midday on Fridays, anyways,” Diluc says. Get some more sleep, it means.
“You know what, Diluc?” Jean asks, a shadow of something playful dancing in the corner of her lips.
She looks better, like this, with a little less worry around her eyes. It’s a look she often wears around Lisa, but there are certain things Diluc and Jean don’t speak about. Like Lisa. Or Kaeya.
“Hm?”
“It might be a good thing that all those ladies and gentlemen who long for your appearance don’t know how kind you really are. Otherwise, you couldn’t leave Dawn Winery without being trampled by all the suitors!”
She disappears behind the door before Diluc can retort.
-
The truth is, Diluc is aware that people talk when he passes by, hands muffling their voices when they cup their mouths as if Diluc can’t hear them anyway.
He knows he is the topic of most gossip on the streets, and the reason why Angel’s Share patrons hide their reddening cheeks behind scarfs and fans when they let their fingers linger a little too long on his as he passes them their drinks. However, Diluc knows that this is all but shallow interest, born from the excitement of interacting with something unapproachable, something unknown. He is fully aware that all those people aren’t interested in him, but rather in the persona they have created around Diluc.
The truth is, Diluc has never cared about their opinions, has never really cared for anyone’s opinion aside from his father’s.
The truth is, Diluc cares but pretends he doesn’t, because he notices the way people tense when he acts differently from how they expect him to act. He notices the way they look at him, as if he's some sort of unpredictable animal, regardless of whether they admire him or not, ever since he came back from Snezhnaya. They look at him as if there’s something to mourn, but Diluc isn’t dead, even though some might argue to the contrary. And Diluc is tired. So he pretends it doesn’t affect him and lives on, even if it means he’s almost always alone. Even if it means he’s lonely, because at the end of the day he’s just twenty-eight, living in a house that’s too quiet and has hallways too full of ghosts, his only fault not being the person he used to be before he left, anymore.
The morning following Jean’s visit is a quiet affair. The night hasn’t been gentle with Diluc, but then it rarely is. He makes his way downstairs and greets his staff, his voice almost too loud in the long corridors that seem to never end. He makes it to the dining room, where a cup of coffee is already waiting for him on the table, still steaming hot.
Diluc has often told Adelinde that he could take care of preparing his own meals, but the Head Maid seemed to take his suggestion as a personal insult each time, so Diluc stopped insisting.
He’d never admit it, but he’s a little bit scared of her. Just a sane, perfectly reasonable amount.
He takes his usual spot and flips through the day’s newspaper. The sons of one of his delivery men live in the capital city, just beside Angel’s Share, and bring one for Diluc every morning.
Diluc turns the pages with one hand, only half reading, and butters a slice of toasted bread with the other. There’s rarely anything that catches his interest, for he hears enough gossip at his own bar, but people would sometimes report monsters’ sightings or post requests regarding vanquishing monsters, and he’d take those.
Once he’s done, he brings the dirty plates to the kitchen, where he rinses and dries them with practiced ease. He thinks he sees Hillie from the corner of his eye, but she’s gone once he lifts his head.
After tidying himself up in his private rooms, Diluc heads for the storage area at the back of the mansion. The sun is still low in the morning sky but the heat is already making itself known, so Diluc rolls the sleeves of his shirt and ties his hair up before he starts loading the cart that will take the goods to Angel’s Share.
“Aye, boss, leave some work for these poor men!”
Diluc lifts his head, wiping the sweat away from his forehead. He can’t help but smile when he sees the grins he gets from the two boys who come out of the storage room.
Leo and Paul are the ones who leave the newspaper for him each morning. They’re sons of one of his delivery men who passed away recently, leaving them with an empty house and bills to pay. They’re still too young to land a proper job in the city, but Diluc has known them since they were nine, and has offered them the same money their father had been earning if they took his place.
They’re two of the very few people who don’t know about his past. They treat him with no judgment nor fear. It makes Diluc’s chest tighten, sometimes.
He hides his amusement as the boys get closer, going for a stern face, but it’s an act Leo and Paul know well.
“Men?” He regards them, eyes sweeping over their flushed cheeks as he crosses his arms over his chest and lifts a brow. “Wasn’t it only yesterday that you were both crying about being mere minors when I caught you sneaking into the vineyard and threatened to give you away to the Knights?”
“We don’t recall anything like that,” Leo is quick to retort without an ounce of shame at the same time as Paul, the epitome of innocence that he is, nods his head in agreement to Diluc’s words.
At that, Diluc doesn’t bother to hide his mirth anymore. With a laugh, he ruffles the boys’ hair. “Thank you both for the newspaper.” Then, on a more serious note, he adds, “Now, unless we want Adelinde on our backs for being late for the cart pickup, we have to move.”
The look of horror on their faces at the mention of the Head Maid getting angry only makes Diluc laugh more.
It’s almost a foreign thing to him, these days, but he can’t help but notice how it leaves his chest a little lighter.
How it leaves his throat a little less tight.
-
The journey to Angel’s Share is as smooth as usual. The wine, alongside all the other non-alcoholic beverages, is picked up by Ben, who departs as soon as Diluc and the boys finish stocking the cart.
Diluc leaves right away, traveling faster than the cargo as he can stray away from the beaten paths. Soon, there’s only one bridge left to cross, and then he’s making his way through the gates of Mondstadt, head lowered briefly in a silent greeting when he passes by the usual guards.
A few people are already gathered around Angel’s Share, waiting for the bar to open. He recognizes some of them as their usuals, and nods at their Good Mornings as he pushes the front doors open with a soft click.
“Hello, Boss,” Charles salutes Diluc from behind the counter once he‘s in, a mug in one hand and a cloth in the other.
“Good morning, Charles,” Diluc retorts. He hums a thank you when the bartender tilts his head in the direction of the door that leads to a private room in the back of Angel’s Share.
“I thought we were supposed to meet at 11 AM,” Diluc says as he enters the room, closing the door behind him and resting his Gravestone by the table that stands in the middle. Then, he glances at the papers that Jean has already scattered across the tabletop.
“I couldn’t sleep,” Jean replies while her hand flies to her ponytail in a sheepish little gesture.
Diluc looks at her. Her clothes are perfectly pressed, as always, and there’s not a strand of hair out of place, but the shadows under her eyes give some of her tiredness away. He abstains from commenting on that, though. He’s certain his own eye bags mirror hers, after all.
“Let me grab two coffees,” he just says, and chuckles at the relief that paints her features.
Once he’s back, he sits down and takes a sip, the liquid bitter and hot on the tip of his tongue.
“So,” Diluc starts, which makes Jean sit a little straighter. “What’s the plan?”
-
Turns out, the plan is quite straightforward. Since the innermost circle of Fontaine’s authorities is aware that Mondstadt will be sending someone to participate in the investigation, Diluc won’t have to infiltrate the city of Fontaine unnoticed.
Still, based on the contents of another missive Jean received yesterday, solely the Archon, the Iudex and someone who goes by the title of the Administrator of the Fortress of Meropide know Diluc’s true purpose for traveling to the region of Hydro. Them and their closest officials.
Diluc knows about Focalors and the Iudex, and he knows about the Fortress, of course he does, even though he’s never seen it, hidden in the coldest depths of Fontaine’s waters. There are not many places in Teyvat that can break men's souls, after all. However, he comes up blank when he tries to recall if he’s ever heard of whoever rules over it.
Diluc lets out a quiet sigh, and leaves the unanswered question be. He knows there’s no point in forcing himself to remember – not when the time he tries to recall is still a bit smudged, in his mind, too tinted with grief and scarlet red to let him distinguish between what had truly happened and what had been real only in his head.
“The most believable excuse for your sudden appearance in Fontaine is traveling for affairs,” Jean says as she passes him a piece of parchment, her textbook-perfect handwriting neatly filling the page. “There’s no way you could arrive unnoticed, I’m afraid, not with that hair.” She looks at Diluc’s ponytail with an apologetic turn to her lips.
Diluc reads through the paper, humming in agreement before he puts it down. It only makes sense. He has never met anyone else with the same shade of hair, not even in his travels across the seven nations. The only other person who’d looked like that had been his father.
“I could color it, should it make things easier,” he says. It’s just hair, after all.
“For the winds of Barbados, Diluc, if I ordered you to do that, it would make me become Mondstadt’s top villain!” Jean laughs, melodic. “You should’ve heard the song José wrote about your hair for the last Windblume Festival,” she starts, eyebrows waggling, before a loud, mirthful snort escapes her lips.
Diluc looks at her dispassionately. He, for a fact, hopes to never hear such a thing. “I’m glad at least one of us is finding this amusing.”
“I am, thank you,” she replies as the last chuckle shakes her frame. She clears her throat, then, and gives him a more serious look. “Thanks to that deal we closed last year with the maîtres at Hotel Debord, we have an easy cover story. You’ll be visiting Fontaine to check how Dawn Winery’s products are selling, and since Sanguinetti has invited us over multiple times to try their local beverages, you’ll be staying in the city for a little longer.”
At the mention of the main city, Diluc flexes his fingers under the table. “Where am I to stay?”
“The Iudex seems to advise Hotel Debord itself,” Jean replies, and that soft look from last night is back in her eyes, as if she already knows what he’s thinking. “But I’ve heard it’s pretty ostentatious. I’ve taken the liberty to rent a little property on the northern coast of the Court of Fontaine Region, halfway between the city and the Fortress,” she says, almost like it’s an afterthought, but Diluc knows that it means ‘I know you’d rather not stay in a crowded place’. “I heard it’s close to a small fishing town, and that people over there like to lead quiet lives.”
Diluc nods.
“When am I expected to leave?” he asks, throat itchy, because receiving kindness still leaves a wrong taste in his mouth.
“I know it’s a lot to ask, but could you depart by the end of the week? That way, if the travel is smooth, you’d be in Fontaine before two weeks pass,” Jean replies, and oh gods, she looks so guilty, as if all of this is her fault.
As if it’s her fault that all Diluc is good at– all he can do– is hunt prey, no rest until it’s caught.
“I could depart tonight,” Diluc says, because he could— Dawn Winery is a well-oiled machine. His people know what to do. They’ve kept it running for four years without him, after all. Same for Angel’s Share.
“Diluc–” Jean speaks, his name a truncated sound in her mouth, but Diluc stops her before she can say something silly, like 'Forget it all' or 'I will go instead, this shouldn’t be on you'.
“It’s okay,” he says, putting his hands on the table and pushing himself up. “Thank you for having thought everything through so that the only thing I must do is show up. We both know that between the two of us, you’re the brains.” He lets the corners of his lips quirk up, ever so slightly.
Jean looks like she wants to rebut, wants to fight him on the decision, but eventually she yields and indulges his change of topic.
“You know very well that it’s not true.”
“I might, but it would be quite unbecoming of the Finest Gentleman of Mondstadt to be guilty of vanity, would it?”
That finally gets a laugh out of her. “You shameless liar! I knew you knew all about your nicknames!”
“Gods, Jean, I just wish they weren’t so bad,” Diluc admits, a laughter escaping his own lips, leaving him surprised at how easily it came. “Honestly, Darknight Hero?” At that, Jean laughs, fully and unrestrained. “And don’t even get me started on Dandelion Tycoon.” That one actually makes Diluc’s lips curl in distaste.
“Oh Archons, I forgot about that one,” she chuckles, drying her eyes with the back of her hand. “Ah, one would think that our people would do a little better, with the penchant for poetry they have.”
“One would be terribly wrong,” Diluc retorts gravely, which only makes Jean giggle more.
After that, it takes some more planning and too many 'Thank you's from Jean before they’re finally ready to part ways. Jean leaves all the documents with Diluc, stating he will need them more than her, and Diluc doesn’t argue. Instead, he accompanies her to the door, but doesn’t follow her outside— he wants to stay at the bar a bit longer to brief Charles on his absence, and maybe lend a hand with the morning rush.
“Jean,” Diluc starts when his friend is about to step out of the office. His next words are spoken quickly, rushed out of his mouth before he can change his mind and not speak at all. “Can I ask for a favor?”
Jean immediately replies, “Of course. Whatever you need.”
“Whenever they’re back from the islands,” Diluc starts, turning back towards the table as a familiar melancholy makes breathing a little more difficult. “Could you keep an eye on Kaeya for a couple of days?”
He doesn’t see Jean’s expression, not with his back turned towards her, but her voice is light when she retorts, “I’ll take him out for drinks. I know how nostalgic he gets when he comes back from these trips.” There’s no indication that she’s surprised by his request, and Diluc is grateful, because this will be the first time he won’t be there to make sure Kaeya is brought home safely after one too many drinks.
Diluc has never admitted it to anyone, but there are times when he feels selfish– times when he allows himself to think of Kaeya as family, on those days he feels particularly lonely. Yet he never says those things out loud, because brother has become a foreign word to him, one that dies on the tip of his tongue each time he tries to voice it, heavy and dry in his mouth. Because Diluc doesn’t have any right to call Kaeya his brother anymore, not after what he’s done, not after all those years he’s wasted on gathering the courage to make things better.
Diluc thinks Kaeya would let them go back to the way things were before they fought, if Diluc asked. Because Kaeya is forgiving like that. But Diluc hasn’t apologized enough. No— he hasn’t even started, because he doesn’t know how, has always found it difficult to say Sorry, even if he knows it’s a weak excuse.
So while Diluc tries and fails to say those words that won’t leave his mouth, Kaeya gets sad, sometimes. And when that happens, what Diluc does is he pours him drinks and then asks Rosaria or Jean to take him home when Kaeya can’t keep his eyes open anymore.
“Don’t let him drink too much,” Diluc says when breathing becomes easy again, facing Jean once more. “His tab has been open for four moons.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Jean retorts with a playful glint in her eye, “but I’ve seen you bin said tab last week, and the week before that, and the week before -”
“Don’t you have work to do?” Diluc interrupts her, cheeks flushing, because apparently his friend is too perceptive for his own good.
Jean laughs. “I do, I do.” Then, with one hand on the handle, she turns around one last time. “Please, let me know if you need anything for the trip. Transport and food are covered, you know it, but maybe you could use an extra thing or two.”
–
As anticipated, getting ready for the trip does not take long. Contrary to what some Mondstadters might think, Diluc does not have many possessions. All his essentials fit neatly into one travel bag— a few changes of clothes, a spare pair of boots and gloves, a book— one of those he’s read many times, with pages yellowed from use and deep cracks running along its spine. He tucks a map of Teyvat in one of the pockets even though he still remembers all the twists and turns that took him to Snezhnaya. He squeezes a bar of soap in the other pocket because Sumeru’s deserts extend for days with no cities in sight, and then packs a flask, an extra vision holder, and a couple of knives that don’t fit in the holsters around his hips, thighs and ankles.
The bag clinks lighty when he picks it up to put it beside the door, but that’s because Charles stuffed two bottles of juice into Diluc’s hands right before he left for Dawn Winery. They’ll weigh him down in the long run. Diluc knows it. He doesn’t take them out.
At last, he picks a dark sheath for the Gravestone— the weapon is easy to spot, otherwise, could scare the people he’ll meet on the road off.
When all is packed, zipped tight and brought downstairs, he debriefs his staff. He can’t tell them why he’s leaving for Fontaine even though he trusts them, so what they get is his cover story. As expected, they all know what to do in his absence.
“Do not worry, Master Diluc,” is what Adelinde says. “Have a safe trip and enjoy your break.”
Leo and Paul look dejected when Diluc tells them he doesn’t know when he’ll be back, but their spirits lift a little when Diluc promises to send them souvenirs.
Soon enough, the sun dips below the hills that surround his house, and the sky turns pink and peach.
“Master Diluc,” Adelinde calls after him once he sets foot outside the vineyards. She’s swift in making her way down the cobblestone stairs. When she reaches him, she hands him a small cage.
“You might need this. She’ll probably follow you, and I heard that there are vultures, big like trees, in the deserts.”
Diluc chuckles, light. Adelinde’s right– his falcon, Frei, wouldn’t let him go alone anywhere, would she?
“Thank you,” he replies as he ties the cage to the strap of his bag.
The Head Maid only nods, and it looks a little like reassurance, that all will be fine, as if Diluc might need it. And maybe he does.
He gives the house that doesn’t quite feel like home anymore one last look, his staff one last wave of hand. Then, as the sky turns inky blue just like it did yesterday and will tomorrow, Diluc walks.
-
It takes Diluc eight days to reach the waterfalls of Fontaine. Crossing Mondstadt is an easy journey– Diluc knows every inch of it like the back of his hand, and chooses to go by foot despite Jean offering him a carriage ride. He’s much quicker on his own. Besides, Liyue’s borders are close to Dawn Winery.
He stops only when he arrives at Stone Gate, where a Liyue official asks him for his travel documents. Once he’s cleared to go, it’s almost night again, so he decides to rest at Wangshu Inn. He’s always liked that place. Its owners are discreet and its staff is tactful, and the food is lovely, even though it errs on the side of being too spicy for Diluc’s taste.
He’s the last patron of the day, aside from a man with dark green hair and a tattoo that runs down his arm. There’s a spear that looks like it’s made of jade, propped against his chair. Diluc nods in greeting, but doesn’t engage the man in conversation. He’s never been a fan of small talk. Besides, he can recognize someone who wants to be left alone.
They both consume their dinners in silence. Once he’s done, Diluc stands up to pay. By the time he turns around, the other man is gone— it’s almost as if he has vanished into thin air. Diluc doesn’t ask the owner any questions on the matter. It’s none of his business, after all.
Rest comes somewhat easily, that night. It could have something to do with the fact that Frei finally catches up with him. Her arrival is announced by a sweet chirp and a playful nip on Diluc’s ear.
The remaining part of the journey is not as smooth– whilst Monstadt and Liyue are easy to cross, with their well-beaten paths and lack of inquisitive gazes from passersby, the same thing cannot be said for Sumeru.
Diluc hasn’t been there in a long, long time, but he knows not many Mondstadters venture so far away from home. He’s aware he’d stick out like a sore thumb if he traveled via main roads, even though his documents are all in place, and he’d rather avoid too much spotlight.
So he follows the little route Jean has drafted for him. She knows some people, it turns out, who are willing to host and feed a stranger without asking questions. Not that Diluc couldn’t set up camp somewhere in the rainforest and hunt, but he knows about the Forest Rangers, and knows they wouldn’t be happy if he caused harm to what they swore to protect.
Too soon, the luscious vegetation gives way to dry sand and scorching sun, and the desert is exactly how Diluc remembers it to be— hostile and unforgiving to those who are unlucky enough to lose sight of the path. It’s the only stretch of the journey Diluc does with someone by his side.
Jean has hired a small group of Eremites to take him from Caravan Ribat to the lands that span north of Hills of Barsom. Diluc knows there’s another way, faster, through the Old Vanarana, but it’s a dangerous one— one he didn’t have the courage to take when he was eighteen, and one won’t take now that he’s twenty-eight, either.
The leader of his companions is Aybak, the five-people group tells him as soon as they meet, but he always stays in Caravan Ribat, they state. They’ll be guided by Kazim— a large, large man with short, brown hair and kind eyes. There are two other men, and two women.
“Eremites is a wide term, young Master,” Kazim instructs him with a rough laugh when Diluc greets them using that word, tying a red scarf around Diluc’s neck so that others know he’s with them. “There are many tribes and different leaders, and let me tell ya, we sure as hell don’t all get along!”
Diluc apologizes for his ignorance, but the only thing he gets back are laughs— no malice, just mirth— and strong pats on his shoulder blades as the other members of the group introduce themselves.
The beginning of their journey is loud, filled with laughter and easy jokes. Diluc’s throat tightens when he listens to how they talk to each other. Brothers and sisters, that’s what they call themselves, as if they’re one big family.
When the moon is high in the sky and the others are fast asleep, barring whoever has to keep guard, Diluc allows himself a moment to marvel at how different the trip is, now that he’s not alone. Because back then, it was just him, blind rage making his stomach churn and pure spite keeping him going, one step at a time. Lips split open from the wind and sand and heat, and a dry throat, and dry eyes.
Now, there's someone by his side, and the guys he’s with know what they’re doing. The desert is their home, that’s what they tell him, pride coloring their voices and wide grins splitting their sun-kissed faces. This time there’s no thirst and no exhaustion, and no more silence so loud that Diluc has to cover his ears so that he doesn’t go crazy.
What leaves Diluc most surprised though, and a bit breathless, is that the group treats him like he’s one of their own. He’s guarded, at first, but that doesn’t deter them from including him in their conversations, strong hands clasping his shoulders when he says something they deem funny— Diluc has no idea why they find his answers amusing; he knows there are many people who are much more entertaining than him. They cook, for them and for him, their dishes rich in flavor and unlike anything Diluc has eaten before. They all carry those little bags, filled with spices it turns out, that make everything taste heavenly even though the desert doesn’t offer much provisions. They spare a couple of pieces of meat for Frei, now resting in her cage. They don’t question it when Diluc turns down a flask filled with something that smells of alcohol.
They take their time explaining all the little curiosities about a ruin passed here and a pyramid passed there, and before he knows it, Diluc starts to see the desert in another light. And by the time he sees the first sunset, hues of gold and blue and violet above the orange sand, he realizes he wouldn’t mind coming back.
-
Things get more difficult as soon as they reach Wadi Al-Majuj. The sand lifts, merciless, in the blasting winds, and even keeping his eyes open becomes almost impossible.
“Hold on tight, young Master!” Kazim shouts, but his voice barely audible above the howling sandstorm.
Diluc feels a tug around his waist. When he looks down, he realizes Kazim has tied a rope around his hips and is now wrapping it around his own middle.
“Soon, we won’t be able to see the tips of our noses!”
One of the women, Karima, shows him how to wrap a scarf around his face so that he doesn’t breathe in too much sand. She ties another scarf around Frei’s cage, and winks when Diluc bows his head to thank her.
The crossing of lands around Mount Damavand is silent— there’s no space for jokes when every step they take could bring them over the edge of a cliff they couldn’t see.
The next few days feel both like a flash and an eternity. When they finally step into Temir Mountains, battered and exhausted, even Kazim doesn’t have the energy to chat as they set up camp.
-
Diluc has to admit that Fontaine looks breathtaking, seen from the most northern coast of Sumeru. The city stands tall and proud, surrounded by waterfalls that sparkle like gems in the warm morning sun, its white and golden buildings glistening in the distance.
“This is as far as we can take you,” says Kazim from beside him, placing one hand on Diluc’s shoulder. It’s a gesture Diluc has started to recognize as something his companions do almost unconsciously— a sign of kinship. Diluc still isn’t used to physical contact, but in these last few days, being touched so casually, without any ulterior motive, has stopped making him feeling uneasy.
Maybe that’s why, for the first time in a long while, Diluc feels reluctant to say goodbye. However, when he bids them all farewell, sure they won’t see each other again, Kazim asks with an easy smile, “Will you or will you not have to go back to your City of Freedom, one day?”
Diluc can’t help but smile back. “I’m afraid I will, yes. A vacation can only last so long.”
“Keep the scarf then, young Master, and call for us when you decide to go back home.”
Diluc keeps his eyes squeezed shut when Kazim wraps him in a bone-crushing hug, overwhelmed by emotions he cannot quite name.
“It’s been an honor, traveling with all of you. Thank you for bringing me here safely,” he finally manages, voice breaking a little by the end, but his companions are gracious enough to let it slide.
“The pleasure is all ours! And hey, don’t be a stranger,” one of the other men retorts, and before Diluc knows it, he’s being hugged and slapped on the back by four other people.
They part ways soon after, with promises of seeing each other again, just before Diluc’s transportation to Fontaine docks by the shore.
It’s a small ship, powered by some sort of energy— Diluc knows Fontaine is ages ahead of Mondstadt in terms of technological development, but the last time he was crossing its waters he couldn’t have cared less about learning more about the city, so he doesn’t really know what he’s looking at.
“First time in Fontaine, sir?” a young, smartly dressed man asks Diluc when he climbs on board.
“You could say so,” Diluc retorts, curt, assuming the other man must be the captain. Then, he drinks in the view of the turquoise water.
He watches how the rich, underwater vegetation parts under them, and how flocks of colored fish that must’ve inhabited it scatter in all directions, disturbed by their passage. He spots a group of otters, pointing their curious little eyes at the ship as they make their way to the other coast.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” the captain asks conversationally, but Diluc spots the pride in his voice.
He thinks of Mondstadt— of its lush, green fields embracing ponds and lakes, and of dandelions spinning in the wind.
“Indeed,” he agrees.
They reach Romaritime Harbor in no time. It’s an impressive build, looming over all nearby waters; in truth, it’s much taller than any other building Diluc has ever seen.
Once Diluc disembarks, he is instructed to take the elevator to the top floor, from where he’ll be able to catch something called an Aquabus.
He opens his mouth, questions at the ready because he has no clue what such a vehicle is supposed to look like, but the ship he’d just taken departs as soon as he steps on land.
Diluc sighs. He’s on his own, he guesses.
With one last scan of his surroundings, he adjusts his hold on his travel bag and peers into Frei’s cage. She was resting until a bit ago, but she’s awake now, and Diluc can tell that she’s not happy about still being locked up.
“Just a little more patience,” he murmurs once he makes sure no one can hear him. “According to the uselessly long codex of this country, I must register you first.”
In response, she deigns him with a glance and a soft whistle.
“Thanks for the acknowledgment, your highness,” he chuckles, but his smile drops as soon as he realizes that people have started noticing his arrival.
They don’t even try to hide their curious gazes.
It’s frighteningly easy, for Diluc, to slip into the mask he usually wears around Mondstadt. He squares his shoulders in a movement made a thousand times, and lifts his chin, just as he’s been taught, and makes his way to the elevator despite the tightness around his chest.
He breathes out in relief as soon as he steps in, for he’s the only person going upstairs. He allows himself to rest his back against the side of the elevator when the doors close.
Because Diluc is exhausted and dirty, and has no clue as to what comes next.
It feels like forever, but he finally gets to the top of the Harbor. Luck must be on his side, because the Aquabus station is right in front of him when he gets off, and the vehicle itself is already parked, waiting to depart. He also appears to be the only passenger.
There’s only one other person— person?— on the bus.
“Hello there, dear passenger. Is there anything I can do for you?'' that someone asks as soon as he sits down. Their voice is melodic and they’re dressed in a neatly sewn uniform, and they’re clearly waiting for an answer, so Diluc stops trying to understand whom he’s looking at and says the first thing that comes to his mind:
“When does the Aquabus depart?”
“O-Oh, right! It’s time to go already, isn’t it?” the … guide? Stutters, and as if on cue, the vehicle lits up.
They must sense Diluc’s perplexity, because as soon as they start moving, the pace of the bus more leisurely than rushed, they start talking.
“I'll introduce myself officially once we're underway, but guess there's no harm doing it now! I'm Aeval, and I'm in charge of introducing the Clementine Line! Are you curious about us Melusines, dear passenger? Mm-hmm, I get it, you must be! They say that there aren't any Melusines anywhere else in Teyvat, after all!”
And this is how Diluc learns about Melusines, about Monsieur Neuvillette, and about the aquarail system.
Aeval is very friendly and clearly passionate about her job. She proves to be an excellent source of information on anything, from food and local journals to weather forecast and legislation, and has an in-depth knowledge on every single location they pass by as they make their way to the “magnificent” Court of Fontaine.
Diluc doesn’t know how it happens, but somewhere between Aeval recommending a café and the endless blue of the sea, he relaxes, just the slightest bit.
And when they pass by mountains and hills that somehow remind him of Mondstadt, Diluc closes his eyes, just for a second.
-
Diluc is woken up whenever they’re close to the destination.
His eyes fly open as he jolts awake, and for a moment he has no idea where he is. His heart hammers in his chest while his hand flies to his back, to where his Gravestone rests, because he can’t believe he lowered his guard like that, stupid, he’s been taught better than this–
“Dozing off to a Melusine commentary with the beautiful sights of Fontaine around you must surely be a recipe for a sweet dream!” Aeval chirps, giggling.
Diluc blinks, slowly, and realizes he’s still on the Aquabus. He’s in Fontaine. He lowers his hand and feels the adrenaline starting to wear off, leaving his stomach churning.
Archons. He almost attacked Aeval. For waking him up.
He passes a shaky hand over his face and takes a deep breath. Then, another one.
“Dear passenger, are you okay? Don’t worry, we’ve almost arrived! My friend Sedene will be waiting for you at the station, so you’ll be in great hands.”
Diluc manages a nod, taking one more breath, and finally calms down. Because luckily, Aeval doesn’t look like she’s realized what almost happened.
“Ah, thank you,” he says once he’s sure his voice won’t come out too coarse, and almost smiles at how excited Aeval gets when he replies. “I’ll be looking forward to meeting her, then.”
-
Diluc meets the Iudex much earlier than anticipated.
Sedene, another Melusine who must be an officer of sorts, informs him that Monsieur Neuvillette is waiting for Diluc in his office as soon as they meet at the Aquabus station.
Thankfully, she concedes Diluc a handful of minutes in the bathroom before the encounter takes place. What Diluc is not ready for, however, is the fact that the bathrooms of Palais Mermonia could easily belong in a castle.
Everything is marble and golden and opulent, and Diluc immediately feels out of place. Not to mention that it takes him embarrassingly long to figure out that the ostentatiously ornate faucet handles by the sinks let out warm and cold water, respectively, and that he can mix them to get something more lukewarm instead of scorching his hands.
Once Diluc’s sure he won’t flood the place by accident, he scrubs all the dust from Sumeru off of his face and neck, sighing when the cool water meets his warmed up skin. He wishes he could indulge in the sensation a little longer, but there’s no time, so he goes for his forearms next. Then, he spends a moment making sure his nails are clean.
Lastly, he brushes his hair and ties it up again, as neatly as he can.
Under normal circumstances, he would meet the Iudex wearing something more formal. This time, though, he’ll have to go with what he has, which is a plain shirt and a pair of trousers he changed into yesterday, in the desert.
-
When Diluc enters the office, prompted by a polite “Please, come in,” he knows right off the bat that the man he sees is the Iudex of Fontaine.
His first thought is that Monsieur Neuvillette cuts a truly impressive figure. He’s tall, almost as much as Diluc, all dressed in blue and white. He must be in his mid-thirties, even though his face is not tainted by a single blemish. What’s most striking, though, are his features— a perfect balance of pale skin, high cheekbones and straight lines.
His mere presence demands undivided attention.
“Welcome to Fontaine, Mister Ragnivindr. Please, let me apologize for calling you in so soon after your arrival, but I am otherwise occupied, this afternoon. Had we not seen each other now, I would’ve been of no use to you until tomorrow.” The Iudex welcomes Diluc, cane in hand even though there’s no visible limp to his walk, and Diluc’s own greeting dies in his throat, because the other man is like nothing Diluc has expected.
Diluc was expecting someone presumptuous, rude even, perhaps, if the tone of the letters Jean received from the Iudex was of any indication. But Monsieur Neuvillette is… polite. And apologetic. And he looks like he truly regrets calling Diluc in right after stepping foot into the city.
The other man must take Diluc’s stunned silence as malcontent rather than surprise, because he is quick to speak again, his gloved hand motioning to a chair. “Ah, my apologies. Your journey must’ve been wearing. Please, take a seat. I will have Sedene bring some refreshments.”
“There’s no need, Monsieur Neuvillette,” Diluc finally replies, closing the distance between them so that he can shake the other man’s outstretched hand. “The journey hasn’t been too strenuous, merely long.” Diluc gives the Iudex’ hand a firm shake, noting that his grip is decisive. He lowers his head as a show of gratitude before meeting the other man’s eyes once more. “Thank you for having me here. The Melusines have been truly welcoming, so far.”
Diluc must’ve said something right, because the Iudex smiles.
“Ah, they truly are wonderful creatures, are they not?”
After that one comment, their conversation runs smoothly. The Iudex insists on being called Neuvillette even though he refuses to call Diluc anything other than Mister Ragnivindr, and briefs him, albeit superficially, on Diluc’s task.
“It is best you speak to Wriothesley. He has been appointed as one of the principal investigators of the case and is in possession of all the information you might find relevant.” Neuvillette says once he’s done giving Diluc the rough details, and drops a set of keys on Diluc’s hand. “I have arranged transportation to the Fortress of Meropide for today, if you are not too fatigued. I thought you might appreciate having something to read, tonight.”
Diluc turns the keys in his fingers, wishing he could refuse the invitation. There’s nothing he wants to do more than rest, even just for a little while. “Are these the keys to my accommodation?”
“Indeed,” Neuvillette confirms. “Follow the coast east of the Court of Fontaine, and you will find a small village on your left. Your accommodation is the only one standing vacant. It is not a long distance from here. Twenty minutes, perhaps.”
Diluc imprints Neuvillette’s instructions on his memory and slips the keys into the pocket of his trousers. “And how do I reach the Fortress of Meropide?” he asks, because he might as well get done with everything as soon as possible.
Neuvillette grants him a smile. “By swimming,” he says, and for a moment Diluc thinks he’s joking, because isn’t the Fortress at the bottom of the sea?
Neuvillette must sense his confusion, because he patiently clarifies, “Vision holders can dive in the waters of Fontaine without need for any specific equipment. It is a marvelous feature, for there’s no need for air– water itself is air, for us, in the depths of the sea.”
Diluc’s eyes widen in awe. The concept sounds utterly abstract to him.
How can a person made of flesh and blood breathe underwater? How do they not drown?
“But do not worry about that yet, Mister Ragnivindr,” Neuvillette continues, unaware of Diluc’s internal conflict. “Today, you will be accompanied by one of the city’s submarines. You cannot dive without a proper license, for that is against the law. Training has been scheduled to start tomorrow at noon, so please show up at the location indicated in this letter when the time comes.” The Iudex extends an elegant envelope to him. “When you arrive at the Fortress, ask for the Duke, and keep an eye out for the emblem of a wolf.”
Diluc is still too dazed by the newly acquired information to ask any questions. He merely accepts the letter, taking a glimpse at the elegant handwriting gracing the envelope.
“Oh, one last thing. I have taken the liberty of not informing Miss Furina about your early arrival. I hope you do not mind, but I have thought it would be best to schedule a meeting which I too can attend. Miss Furina can get quite, ah… Animated, when encountering new people.”
The tension Diluc felt at the first mention of the Archon’s name leaves his shoulders in an instant.
“Thank you, Neuvillette. That is very thoughtful,” he answers honestly, not caring about upholding any sort of façade anymore.
“I am glad to hear it,” Neuvillette replies with another polite smile.
At that point, Diluc can feel their conversation is nearing an end. He isn’t one to push his luck, not usually, but today has been good, so far, and there is one last thing he wants to ask the Iudex.
“Would you happen to have a pet registration form at hand?”
If Neuvillette is surprised by his request, it doesn’t show.
“This is the office of the Iudex of Fontaine, Mister Ragnivindr,” he says, voice tinted with mirth. “I would like to hope it’s well-stocked with legal papers.”
Diluc smiles.
Perhaps this whole experience won’t be too bad, he thinks. People here seem more reasonable than he’d initially thought.
-
Diluc takes whatever he thought earlier back— today is definitely not his lucky day.
Not only did he get lost as soon as his guide left him at the entrance of the Fortress, because apparently every single turn of the godforsaken place looks exactly the same as the previous ones. No— to make things worse, he must’ve opened the wrong door, because all of a sudden there are five guards on him, and he manages not to get shot by a tranquilizer by some sort of miracle.
He tries to explain that he’s looking for the Duke, but there’s too much commotion. No one is listening to him— in addition, a moment earlier, whilst he was opening the damn door, hoping that he’d finally found the right office, two of the guards cornered him from behind and managed to take away his Gravestone.
Diluc really, really doesn’t want to fight.
Placing his bag on the ground, he sighs and takes a good look around.
The first guard he goes for is the one that shot the tranquilizer at him. It takes nothing more than a firm tug to take the weapon away from the other man, who must’ve not been expecting any form of resistance from Diluc’s part. Diluc has no idea how the strange contraption works, so he crushes it under his foot, just to be extra safe.
As soon as he lifts his head, another guard launches himself at him. He avoids getting tackled by simply stepping aside. As a result, said guard, quite unfortunately, ends up colliding with the one Diluc just disarmed. They both fall to the floor with a loud groan.
“Listen,” Diluc starts for the umpteenth time when the three remaining men take out their weapons. “I’m an authorized visitor. I’m just looking for the D—"
“Hmm, who do we have here?” A deep, calm voice speaks somewhere by Diluc’s ear, right before a hand grabs Diluc by the front of his shirt.
For a second, everything and everyone stills.
Then, with a force so brute that it lifts Diluc off the ground, someone smashes Diluc, back first, onto the floor.
The only thing Diluc manages to do before falling is tuck his chin to his chest to avoid getting his head split open on the cold stone. The impact, however, knocks Diluc’s breath out of his lungs.
“Is this how you greet all your hosts?” The man who just incapacitated Diluc asks, his hand pressing, unyielding, on Diluc’s chest. The tone of his voice remains unchanged- he sounds like he’s having an idle chat with Diluc, but at that point Diluc is only half-listening.
His only focus, now razor-sharp, is on his assailant’s silhouette, outlined by the scarce illumination above them.
The man is bigger than Diluc, but Diluc has fought many opponents bigger than the man. So, while the new guard is still speaking, Diluc plants his feet on the floor and rotates his hips, fast and hard. At the same time, he grabs the man by the wrist, and places his other hand at the guard’s bend of the elbow. Then, he pushes.
Diluc thinks he can hear a quiet inhale of surprise as the man falls forward, the support his arm was providing taken away from him, but he doesn’t stop to listen more closely. With the momentum gained from twisting his hips, Diluc reverses their positions— it takes less than a heartbeat to have the guard on his back.
Once he’s on top, Diluc places his knees firmly on the man’s sides, straddling his thighs to impede any movement. He twists the other man’s wrist, lightly, just enough to keep him from trying to free it from Diluc’s grip, and pins his arm beside his head.
Only then, he gets a good look at his attacker. And when he does, his breath stills in his chest.
Because the person underneath him is so full of scars, on his throat and on his chest, that it makes Diluc think How is he even alive?
Diluc’s eyes wander over the patch of skin left exposed by their altercation. He looks like he’s been ripped open and sewn back together, and kept from bleeding out by trying to hold the pieces in place with thick rope instead of needle and thread–
Diluc’s throat tightens as he looks up from the man’s neck, suddenly feeling like he’s not supposed to be seeing all this. Like it’s not for his eyes to take.
His lips, however, part when he rests his gaze on the guard’s face. Because the other man is already looking at him, a slight surprise painting his features, and his eyes look like they’re made of ice.
The whole moment lasts two seconds, three maybe. That’s how long it takes Diluc to finally, finally notice the big crest of a wolf hanging from the man’s robes.
That’s how long it takes Diluc to realize that he has just physically assaulted the Duke of the Fortress of Meropide.
If Diluc knew any better, he’d get up and apologize, profusely, because he cannot get arrested, not on his first day in Fontaine.
“Is this how you treat your guests?” He asks instead, in retort to the Duke’s own question, and readies himself to be put in cuffs.
The Duke blinks, once, twice.
Then, out of all the possible reactions, he laughs, eyes closing and crinkling at the corners.
“Are all winemakers of Mondstadt this skilled in hand-to-hand combat, Mister Ragnivindr?” is what he asks, at last, meeting Diluc's eyes with the shadow of a smile still ghosting around his lips.
Diluc releases his grip on the Duke’s wrist and falls back onto his heels, holding the other man's gaze. He doesn’t know if he feels more dazed or relieved. He’s not getting arrested. “I wouldn’t say so, no.”
His answer makes the Duke chuckle.
“Ah, as much as I might like the idea of lying down and taking a rest, I’m afraid we ought to discuss official matters in an office and not on the floor,” he says convesationally, propping himself on his elbows. Then, before Diluc can retort, he leans in, ever so slightly. With an amused glint in his eye, he adds, “I wouldn’t want to give my guards a bad example.”
Today is not his lucky day, Diluc thinks once more as an apology dies on his tongue, hoping he’s not flushing red.
Because not only has he broken into a closed-off section of Teyvat’s biggest prison, fought its guards and then its Administrator.
He’s been straddling said Administrator for the past two minutes, and apparently it hasn’t crossed his mind to, Diluc doesn’t know– maybe get up?
As Diluc finally makes his way to his feet, extending one hand to the other man to help him up, he blames it all on Jean.
So much for a good first impression.