Chapter Text
“ ...thus, all who cast their lots, will in doing so, by the principles we hold dear, affirm their oath to honourable and dignified conduct.”
Sedene, who had mustered all the enthusiasm of a bored schoolgirl, finished reading the flyer that she had brought to the Iudex’s office. For his part, Neuvillette, Hydro Dragon Sovereign, Iudex of the Opera Epiclese, and de facto head of state of Fontaine, sat in silent contemplation. Sedene gave him a few moments. With this finger steepled and his gaze pointedly affixed out his window, the Iudex had evidently found the contents of the flyer to be something of grave concern. It was not difficult to guess at what troubled him. The flyer had appeared suddenly and without warning one morning, alongside a thousand copies of itself. Plastered upon every window, door, and otherwise visible surface, a handful had even made their way to Merusea Village. There was little chance that anyone in Fontaine had failed to note their presence and their content.
It was a curious thing. None would doubt the Lady Furina’s exalted status, and regardless of how the former archon herself felt about the matter, her reputation was unimpeachable. Yet the flyers expressed their devotion towards the erstwhile goddess and beloved celebrity in a manner that most seemed to find a touch forward . Lady Furina, Regina of All Waters, Kindreds, Peoples and Laws, was beloved by all Fontaine, and likely Teyvat, and yet for such an adored figure, the apple of Fontaine’s eye lacked for one to call her own. This, claimed the flyer, was a terrible tragedy. The good lady deserved to be loved, and loved more intimately, and to that end, all Fontaine was to be called to action. In the coming days and weeks, those who dared to step forth, to declare their love for she-to-whom-all-Fontaine-owed, would be tested and tried. From those suitors, they who were most meritorious and most excellent would be found, and all Fontaine would thus approve of the only one who could be worthy of their lady.
Furina, for her part, retained a post-noon schedule. Thoroughly unemployed, her habitually late risings had given Fontaine a window of several hours, in which Neuvillette ordered a total sweep and removal of the distributed flyers. Furina, mercifully, had been kept in the dark about the “contest,” but she, as she had been for the five centuries prior, was alone in this. Sedene had observed Neuvillette spending the better part of the morning staring out his window, watching the dark and roiling clouds accumulate over their fair city. Several hours into his contemplation, he had asked Sedene to fetch a flyer and read its content to him in full, as in his indignation he had only absorbed a brief skim. Though the storm clouds had dissipated, his mood had not.
After maintaining his silence for a time, he finally spoke. The Iudex had quite the words for the “event.” “Insulting,” of course, that one Sedene expected. “Undignified,” that too. “Violating” was a touch more vivid than she’d come to expect from Neuvillette but she could understand the underlying sentiment more or less. “Presumptuous” felt personal, however. Sensing that it would be best if she left, Sedene indicated that she’d have the flyer returned to the “to shred” pile. Doubtless the Iudex had no need of it anymore. Before she left, Sedene tried a joke. The air in the Iudex’s office had grown quite heavy, and she could’ve done with a breather. Neuvillette obviously found the whole affair beneath him so, clearly, he would not be participating.
The Iudex responded with surprising force. His hands met his table with a suddenness that made Sedene flinch. Yes, of course, she was right, he said. It would be beneath the Iudex to participate in such a frivolous game. It was beneath his station, and for that matter, beneath all Fontainians. Any who deigned to partake was to demean themselves in doing so. The entire premise was absurd. Of course, Fontainians did love romance, and they did love gossip, and they did love a scandal. Many would follow the event, and the “winner” would find themselves enjoying a great deal of popular support. More to himself than Sedene, Neuvillette continued. It was entirely inappropriate, and truly absurd. It was just as likely to nominate some charlatan than anyone respectable, and Neuvillette had known Lady Furina for over five hundred years. He knew her in a way no-one else possibly could.
If anything, it was his responsibility to ensure no unworthy suitor blundered their way to her.
Yes, there really was only one way for Neuvillette to ensure a certain quality would be met.
Sedene had by then, already left.
****
Clorinde, Champion Duellist of the Opera Epiclese, widely held and factually attested to be the strongest of her peers, and former personal bodyguard to the Archon herself, crumpled up the flyer in her hands and tossed it away. Ridiculous. The flyers bore no identifying mark, no claim of responsibility. Not only were they scandal-inciting, they were cowardly. Whosoever had dared to presume that Furina could be won like some prize had dared to hide behind the mask of anonymity. To have treated Furina, their saviour, as some mere final goal in a game, was an insult that had to be answered. Clorinde, a peerless duellist, was sadly not an investigative match for the entire garde corps, and was thus forced to simply be patient.
Professionally, Clorinde held no remaining obligations to Furina. She, who held no office, was granted no dispensation nor privilege by the systems of Fontaine. Officially, anyways. Clorinde, who had proved her sword swifter than all the rest, who had proved her hand more deft than any who challenged it, had stood at Furina’s side ever since she had earned her right to. Furina had ceased to be Clorinde’s god, but she had not ceased to be her friend, and Furina, who adored sweets and drink and adoration, was a friend she cherished most dearly. Overcome with a rush of irritation, stoney-faced Clorinde whipped her pistol from its holster and trained her sights upon the crumpled pamphlet. Her fingers, vice-like, were wrapped around its grip so hard she thought something might crack, be it her bones or her weapon.
Clorinde was unsure as to what had come over her. Dramatics were reserved for her off-the-clock personae, but Clorinde, Champion Duellist, was meant to have ice running through her veins. She reholstered her weapon, ashamed. It had been many years since she had been so rattled. She had to refocus, channel her frustration, her annoyance into something productive. Navia and Wriothesley, she thought, would require visits. They operated in power structures independent of the city proper, had access to resources that she did not, and could have seen or heard things she was not privy to. They would be good to see again. Something about that made her bristle.
Navia and Wriothesley, terribly dissimilar, at least in how Clorinde saw it. In disposition, in fashion sense, in gastronomics, they seemed disparate. They were, however, and Clorinde was only considering this line of thought in the strictest, most professional, and objective sense, quite impressive. Though their backgrounds were, as with the qualities before, dissimilar, they were both capable, intelligent, and attractive individuals. Neither, Clorinde judged, would be terrible “winners.” They weren’t, perhaps, the suitors that Clorinde would’ve chosen for her dear friend, but having known Furina for so long, she held high standards.
Indeed, Clorinde held terribly high standards. She held both Navia and Wriothesley in high regard, and yet if those two lacked a certain something, then what hope could there be for the average Fontainian? Clorinde was not all of Fontaine, however, nor was she the anonymous organizer. For all she knew, there could be some truly nonsensical criteria at play, and someone most ill-suited would be selected. Someone who worshipped the ground she walked on, and failed to see the person that she was. Someone who viewed her merely as a prize, a former Archon to be paraded about. Someone who didn’t know her favourite sweets or someone who failed to understand her unique charm.
No, Clorinde could not permit someone inadequate to be deemed the victor.
There was really only one thing for Clorinde to do.
****
Most of the Fleuve Cendre had been giving Escoffier’s kitchen a wide berth for the better part of the day. The master chef, who busied herself with an eclectic variety of improvised sweet treats that grew ever more elaborate in nature, had been radiating a most foul and hateful miasma. Navia, who was the only one courageous enough to try and calm her down, had been growled at by the knife-brandishing culinarian, and had quailed in the face of such danger. Escoffier, who then returned to stomping around her kitchen, remained inconsolable.
How dare they! Escoffier, whose hands were operating on instinct, occupied her mind with fury. A suitor determined by a game? She’d eat her hat before she’d let that happen. Love was not a batter upon which a set of random cookie cutters could be pressed into until some satisfactory shape was determined! Star shape, incidentally, Escoffier noted. Furina loved cookies that were shaped like stars and glazed to resemble the Lumitoiles and she highly doubted anyone else knew that! Love was a most delicate dish, whose serving and preparation demanded the utmost care and attention, and it astounded her that the rest of Fontaine did not seem to appreciate that!
The nature of the flyer suggested quite an ignorant attitude. Escoffier doubted there were any in Fontaine who could truly speak to their Lady Archon’s nature better than her. Behind her showmanship, which was dazzling, and her charisma, which was intoxicating, and behind her gentleness, which was angelic, and behind her beauty, which was unmatched, there was a vulnerability, and a simplicity. Escoffier may not have been personally commissioned by Furina’s place of work to prepare her desserts, but she remained in contact, and Furina, the poor girl, sent her “attempts” at “cooking.”
Furina, of course, simply possessed an inimitable, unique taste, but her abilities with respect to the stovetop were, perhaps she could say, if she were to be so bold, somewhat rudimentary. Escoffier was sure that Furina was satisfied with her own creations, but she recalled that expression all those years ago, when she had the privilege to serve her archon cake. Escoffier held that memory as a most wondrous thing, and in that she realized that she possessed what few, if any, in Fontaine had. Furina deserved someone who could meet her unique needs, her unique tastes, and unique styles.
Yes, Escoffier was met with a truth so simple that she had been blind to it.
There really was only one person who could cook for Furina.
****
When Navia was a little girl, she saw Furina perform. Just the one time, but it had left her with a feeling she could not shake. Even as a little girl, the woman she saw on stage, the Archon who could dance and sing and act and dazzle, was not the Archon she saw elsewhere. Lady Furina was one thing, but Furina, the woman, was another. She loved to be loved, to be adored, and to be celebrated. Navia didn’t have a chance to know Furina until late, and yet still somehow she always felt if something had been amiss. Her Archon, that beautiful, singular presence beneath the spotlight, always struck her as more at home upon the stage than upon the throne.
Most Fontaine seemed not to notice, but Navia always thought she could sense a sadness from their Lady. She performed most splendidly, and there was little doubt that such cockiness could stem from anything but a divine perspective, but Navia, sweet-toothed, fun-loving Navia, understood loss. From youth, she knew, and in Furina, who too loved sweets, and so loved the arts, she saw the cracks. Ageless, loving Furina, there could be little doubt what someone like that must have experienced for so long. She might not have been Navia’s friend until recently, but she would be damned if she wouldn’t make up for that lost time.
It seemed to Navia that what Furina, no longer an Archon, and now just Furina, really needed, was a friend. Furina, it seemed, had made many friends, but there was lost time to be made up for, and Navia, who had so long felt she saw a mask, was going to waste precious little of it now. If Furina required a shining light, then Navia could be that light, and if she required a shoulder to cry on, then she had two free, and if Furina required sweets, then no-one was better at Macarons than her, whatever Escoffier said be damned. Clorinde had chastised her once, citing Furina herself. Apparently, her macarons were simply too good to resist, and the former Archon had difficulty in holding herself back. This, if anything, had spurred Navia to increase production volume.
Furina had lived a life, five centuries already, of internal restraint and loneliness. As Navia saw it, what Furina needed now, more than ever, was to finally live that life, and to live that life among all those she had saved. Navia, who was no stranger to loss, lived a life as fully as she could manage, and Furina had only just begun to learn what that could mean. Navia had little doubt that there were many in Fontaine who loved her, but she wondered how many could bring Furina the joy that had been for so long absent? How many in Fontaine understood that shadow that clung to her behind the spotlight, and how many could not just love, but delight her?
There really was only one way for Navia to ensure that Furina found that happiness.
****
“ Nobody understands a thespian quite like another, don’t you think?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Some good you are. Thousands of years and you can’t even answer a simple question?”
“I did answer, you should ask better questions.”
“I ask great questions, you’re just too set in your ways to consider them properly.”
“Allow me to ask you a question then, why?”
“Why not?”
“You, not I, are the one obliged to provide a rationale for this course of action.”
“YoU, nOt I, aRe tHe OnE oBlIgEd To pRoViDe a RaTiOnAlE fOr tHiS cOuRsE oF aCtIoN, do you ever listen to yourself? No wonder you don’t have any friends.”
“I have many friends.”
“You have lackeys.”
“Enough. Why come to me for counsel if you will not heed it?”
“I might if you gave better counsel.”
“I have, over the course of thousands of years, offered you a myriad of useful and practical suggestions that you have never once deigned to consider.”
“So you admit that you suck at giving advice?”
“Let us put that matter aside. You are truly not willing to reconsider this course of action?”
“Nope. C’mon, it’ll be fine, it’ll be fun, and I’m bored.”
There really was only one way for Zhongli to keep Venti out of trouble.
****
BRRRRRRRING. BRRRRRRRRRRING.
Between two impossibly loud metal bells, a hammer oscillated. The alarm clock, the noisiest device ever conceived, blasted an eardrum shattering cacophony through Furina’s bedroom. Bringing down a clumsy hand onto its switch, the former archon silenced her tormentor, but only after several clumsy attempts. Through bleary eyes, she squinted at the hands. The short one, pointed at one… ish, and the long one, indicating twenty… ish. Jobless Furina scowled. The accursed device had disturbed her sleep, and at the time she had selected. What a fool she was.
Furina could hear the Maison Gardiennage running about outside. It sounded like trouble. She yawned. Not her problem. It was only one o’clockish, so she could sleep in for a little longer.
There really probably wasn’t anything she was missing.