Chapter Text
Less than a few minutes later, they are whisked away towards the large house, dragged inside, shoved into a dressing room with towels and dry clothing, then dragged once again to a cozy hearth and sat down with one giant wool blanket between the three of them.
It’s confusing, and vaguely intimidating.
Much to Fischl’s dismay, and, quite frankly anger, her dear Oz is shoved into a sickeningly tiny birdcage to be “kept an eye on” and placed atop an accent table like a decoration. She protests and struggles her way towards him, but she is tutted at and pulled along by a deceptively frail-looking old maid with an iron grip.
So instead, she sits quietly between her two friends, staring down the not-so-unfamiliar stranger while Bennet and Razor huddle close to her, throwing timid looks around the room.
In situations like these, they usually turn to her. While Benny and Razor may be more adept with swords and slashing then she, Fischl is unafraid to speak up and has a sharper mind than most. It’s how they work; they watch each other’s backs and cover blind spots, they take control when needed and relinquish it when they are out of their element.
And right now, Fischl’s special “people-repellant” skills are needed. So she turns on the “charm”. Or, rather, she falls effortlessly into character, mind racing with endless dramatic, indecipherable phrases that easily confuse even the brightest of talkers. She breathes in, and falls back into the patterns she practices every day. Because when Fischl truly becomes Fischl, she is another person entirely. To some, it may just seem like a weird switch of personality, but to her, it is becoming a seperate being altogether. There is her, and then there is her. Herself but not herself, different but the same in the way it is not her at all. Because Fischl is not of this world; she is an entity beyond the limitations of frail consciousness, a phantom princess of the stars and what lay beyond.
And that is everything she must become. Because right now, she is nothing but a weary child, a sister trying to protect her brothers, mortal and scared.
So she lets their host speak first.
“What,” Master Diluc starts, folding his arms. “Were you doing in my winery?”
Slightly to her own annoyance, Bennet pipes up before she can get the first words in. His voice is small, and his gaze is cast to the ground out of either respect or fear. “We, uhm, sort of fell into the fields.”
“Well I can certainly see that,” The young master leans back, arching one elegantly shaped eyebrow at the injuries the group sustained. “But tell me. How come your bird was poking around my house?”
Oz lets out a loud caw, flaring his wings as much as he can and rattling at the door of the birdcage. The old maid casts him a withering glare.
Bennet once more answers again before she can say anything, and she bites back whatever she was going to say to let him continue. “We weren’t! He wasn’t, I mean. We were just looking for somewhere to shelter, sir, please. We sent Oz out to look!”
“Hmm.” The owner of the winery tilts his head, vibrant scarlet hair glowing faintly against the light of the blazing hearth. He then sighs, tugging at his dark leather gloves before placing them gingerly on a side table to his left. The plush material of the couch barely makes a sound as he shifts, inspecting them again.
Razor, although silent, frowns at him.
Fischl opens her mouth, about to announce a string of dramatic words, but again, Benny speaks up. Seriously, he’s making it very difficult for her to play her part! To hell with it, by this point.
“We meant no harm, really, sir. We’re just trying to pass through.” He ducks his head slightly, looking down as if in shame. He speaks with a small voice like a shy child.
Instead of doing literally anything else, Diluc Ragnvindr just ignores him (infuriatingly) and asks another question. “Are you three with the knights?” His gaze is curious, mildly inquisitive as if he’s musing to himself. “You certainly look like you might be Favonius kids.”
Fischl takes that rather personally, and so does Oz. Why, she has no idea, but screw being in character right now. She’s had one hell of a night and has zero energy for this- right now there will be absolutely no nonsense or stalling. “Absolutely not.”
She pushes off the couch, standing up tall. Bennet and Razor cast her nervous looks.
“Why d-”
“Pardon my lack of proper manners, but we’d very much like to be leaving now.”
“Oh certainly not, young lady. You three just fell off a cliff into my backyard in the middle of one of the worst storms I’ve seen this year. I don’t even know who you are!” His voice is calm, smooth and to the point, but it betrays just the slightest hint of steel.
“And you’ll never need to if you’d just let us go.”
“You’re acting like I’m locking you in here. You’re horribly ungracious guests, you know.” Diluc sighs and rubs his forehead.
“Are you going to let us leave?”
“Take a peek outside. Do you really want to go back out in that?”
“We’ll take our chances, thanks. We’re leaving this place.” Not just this house, but Mondstat.
Fischl is taken by surprise when the old maid speaks, stepping forwards. “At least wait out the rain, dear. I’m sure your parents would be horribly displeased with us if they found out we threw you out into the lightning.”
The world stills and an unnerving tension settles over the trio. Fischl stiffens, Bennet clenches his fists around the folds of the blanket, and Razor scowls at the floorboards. She is frozen in place all because of a simple word, and can feel her own face morph into a horrified expression despite herself.
She would sooner throw herself off the top of Dragonspine than go back to them . To face them after everything they’ve done, to see them after everything is unfathomable and scary in a million different ways- she knows for a fact Bennet feels the same.
She remembers being eight years old again, hiding in the bushes beside the chapel, tears streaming down her face. It was that day she had met Bennet, he’d sat with her and they’d both cried. He had been sad because his parents hadn’t returned home again; she had been upset because they did. For Razor it had been different- his parents hadn’t come home ever , instead he had built a life without them. Of course, they hadn't known that until years later when they’d found him in the library, slumped over a book with an annoyed expression and introduced themselves, having a little trouble deciphering his patchy vocabulary.
Parents. If only theirs had been good. If only Razor’s had been alive.
So Fischl turns on her heel and sits right back down between Bennet and Razor. They nuzzle even closer to her than before, slightly shaken as thoughts and memories similar to hers race through their minds. She wraps an arm around each of them, holding both the boys– her brothers – gently. With a cold look, she stares as sharp as a knife at Diluc.
“ Fine. ”
“So you’ll be staying, then?”
“Until the storm has passed, then, we’ll be out of your hair.”
The master of the winery leans back in his seat, nodding, as expressionless as ever. “Wonderful. Adelinde,” he looks towards the old maid, waving with one hand. “Show them to the guest rooms.”
“Yes, Master Diluc.” She nods respectfully and marches towards the exit of the room, motioning for the children to follow. When the trio hesitates to follow, she walks back and offers a hand, extending it slowly, carefully like they might shatter.
Although she does not look any less stern, there is a very vague look of understanding; or perhaps sympathy, Fischl can’t quite tell. So she is the first to stand, delicately pulling the boys along with her. She refuses the hand, but follows along closely.
Just before the group is about to exit the door, Fischl pauses, looking back over her shoulder. Diluc is glancing away from them, into the fire. It casts a shadow on one side of his face, almost dramatic in nature. “Wait.”
“Hm?” He tips his head back towards them, only mildly interested.
“I want Oz back.”
“Oz?”
“The bird.”
The young master lets out an airy chuckle and shrugs, though he doesn’t look any less expressionless or cold. If anything, it scares her a little. “Sure. But, he stays with you and he stays put. That means no poking around where you shouldn’t be looking.”
There is a brief silence. “Thank you.”
Diluc simply looks back to the hearth in a silent dismissal, the fire crackling quietly.
Fischl turns, hand-in-hand with her brothers as they walk away.
Tonight was supposed to be relaxing and calm. He would have sat by the fire with a good book and a glass of his favorite grape juice, perhaps even in the company of Adelinde who would sit in the armchair beside him knitting peacefully.
Instead, the young master gets disturbed right in the middle of a particularly riveting chapter by a strange, black-and-indigo bird peering through his window. Perhaps if the thing hadn't been sparkling and glowing with electro-charged elemental energy, he wouldn’t have seen it. But, then he never would have found those poor kids shivering and close to tears in the rain.
Master Diluc likes the comfort and quiet of a slow day off. But, he also isn’t a monster. What kind of “Darknight Hero” lets a bunch of injured children wander wander the wilds alone?
He’d also be a liar if he said he didn’t feel a little emotional; perhaps with pity. Why? He’s not sure. But he knows for a fact those kids weren’t out in the rain for no reason. He saw how they tried to mask whatever feeling came up when Adelinde mentioned their parents. He saw how close they stuck together like they were the world to one another.
But, he doesn’t know if he can be sure about anything. The wary skeptic in him yells to doubt their story, but his compassion urges him to believe it. He is a man of many sides, and when they don’t work in tandem, he is thrown in a loop of indecisiveness.
So he goes over when he knows for certain.
One. They are all definitely Mondstatian. The three all are pale, mostly blonde, they speak the language fluently, and speak Teyvat Common with an accent that tells him they were born and raised in his home city (Well, not the boy with the Electro vision. From what Diluc can tell, he can only speak in very patchy Mondstatian). Two. They have run away. From what, he can take a few guesses. Bad home life, if what he thinks is correct. And three. They really, really want to leave.
He relates quite a bit to the really wanting to leave part. There was a time in his life when he truly did; when he scoured Teyvat for three whole years to find the truth behind his father’s Delusion. He returned home a new person because of it– then got a prompt and just beating from Adelinde. Honestly, he doesn’t blame her all that much. He kind of deserved it for dumping the business on her for three whole years with no warning; he’s quite grateful she knocked a little more sense into him.
But these kids. These poor, poor kids. He doesn’t know what to do with them.
And it’s frustrating him, because if they truly are running from something he needs to know exactly what. If he’s lucky, maybe it’s something simple and easily fixed. But if it really is bad homes? Then he’ll be thrown back into another dilemma of what to do. He certainly won’t let them go back if they are at risk of getting hurt, but keeping them at the winery would cause those Archon-forsaken Favonius Knights to fuss despite the likely fact they know all about what's going on. Perhaps, if he just sucked it up and talked to the Grand Master? Or maybe the Librarian woman since Jean is always so busy? Yes, Lisa. Oh- no, no. Not Lisa, no. He’d be an even bigger liar than before if he tried to say she didn’t intimidate him. That woman is truly something else entirely.
Ach. He may be a smart man, but all this thinking still makes him tired. It’s also far too late at night for all of this.
So he stands. Rises from his cushioned seat and takes a breath, patting down a stray hair and brushing some lint off his tunic. He’s going to talk to the three face-to-face, no nonsense or scowling or reserved politeness. He’s going to be open, honest, and to-the-point. A heart-to-heart!
He strolls down the hall with a newfound resolve to find the truth, confident in each thunk of a step. As he passes by the many wide, clear windows of the estate he finds himself gazing off at the open grape fields bathed in moonlight. The halls are painted in the same beautiful silvery glow even despite the torrential rains. It is only because of a small break in the clouds the night looks this clear during such a storm, and he marvels at the bolts of rainwater as they shimmer with a metallic sheen, sliding down the large panes of glass. It’s a disappointment when the fields grow dark again, the moon obscured by rainclouds once more.
In the absence of the moon, carefully spaced torches and lamps line the hallways between the dozens of doors and rooms, casting everything in a light much opposite; orange and warm instead of white and gray.
He comes to the end of the hall, faced with a tall paneled door. It looms slightly, just like the tentative nervousness that lingers inside of him, but the young master brushes it away, letting the thoughts drift like leaves in the wind. To have a clear mind, one must be free of all doubts, after all! With a drawn breath, Diluc reaches up one hand to place a knock on the door, the sound echoing thrice, swiftly.
He waits. There is no answer from behind the door.
Just silence
Diluc tries again. This time, he pounds four times on the oak door, just a little harder than before. Once again, no answer. Not a single sound emanates from the room. He sighs. He can’t tell if they are ignoring him or asleep. He places a hand on the doorknob and counts quietly under his breath. If there is no answer within three minutes, he’s opening the door. It’s his house after all– and he is in need of answers. Of course, there is only silence again. So he turns the brass knob and swings open the door.
He doesn’t think his self-proclaimed “unfeeling, steeled heart” is ready for the scene awaiting him. To put it simply, it’s adorable.
The three, along with the bird (Raven?) are all curled up together among a nest of blankets and pillows in the once-empty walk in closet like a bunch of kittens. The girl dressed in purple is sprawled out with the pyro boy snuggled at her side, snoring into the folds of a blanket. The other kid– the electro vision boy– is draped over them, limbs haphazardly splayed. The bird sleeps perched atop the girl’s head, one wing drooping low so that it covers her left eye. They all look so content, peaceful. Happy. They hold each other close like the best of friends, maybe even siblings. The young master of the winery places a hand on his chest, overcome with an almost tender feeling.
He does not know what urges him to do so, but he reaches forwards and pulls a soft blanket lying by their feet over them.
Diluc sighs, but he is not frustrated. They can talk tomorrow.