Chapter Text
Standing next to his parents, a week after the summons letter arrived, Wriothesley could barely contain his restless energy. Here it was, then. Poisson. Neither of them gave him a second glance as he slipped away, far too busy playing at their own little game. The one where they were benevolent. His siblings - the two who’d come with them as a “reward” - said nothing as he placed a finger to his lips, his other hand tapping against his temple in a cheeky salute. Tell? Why would they do that? They were no fools, and he? Their older brother. They trusted him.
The rain breaking overhead masked his footsteps as he descended into Poisson proper, accompanied by the thunderous rumble of Neuvillette’s displeasure in the back of his mind. The bond had gone from strength to strength astonishingly quickly, so much so that one would think he’d had it years. Not days. Chuckling, he jumped down the ladder, giving his soulmate a mental nudge as he did so. Clearly, the first trial of the day was trying the Iudex’s patience. Oh dear.
Landing - and dusting his hands off - Wriothesley inhaled as …everything in Possion overwhelmed his senses. It was so busy here. So alive and energetic. The seafood market on the upper level had nothing on the town itself. Poisson might be named for its fish (literally), but nobody ever said anything about the feeling it had. Something about it calmed his mind, eased the weight on his shoulders. He liked sunlight as much as the next person, sure, but the darkness was safer. Easier to hide in. And it softened the thunder, lifted it to that waterfall purr.
Oh. Wait a second. That was his soulmate, not a metaphor.
Hiding a laugh, Wriothesley marvelled at the emotional shift. All that over a change in environment? Well, the more you know, he supposed. It only solidified his hypothesis that whatever the Iudex was, he wasn’t suited to the Court like he pretended to be. Neuvillette’s office? Even in daylight, it felt like he was underwater. The way light interacted with the windows, and that soft blue dyeing everything. The floor-length drapes, perfect to block out the sun.
Daytime didn’t suit his soulmate. It could be a matter of preference, but instinct told him otherwise. Was it his business? Well, no, but he kept it in mind all the same. The puzzle of his soulmate’s identity was a long-term goal; not one to rush. Right now, there was another problem for him to deal with. He had a time limit here, and a time limit overall. If he wanted his foster parents to get their just desserts, he better knuckle down. Shift gears. He had to focus.
Poisson might be a fishing town, but it was also the headquarters of the Spina di Rosula. And it was for that reason he was here. Weaving through a crowd, he just let himself breathe. It felt good, being down here. And no, it wasn’t just Neuvillette’s influence on him - it really did feel nice. Smell of fish or not, he liked it. Ducking his head to hide a smile, he startled at a flicker of gold in his peripheral vision. Bright, crystalline, like the bloom of some fancy garden rose. Or the reflected glare of the sun on the water. Unexpected, enough to dazzle the senses. To stun.
Only instinct - one born of having countless siblings - stopped the impending collision.
It was easy, pulling them both to a stop a few steps away. By then? He could only hear laughter and see wild blonde curls. Small hands clutched a pair of dark glasses, her shoulders shaking with the force of her giggles. Unable to fight a smile of his own, he crouched down to her height, meeting a pair of vibrant blue eyes. And those eyes? Were fixed on him. Cloudless-sky blue, creased with delight at the corners as the young girl bounced eagerly on the balls of her feet.
“...That was so cool! You were all - whoosh!” It was breathless; full of awe. “Nobody’s been able to catch me like that before, mister! Not in a game of tag. Silver always pretends he can’t catch me, so it’s no fun playing with him anymore. It’s boring, winning all the time. I’d play hide ‘n’ seek, but he’s too good at it. I think he cheats. How else could he be good at it? It’s not fair!”
‘Mister’? Him? He didn’t look that old, did he? Maybe it was the hair. The grey streaks were natural, thank you very much. Not stress induced or whatever people liked to say, sometimes to his face. Wriothesley could only sigh and shake his head, reaching out to ruffle her hair. Habit, mostly. What could he say? He had younger siblings - he knew a thing or two about appeasing kids. It earned him more giggles, her eyes wide and sparkling, star-like, in the light.
“Well, mademoiselle, perhaps your friend really is that good at hide and seek. I trust you know if it’s fair or not, but maybe you can find a game you’ll both enjoy? Everyone has fun that way, and everybody enjoys themselves. Now then -” His smile curled, something cheeky and sly in the edges. Mischievous. “What’s this about a game of tag over bridges? Did you steal something, little lady? Because I don’t think the glasses you’re holding will fit you. They’re too big.”
Her cheeks puffed up immediately. “I’m not little, I’m six. And -” A pause. “I didn’t steal them. I’m borrowing them. There’s a difference! Papa said so! I’ll give them back, promise. Melus won’t mind … too much. He won’t. I was bored, that’s all. Being bored is the worst. Especially when Papa had to go to his very important meeting - he said he’s working on a case. The only kind of case I like? A dessert case. Anything else means Papa is working and that I’m stuck here.”
Distracted from his surroundings, Wriothesley froze at the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps. The growl that escaped him - more akin to the snarl of a startled predator than anything else - didn’t spook him alone. Ignoring the confused-concerned-alarmed query from the bond, he turned his head. Met the gaze of his little companion, but she didn’t move. No, she just stared him down, and after a moment? Wriothesley sighed. Not a stranger, then. Good.
Not his foster parents.
Must be something in the water, for Poisson’s kids to be so fiery. He appreciated it - there was such a thing as being too trusting. He’d been stabbed in the back at least once before. Was it in his medical records? Part of his medical history? No, of course not. He hadn’t seen a doctor for it. Thankfully, it hadn’t been a deep wound, so it had long since scarred. Just another thing he owed Granny Mathilde for. He’d been a mess, but it could’ve been far worse. He’d had space and time to heal. And it was a post-soup incident, so he’d already been on the mend. Thankfully.
♡●♡○♡●♡○♡●♡
Teacup halfway to his mouth, Neuvillette stopped, head snapping up in alarm. That growl - was not a sound he could make. Familiar as he was with his own draconic vocalisations, he knew that. He turned towards it on instinct, eyes widening in the reflection of the waters within his cup. A warning, lupine and echoing as if it was not one wolf at all. But three. Furthermore? It had traversed the bond. Wriothesley. More than that, he could pinpoint the direction: Poisson. Taking a breath to settle his restless power, he looked across the table, towards Callas. Perhaps?
Yes, perhaps it was better that Callas was not in Poisson at present. Better he remain here, in this meeting. Better he did not meet Wriothesley until later. Moving too fast could place his soulmate in danger, no matter how much Neuvillette trusted him to hold his own. The plan required everything to be airtight: there was no room for error. Not when so many young lives hinged on the success of this investigation. Wriothesley included. Neuvillette refused to fail him.
“...Monsieur?” Caution laced Callas’ voice. “Pardon me, but is everything alright?”
“Quite so. Now then, you were saying?” A pause. “Something about new information, if I recall correctly. What do you have for me? Knowing the Spina di Rosula and their propensity for detail, I can imagine the latest intelligence to be of great assistance. This is a covert operation, after all. Those who need to know? Know, and no-one else. Forgive me, I am aware this is undue pressure on you and your men. Be that as it may, the time sensitivity left me no other choice.”
“My wife would’ve never forgiven me if I’d turned you away, Monsieur. I’d never have forgiven myself. My daughter means the world to me. If I left something behind that could harm her, and did nothing to prevent it? No. That would haunt me forever. Wriothesley’s just a kid - he should have a chance, however small, to be one. He’s done enough in this investigation already. Not to say I doubt him, but a court summons can only do so much to protect him. It’s better to lay low.”
Neuvillette? Hid his smile in his teacup. Wriothesley was not the type to sit there and do nothing. No, he’d hit the ground running; he was, after all, too aware of what the stakes were. A steady stream of information had already trickled back to Neuvillette’s office, piece by piece - one Melusine at a time. Truly brilliant. Warm water soothed his throat and nerves as he took a sip, setting the teacup down in exchange for the folder of notes on the table between them.
Now then - flipping it open, he began to read. And felt his blood ice over as he did.
Nothing remained but the bite of the ocean depths and his own rage, snaking through his body like he might have once the seas. It made his jaw ache, tongue passing over fangs instead of canines. As it was? He could guarantee his eyes were aglow, unmistakable even in this light. The information Wriothesley initially retrieved in the first twenty-four hours had been the most important, but staring at the report before him? Neuvillette could only feel vaguely horrified.
This would take years. Years to root out them all, if what this report said was true. How had he never noticed? It had never been just one trafficking ring. An entire spiderweb existed, sprawling in Fontaine’s shadow - far removed from the pomp and circumstance the country presented to the rest of Teyvat. There was no sunlight, no glitter, here; just the glint of metal and the pale moon above as witness. Crime was universal but, oh, how he wished it didn’t ensnare children. Whether they be innocent victims or guilty, like Wriothesley? Meropide was no place for a child.
“...This -” A hissing breath, a sharp inhale. “This is worse than I thought. This warrants a long-term investigation, a standing order for all members of the Phantom. If what this says is true - which I believe it to be - Fontaine’s underworld has been running rampant for far too long. Endangering the country’s children. The audacity of those who think themselves to be above the law. No matter how long it takes, whether that be half a decade or more, they will find it not to be the case. No-one is above the law. And especially not in Fontaine. It is the land of Justice, no?”
There was the echoing ring of his court voice; the finality of a verdict. The question was rhetorical, no answer expected, and he knew Callas knew. Idly reaching up to rub his jaw, Neuvillette sighed. If not for his soulmate bond with Wriothesley, perhaps this trafficking web may not have been discovered until after the fact. Until after Wriothesley had been sentenced to Meropide for murder. Hypotheticals aside, Neuvillette could not quite find it in himself to be glad for the hastened discovery. Children - Melusine or human or any other - were precious. To be protected. Nurtured and given their rightful time to be as young. To be foolish. Clumsy.
To delight in the things adults no longer found any wonder in. Like frogs, or puddles. Children were far more likely than their older counterparts to find joy and delight in the rain, for one. He could do without that ridiculous nursery rhyme, of course, but that was neither here nor there. Nor was it at all relevant to the current situation. And so, he sighed again. Resumed his perusal of the report. Felt his annoyance, his frustration and lingering anger flow down the bond, though he ignored it. What he could not ignore, however, was the way Wriothesley’s attention swivelled to him immediately. Nor could he ignore the way those fluffy, lupine ears swivelled with it.
…Adorable.
There was the ghostly sensation of fingers tapping the back of his hand. Cheerful. Cheeky. Playful. There, and then not. Yet he shivered all the same. Touch from anyone other than the Melusines was … strange to him. Yet he had not thought twice about reaching out to comfort Wriothesley, several times now. Maybe because Wriothesley needed the care as much he himself did. They were soulmates. As strange as it was, as much as there was a lot he didn’t yet understand - he understood the isolation. If he didn’t understand his soulmate, who would?
“If this report remains true, such a criminal enterprise would be permeating every level of Fontanian society, including the nobility. I’d say I’m surprised, but this is Fontaine.” Callas looked like he wished he could take those words back, but he didn’t. “It’s true I could have been a detective. I have the talent for it, I suppose. There’s many merits for operating in greys, however. Not everyone can afford to bring matters to the attention of the Gardes. That’s just how it is.”
Neuvillette muffled a sigh. “So it appears.”
Sitting with his own thoughts? Unpleasant. To that end, he was grateful for Callas’ presence - it gave him something else to focus on. Other than his headache. Other than the unease that permeated his senses. Or the thought of Wriothesley, turned away from his office by well-meaning yet overzealous Gardes. Wriothesley - clever, clever Wriothesley - still determined to save his siblings through legal means, rather than entertaining murder any further. Callas was not incorrect, and as such? There would only have been one other avenue left to his soulmate.
The Spina di Rosula’s office in the Fleuve Cendre. Perhaps then Callas would have been the one to bring Wriothesley to him. Callas and his men would never turn away a child, especially not one in distress like Wriothesley had been that night. Maybe Wriothesley could’ve avoided prison. What-ifs would do no-one any good, however - what had happened? Had happened. There was no changing it now. He’d send his soulmate to Meropide, even as he hated to do so.
Everything in him rebelled at the very notion, but the law was the law. Wriothesley? Was guilty.
“Nevertheless, Monsieur, there is yet another concerning detail.” Callas’ expression morphed into a grimace. “According to the documents Rhemia returned with, there’s a non zero chance the Fatui are involved somehow. It will require more investigation, unfortunately, but one can never be too careful when they’re involved. They have a … particular brand of diplomacy. I wish I could say I haven’t encountered it. It left me wanting to pull my hair out, if I’m honest.”
“Better safe than sorry, as I believe the saying goes.” This time, he didn’t hide his sigh. “Not even Lady Furina would be pleased with this twist, for all her love of theatre. If Archons had soulmates - they do not, as far as I know - hers would have their hands full. Immortals rarely have soulmates; if they do, typically one will find their soulmate to be immortal. Immortal-mortal bonds are tragic by nature. Separation of that kind is not to be wished on anyone, mortals included. Death comes for immortals, but it always comes for mortals too soon.”
“...Don’t I know it.” It was quiet. Bitter. “Navia resembles her mother more and more every day. All she’ll ever know about Clementine comes from stories, not her own memories. Wouldn’t trade ‘Via for all the world, of course, but I still find myself turning to Clem out of habit sometimes. It’s been six years, and I have to wonder if I’m doing as good a job as she thought I would. Without Melus, I’d be at my wit’s end. I’d be lost without him. Though I imagine babysitting wasn’t in his plans, it’s how it worked out. ‘Via adores him and he, her.”
“Little Miss Navia is like sunshine personified. Akin to the yellow roses I see in the Court’s gardens, or perhaps a rare geode. All reflected light. As far I can tell, Monsieur Caspar, you are doing an excellent job raising your daughter. No-one is ready for the challenges of parenthood, in my experience. I regard the Melusines as my own daughters, after all, and they surprise me time after time. If I, an immortal, suffer challenges, so too does everyone. Children are worth it.”
“Indeed they are.” A chuckle. “But forgive me my curiousity, Monsieur - I mean no offense by what I’m about to ask. You said that, while rare, immortals do sometimes have soulmates. You don’t have to answer, of course, and I will respect your privacy, but - are you one of those immortals? The way you spoke of it implied a high degree of knowledge about the subject. That is, lived experience of some kind. Not merely centuries of observing others’ soulmate bonds.”
“May your perception and insight fail you not when you need it most,” he replied. “To answer your question - perhaps. Perhaps not. I reserve my right to remain silent on this matter. If you wish to investigate it to satisfy your own personal curiousity, Callas, I will not stop you. I only ask that, whatever you find the answer to be, you refrain from sharing. Keep the knowledge. Especially in regards to such a deeply personal and private matter as one’s soulmate.”
Callas’ visible eye gleamed with barely concealed mirth, but he made no further comment. Much to Neuvillette’s relief. The ensuing silence allowed him to rearrange his thoughts as he resumed his examination of the report. Never let it be said that he did not care for Fontaine’s children - he did, and that was why he’d long since kept tabs on the Court’s orphanages. Ever since the string of incidents that later resulted in the founding of the Research Institute. Which was, he believed, part of the reason why this whole trafficking ring infuriated him. The other? Involved the Fatui.
He was not as unaware of the House of Hearth as the institution’s managers liked to believe he was. He could not, however, do anything. Not like he could for Wriothesley and his siblings. His hands were bound by red tape and legal loopholes. The House was, for all intents and purposes, a perfectly respectable institution. Outwardly. Inwardly, however - he could not be more aware of the goings on. All water in Fontaine returned to the Fountain of Lucine. All.
Even tears.
Though he wished for the ability to help, he could not. So he was left with no choice but to shoulder the sorrow and grief in their stead. It was such cruel misery, blatant mockery of a child’s wish for freedom. There was, after all, a young girl who often sat by an open window, her eyes fixed on the night sky. Even on cloudy nights - on such nights as those, only the fountain would know if her tears mingled with the rain. Only the fountain, and perhaps the Hydro Dragon. A gentle child like her? Did not belong in a place like the Hearth, but he could not save her. He wished to, but a wish it would remain. Her mother? She who stood as head of the House.
Confrontation with a Harbinger, any Harbinger, was ill-advised. And thus, his hands were tied.
He grieved for every child lost on Fontaine soil, both those who took to the cruel games like ducks to water and those who did not. No child should be forced to grow so fast, nor have their innocence stolen from them. Like the girl by the window and her shadowy friend; like Wriothesley. If the courtroom offered them no solace, he hoped they would get the justice they were owed. However that may be. The law left no room for emotion, after all. It just was.
♡●♡○♡●♡○♡●♡
Wriothesley, honestly, had been wondering how to explain this whole situation to his foster parents. He’d now been given an excellent excuse. Best thing? It wouldn’t even be a lie. Sighing in satisfaction, he set his teacup back down on the saucer, the soft clink just as pleasing. Mmm, that was better. Lifting his gaze, he met blue eyes as icy as his own. Or perhaps they were grey? In this light, he couldn’t quite tell. What he could tell, however, was that they were kind. This man, at least, would never harm a child. Like his foster parents had. Like they continued to.
He’d had to grow up fast. His childhood had gone up in smoke the moment he discovered what was really going on. He knew he didn’t look strong, of course, and he knew he wouldn’t have had much luck at succeeding - but he’d had to try. Even if he’d ended up dying in the process. He was a kid up against adults: nothing about it was easy. If he hadn’t had his soulmate mark, he was positive he’d have done it. He would’ve, and he knew it. Was it a shaky plan?
Yeah, sure. But forgive him for struggling to trust adults after his discovery. He’d accounted for everything he could think of, all the variables. And yet. It was such a relief that he didn’t have to. They’d still been his foster parents. They were the only parents he’d ever known, of course he hadn’t wanted to kill them. He’d simply felt like he had no other choice. Blame his reminiscence on the tea; it reminded him of Neuvillette. Reminded him of the first time someone believed him. It had been a high stakes gamble - but he’d known that, if anyone would, it would be the Iudex.
He hadn’t had the courage to approach the Spina di Rosula during his time on the streets. And given the urgency that night, he’d taken the evidence straight to the Palais Mermonia. It was nice, though, to know he could’ve. He’d sat in a corner of the Spina’s bar down in the Fleuve Cendre quite often, just - content to listen. Sometimes he’d even be given a meal or two, depending on who was working. So he’d seen this man before, he’d just never known his name.
Melus regarded him carefully, but there was no hostility to be found. Just wary consideration. He’d noticed Wriothesley wasn’t what one would consider a ‘normal’ child when he’d shook his hand. Had taken note of the calluses on his hands, the way Wriothesley shifted his weight. Poisson might be safe, sure, but a large majority of the Court wasn’t. He knew that from experience. Or maybe it’d been the conversation about knives with Navia. Who could say?
“I must thank you for entertaining the little miss.” A sigh. “There aren’t many children in Poisson, and those that do live here - well. Their parents are often too intimidated by who her father is, despite Callas’ best attempts to assure them he means no harm. So Demoiselle is often lonelier than she pretends to be. There are only so many ways a child can keep herself entertained, after all. So many games. Perhaps we all indulge her too much, but how can we not adore her?”
At that? He shrugged.
To him, that only meant they cared. More than his foster parents ever had, for sure.
“She’s certainly very … sunny.” Quick on the uptake, too. “I have younger siblings myself, so I know a thing or two. It was no problem - I’d do it again in a heartbeat. I imagine there’d have been a bigger incident if I hadn’t. Broken boxes at best, a broken limb at worst. That’s a long way to fall if one slips off the bridge. Didn’t want that. Causing a scene is the opposite of what I wanted. Wasn’t supposed to sneak out, see, but just my luck. Your boss is out of town.”
“You have business with Callas?” Not a question. Not really. “What business would that be?”
Wriothesley just looked at him over his teacup. “You are Callas’ right hand man, are you not? Even if you’re not, you’re close enough to him to know when the Spina gets a new case. No matter what channels those may be. You know about the most recent one. Who requested your assistance, and what it entails. Wanna know who the whistleblower was? …Congrats, you’re lookin’ at him. I know what I was told, yeah, sure. Leave it to the adults. But that’s not my style.”
“You’re a child. Actively putting yourself in danger like that is most ill-advised.”
…Yeah, no, duh. He knew that. Obviously. He didn’t dignify that with a response, choosing instead to take a sip of his tea. Mmm, he really did enjoy it. Shame his foster parents never let him have any when he was in the house. It wasn’t much of an issue, he could always buy tea when he was out, but that wasn’t the point. He'd found tea - and other hot drinks (except coffee, ew, gross) - to be very beneficial. Did soup count as a drink? Hmm. Maybe. Maybe not.
Something to ask Neuvillette. It'd make for an interesting debate, if nothing else. What even classified as a soup, anyway? Did the ocean count? Perhaps on a technicality. He could already picture his soulmate’s horrified face, even as the mental image made him laugh. Shaking his head, he drained his cup. What a pity this moment of peace was only temporary. He’d have liked to enjoy it a while longer. Nevertheless, this trip? A marked success in his book. He’d take it.
“Ah, c’mon.” A snort. “I was never safe to begin with. Not with what I knew. What I was planning. If I wasn’t going to Meropide for assaulting a Garde, it would’ve been for something far worse. I broke his nose, and I admit it. Premeditated murder, however? Is no joke. Only the reminder of my soulmate mark stopped me from going through with it. Reminded me that I had another option. One that saddled me with a court summons regardless, but my hands? Blood-free.”
Melus set his hat down on the table without another word. Ran a hand through his own salt-and-pepper black hair, his acknowledgement silent. Before he nodded. And Wriothesley smiled. The Spina di Rosula’s information network was nothing to sneeze at; their ability to blend into the background? Second only to the Melusines’. Melusines who were all too happy to run information for him, payment freely given. In their preferred currency of trinkets, of course.
If Neuvillette had yet to say anything on the matter, he had permission.
So what if his pockets were full of tiny gears and screws as a result?
The Melusines’ delight made it worth every time. But the knowledge that the entire Spina would soon know his foster parents’ faces? Oh, that helped immensely. Underhanded? Not in this business. What were they going to do? Summon him to court? He was going there already, it wasn't like they could do so twice. And his foster parents wouldn’t ever dare do anything that would result in their presence there. They were perfectly normal citizens of Fontaine, after all.
Not a foot wrong. Not them. …Little did they know he already had them ensnared. Hook, line and sinker. It was for that reason he returned without complaint, zoning out as Melus engaged his foster parents in conversation. A bit of flattery got someone a long way, especially when up against folks like them. Buttering them up was easy, and it disarmed them in the process. Bonus points if the stranger praised one child in particular. Him, as the case may be this time.
It would please his foster parents to no end to hear how he’d caught the Spina’s attention. He had, naturally, just not the reasons Melus listed. Not entirely. Attention split between the conversation and his own thoughts, he stood dutifully next to his younger siblings. The picture-perfect image of a good son. Catching the glimmer of awe in his sister’s eyes at the sight of Melus’ suit, he reached out to ruffle her red hair. Eloffe had always loved fashion.
If he had anything to say about it, she’d fulfill her dream of working in the industry. She’d been endlessly jealous of his sewing skills, and had begged him incessantly to teach her. He had, of course. Of course he had. She was his little sister, and he was her older brother. It was his job to protect her, even if that meant from their foster parents. He’d be going to Meropide anyway, even if it wasn’t for murder. The one thing he wanted to make certain of was his siblings’ safety.
It didn’t matter to him if they’d forgotten him by the time he came out - why would it? Better they be safe and happy, living their own lives. Like the triplets. They’d remember him as their brother if they did so at all. The one who made toys and little gifts for them, who bandaged them up and sheltered them as best he could. It didn’t matter if they remembered him by the wrong name.
He deserved a clean slate as much as they all did.
Besides, his new name? Was growing on him. He liked it. Liked being ‘Wriothesley’. It felt comfortable, hearing the Melusines call out to him by that name. It was the way they said it - like it was his and his alone. Like they were always happy to see him - and they were. He wasn’t anyone’s junior, just himself. And people liked Wriothesley, didn’t they? People smiled when they saw him, more often than he remembered when he was just his foster father’s junior.
He found more genuine joy in helping out than before. Found it easier to accept what people offered him, whether that was a handful of Mora or a snack. Could relax easier, the weight of having to be perfect? No longer there. Oh, he still pretended around his foster parents, but an act was an act. He just happened to be a decent actor, that’s all. Nothing less, nothing more.
Already, it was easier to be himself. Easier to breathe. How funny.