Chapter Text
Once Fischl reaches Wolvendom, she realizes she’s made the same mistake twice: she has no idea where Razor is. Sending Oz out to look is the simple solution, but she can’t be sure Razor will come out of hiding for her without Bennett there to mediate.
She drums her fingers against the strap of her bag, feeling silly for having trekked so far out into the countryside without confirmation that she would be successful in her mission.
“What makes mein Fräulein frown so?” Oz asks, materializing at her shoulder.
Fischl takes a few more steps forward, entering the ring of pines that separate Wolvendom from Springvale, “I believe we may have been hasty in our preparations to find the wolf spirited boy as we have no way of establishing contact.”
“Perhaps we shall find a clue to his whereabouts if we head towards the center of the forest,” Oz skirts ahead of her, a streak of purple illuminating her way.
“I would be far more enthusiastic about acting out such a stalwart plan were it not for the heavy weight burdening my shoulders at this moment.”
“Unfortunately, mein Fräulein,” humor laces Oz’s voice, “that is a burden you must bear yourself.” Fischl tries not to groan, following her familiar with begrudging steps. The bag, which she had borrowed from Bennett, was practically bursting at the seams with the books. She had brought one of her older sets, choosing not to bring the fancy new boxed set that had its own special place on her desk into the woods. As committed as she was to read these novels to Razor, she wasn’t going to risk getting her nice books wet or dirtied.
They reach the central arena of Wolvendom after an uphill walk, one that makes Fischl’s legs beg for a rest she refuses to give them. The arena is lit by a faint blue glow, the pulsing remains of Andrius’ spirit that remains in the stones. Fischl sees no sign of the wolf lord or Razor but Oz dives down towards the center without hesitation, leaving her to glide after him or risk being left behind by her own familiar.
Once her boots touch down on the stones, like light up with a reverberating echo, “who enters the territory of the wolves of the North?”
She clears her throat, “my name is Fischl von Luftschloss Narfidort, Prinzessin der Verurteilung of the outer realm Immernachtreich and I have come hence in search of the wolf-spirted boy that resides in your domain.”
There is a heavy pause before Oz chirps, “we’ve come looking for Razor.”
“Ah,” fog coils in the center of the arena, coalescing into the blazing figure of Andrius. The massive wolf steps towards them, a cold frost rolling off of his form. “Many have come looking for him in the past, do you mean to harm him in any way?”
“Of course not!” Fischl is taken aback by the idea that she would do something to hurt Razor, and a bit doubtful of the idea that she could. After spending a day with him, she was glad to consider herself one of Razor’s allies and not an enemy. The wolf boy could tear through her if he so desired.
“I have-“
“Wait!” The pounding of boots catches Fischl’s attention, and she turns to see Razor running towards them. He stops in front of her and sweeps her back with one arm, “Don’t attack!”
Andrius lashes his tail, “I was not attacking them, I was asking questions.”
Razor crosses his arms, “never sure with you. Fischl is friend.”
“How do you know this…” Andrius peers down at her again and Fischl resists the urge to shrink away from such a piercing gaze, “Prinzessin?”
“Bennett is Razor’s lupical, Fischl is Bennett’s lupical,” Razor glances back at Fischl and gives a firm nod, “Fischl Razor’s lupical too.” Andrius is silent at this admission, and Fischl holds her breath. She doesn’t know what ‘lupical’ means, but Razor says it with such reverence, such certainty that she can tell its important.
“Very well, I will allow them safe passage through the forests,” Andrius inclines his head and the light begins to fade from his form. Once he has vanished back into the stones, Razor relaxes his stance with a heavy sigh.
“Sorry,” he gives Fischl a fanged smile, “Andrius… protective.”
“Quite alright,” she waves off his concern, hoping the gesture can mask how relieved she is that the conversation didn’t end in an altercation. The Traveler had mentioned fighting the Wolf Lord before, and it had seemed like a harrowing fight.
“I think that the wolf lord and I might get along,” Oz muses, humor lacing his tone. Fischl resists the urge to huff at the implication that Oz is the Andrius of Fischl’s life, except that its likely his theory would hold up.
“Why are you here? Is there danger?” Razor tilts his head, and despite the bluntness of the question, she knows he’s just curious. It had taken her a bit to get used to the way he speaks with the short sentences and simple grammar, but she imagined he had felt the same way about her. It was one of the things on her growing list of threads that could unite them if reading to him fell through.
“There is no danger at the present moment, I have come at my own volition to extend an offer to you,” Fischl pulls her bag to her front, undoing the straps, “I wish to share something of great importance to me. The tomes within this vessel detail the life and adventures of Princess Fischl, of whom I model my very existence after.”
Razor had stepped forward to peer into the bag intently when she opened it, but now his red eyes flick to hers in confusion, “Fischl… is a book?”
Oz steps in to help, but Fischl can tell from the ruffle of his feathers that he is unsure how to get the point across to the boy, “what mein Fräulein means to say is that this book contains a character named Fischl that she has assumed the identity of.”
After glancing back and forth between them for a few moments Razor just shrugs, “okay. Not here, here uncomfortable. Follow!” He takes off towards the walls at a jog, leaving Fischl to hurriedly close the bag and chase after him. The wall hardly slows him down, the boy scamping from stone to stone until he reached the top without hesitation. She makes the climb slower, careful where she places her feet in the precarious shoes she wears. Once closer to the top, Razor reaches down and offers her a hand.
She takes his hand, the worn leather of his gloves surprisingly soft beneath her fingers as he easily hauls her up to solid ground beside him. Instead of taking off again as she expected, Razor falls in beside her at a walk. Bennett might have been able to take the wall at full speed, but Fischl is the cautious one among the two of them.
Well, three of them now.
Oz breaks the silence, “have you encountered anything else since the monstrous pyro slime yesterday?”
“Always something to fight,” Razor grumbles, rolling his shoulders. Fischl can see the scars that crisscross his arms and chest stretch from the flex of muscle, freckles occupying the space between them. Where Bennett is scarred from falls or accidents, the edges of the ones on Razor’s sun-warmed skin are jagged and uneven from blades and claws.
“Wolvendom does seem to contain hordes of creatures that wish to do battle,” Fischl forces her eyes away from the particularly rough scar on his torso and turns her gaze towards the fields ahead of them. “Do you patrol the borders of this land to quell such evil forces?”
He thinks for a moment, processing her words before replying, “Don’t patrol, but protect lupical when trouble comes.”
“What does lupical mean?” Oz asks, providing the question that Fischl had tucked away for later.
Razor’s face flushes and he looks away, carding a hand through his bangs, “wolf word… hard to explain.”
Fischl doesn’t push the subject, letting the silence resume as they break out of the pines and back into the fields. The slate roofs of Springvale are visible down the slope of the green hills, and beyond that loomed the glittering towers of Mondstadt. A warm wind tugs at her, running its gentle fingers through her hair and carrying with it the smell of sunsettia’s and greenery.
She takes a moment to appreciate the view, one hand raised to shield her eyes from the sun as Razor stops beside her, “shall we sit here so I may regal you with the tales of Princess Fischl?”
He nods, “nice here. Hungry?”
“What do you recommend?”
“Sunsettias not bad,” he points to a tree off to the side that is dotted with the orange fruits, “meat better but fruit good for friend.”
“Not a bad idea,” Oz bobs his head, alighting on a rock nearby to rest his weary wings.
“Friends stay here,” Razor insists, pointing at the grass before turning and running towards the tree. Fischl sets the heavy bag down but stays standing, watching Razor cut a path through the meadow. The sound of his jacket’s buckles ring like bells with every step, only breaking tune when he leaps up to grab a low branch and haul it down towards him.
“What are you thinking, mein Fräulein?”
“He’s interesting, isn’t he?” Fischl tucks her shirttails in and sits, the soft grass bending around her. “I am starting to see why Bennett’s heart chose him to share its affection with. What do you think? You have always had excellent insight into my companions.”
“I like him,” Oz gives a comical shrug of his feathered shoulders, “I think that he is the honest sort.” Fischl hums in agreement, pulling the first volume from the bag and setting it on her knees. The cover and spine of the novel are worn from all the times she has read it, the words as familiar as the back of her hand by this point.
“Here!” Razor returns with his arms full of fruits, a wide grin on his face. He flops down across from her, setting most of his bounty down in the grass between them save for one that he passes to Oz. The raven accepts the fruit gratefully and digs the claws of one foot into it so he can ‘eat.’ It’s all a performance to make Razor feel better, the fruit bits being hurled off to the side when no one is looking at the raven.
Fischl shakes her head at his behavior and looks up at Razor, who is too focused on the book in her lap to notice Oz spitting seeds into the grass. He seems invested, his body leaning towards her as if to show he’s paying full attention.
She holds the book aloft, “shall we begin?”
He nods, resolute, “ready.”
Fischl sets the book back down on her lap and, after a moment of hesitation, begins to read. The words are second nature to her at this point. If pushed she likely could have recited the entire thing from memory and then the lore behind each action. These books were her lifeblood, and it felt strange to be sharing them with someone she barely knew, and who might hardly understand.
If he’s lost, Razor doesn’t show it. He watches her the entire time, leaning forward as if he might meet her words head-on, reacting and questioning certain events. It becomes more of a performance than a true read as Fischl continues, and she finds herself embellishing or simplifying things to add to the experience.
Oz, who takes a turn reading so Fischl can eat some sunsettia, continues her trend of weaving their own story. The Ozvaldo in the pages becomes less human, prone to fits of flight and birdsong as well as far more heroics that he does in the original. She shakes her head at him in good humor, delighted in watching Razor’s eyes light up when the bird-hero does something particularly daring.
The sun begins to set faster than Fischl expected, the light fading from the meadow and obscuring the pages. Razor makes a sad grumble when Fischl calls it there and closes the book, the wolf boy flopping back in the grass dramatically.
She laughs, “was the tale so riveting that you wish for me to read well into the dusk hours?”
“Yes!” Razor throws his hands up, “Lisa’s books all soft and boring, Fischl story exciting! Like hunting!”
Tucking the book away, Fischl feels her cheeks heat up from the compliment. Her original mission of reading the real story had changed course, but it had been a lot of fun. Disappointment akin to Razor’s brews in her stomach at having to stop there, but she knows she needs to get back to Mondstadt soon. She would ask Razor to come with her, but Bennett had mentioned that it took a lot to convince him to enter the city.
“What if we came back tomorrow?” Oz offers, gauging the feeling in the air. He ruffles his wings, looking between them with his dark eyes, “I don’t believe mein Fräulein has anything she must take care of in the morning. As long as you’re free, Razor.”
He sits up and nods, “meet here, afternoon?”
“This arrangement pleases me as well,” Fischl says, getting to her feet and picking bits of grass from her leggings. There are thin streaks of green staining her skin from hours spent sitting on the ground, but nothing that a bath won't fix.
Razor hops to his feet as well, shaking himself to remove any plant matter that tried to hitch a ride, “I will be here tomorrow.”
“I look forward to it,” Fischl curtseys because she’s not sure how else she’s supposed to say goodbye to him. Their relationship to one another wasn’t hostile or cold, but she still couldn’t put her finger on how to define it.
Oz bids Razor goodbye and leads the way down the hill towards Springvale, a glimmering burst of purple that Fischl trails after in the fading light. She glances back halfway down and sees Razor where they left him, watching their descent towards civilization. The lights of Mondstadt call her home, promising her the return of Bennett and a nice warm meal. Just before they reach the road, she looks back one last time.
The meadow is empty, the rustling grasses denying that Razor had ever been there at all.
----
Fischl finds Bennett sitting on the stairs outside the Adventurer’s Guild stall with a cloth pressed against his forehead. Captain Kaeya stands beside him, hands on his hips and likely making jokes if the smile on Bennett’s face is anything to go by.
When he spots her approaching, his face lights up and his arm shoots into the air to wave, “Fischl! You’re back! How did it go?”
“Why are you questioning the events of my day when you’re suffering an injury!” She drops to her knees beside him and reaches for the cloth, “what ill-fated omen befell you in that domain?”
“One of the support pillars collapsed,” Captain Kaeya explains, stepping back to make room. “Aside from a few cuts, however, Bennett is remarkably unscathed. We’re all quite lucky I was in the area to dig him free.”
“I really owe you one!” Bennett laughs, rubbing the back of his neck as Fischl checks on the gash across his forehead. As far as Bennett injuries go, the captain is right in saying it’s not bad. The cut itself is shallow but long with some swelling from whatever impact had caused it in the first place.
“Thank you for looking after him, Captain,” Oz lands on Bennett’s other side, observing the process as Fischl digs in her boyfriend’s bags for his stash of bandages.
“Of course,” Captain Kaeya presses a hand to his chest and excuses himself, “I should head back to the headquarters, but I’ll come to check on you again tomorrow.”
“Thank you!” Bennett calls, only for his words to get broken off with a wince as Fischl sticks the bandage to his skin, “ow!”
“My apologies,” she eases up as she attaches the other side, running her fingers along the edges to make sure it’s secure. With a mental note to talk to Sister Barbara if the cut still looks bad tomorrow, she gets to her feet and extends a hand to him, “shall we return to my place of rest for the evening?”
“That sounds good,” Bennett takes her hand and lets her pull him to his feet. “Now will you tell me about your day?”
Fischl fills him in on everything that transpired as they make their way back to her house. She leaves out getting lost and how she embellished the story, but everything else is fair game. He finds the idea of Andrius and Oz hanging out hilarious, laughing so hard he aggravates a bruised rib, and they need to stop for a few minutes while he doubles over.
“I do have one question,” she asks once they’re home and have eaten dinner. They’re relaxed in Fischl’s bed again, resting after long days of walking and adventuring.
“I’ll answer it if I can,” Bennett looks up at her, his head resting in her lap as she works her fingers through his short hair.
“What does ‘lupical’ mean?”
“It’s like the wolf term for family or loved ones I think,” his face scrunches up as he thinks, “it basically means that they trust you a lot. Barbatos taught them the word if I’m remembering the story right.”
Fischl thinks for a long moment, “Razor said that you and I are both his lupical, so I suppose he cares for us a great deal.”
“He said you were his lupical?” Bennett’s face lights up in a smile, “that’s great! That’s a big step for him.” She doesn’t respond right away, fingers dancing along Bennett’s jaw. Being held so high in Razor’s regard made her feel… strange. Not bad or uncomfortable, but strange. It was a feeling she couldn’t quite name yet.
Instead of confronting it, she changes the subject, “how is your wound faring?”
“Hmmm,” running his fingers along the bandage, Bennett’s smile settles into something softer, “I think it needs a kiss from a princess to heal it.”
“Alas I do not believe that any such kiss from my dark lips, accustomed as they are to the peril of the Immernachtreich, would heal such a wound.”
“No!” Bennett laughs, reaching up to tangle his fingers in her hair, “it must be you!”
Fischl fights back a smile of her own and leans down, “if this ends poorly, love, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”