Chapter Text
The human eye is a treacherous thing, woefully susceptible to delusion. Such is the cause of many a restless night’s terror and many a drunken day’s hallucination. That in mind, Diluc—the uncrowned king of Mondstadt, the man who stands more stalwart than any wall against the encroachments of the Fatui and Abyss Order—fearing the worst from his reckless disregard for sleep—blinks.
Alas, when he opens his eyes again, there, still, stands Jean. And there, to her left, sits the wolf. Midnight blue. Eyepatched. Allegedly Kaeya.
“Preposterous,” he says with a vehemence that sends the maids scuttling from outside his office.
“I assure you, Sir, I don’t make such jokes,” Jean says.
“Don’t call me ‘Sir,’” says Diluc. “That fool couldn’t have had anybody else check that potion before he drank it?” The fool in question flicks an ear in annoyance at being ignored, but Diluc goes through great pains to avoid addressing Kaeya directly these days.
“We can hardly ask him his reasoning on the matter while he’s in this condition,” Jean says. “Timaeus has been brought in for questioning, but it seems he was genuinely attempting to fulfill a commission.”
“A commission.”
“A potion for communicating with dogs. I’m sure you’ve noticed Sir Kaeya’s little scouts prowling every street corner.”
“It’s not one of his subtlest projects.” The dogs are more effective than the Knights half the time. “This has to do with that cold case a month ago.”
Jean nods.
“You assume correctly. The only witness to the murder was one of Sir Kaeya’s canines. Timaeus jumbled the recipe, and as you know, when alchemy goes awry...”
It goes disastrously awry.
Of course.
It’s ridiculous. It’s a farcical, undignified mess, and thus the perfect comeuppance for a man like Kaeya, who gets off on behaving like an eccentric madman. However, Diluc loathes to be saddled with the cleanup on top of every other Knightly responsibility he’s somehow taken over.
“So now he’s a dog.”
“Wolf, actually.”
“Dog. It’s more appropriate,” he mutters. Kaeya stares up from his place on the ground, visibly unperturbed. His frigid aura is evidence enough that if he were not a wolf, and if Diluc were not Diluc, there would be hell to pay for those words. “Set him loose in the forest then,” he continues. “It’ll teach him a lesson.”
“He’ll die,” says Jean immediately.
“He’s not that pathetic.”
“Yes, he is,” she insists. Here, as well, Diluc knows Kaeya would normally have some choice words for the both of them, but being fixed with a silent glare is somehow infinitely more tolerable. “He hasn’t adjusted to the form yet. His motor control is compromised. He can hardly walk, much less hunt and survive in the wild.”
“Leave him on the streets then.”
“It’s barely been half a day, and I’ve already been solicited for his pelt four times.”
The ever-composed Diluc finds himself quashing the impulse to sigh.
This is not the winery; this is not his home. This is his manor within the city walls. Still, inviting Kaeya into his care is like inviting a beast into his bedroom—in more ways than one given the present circumstances.
He works hard to maintain his distance from that prying eye. He’s spent valuable time keeping himself on top of the man’s schemes rather than under his thumb; he’d have to be mad to allow any property of his to fall under Kaeya’s surveillance.
“Why me.”
This isn’t a question. This is a demand for one good reason he shouldn’t let slip his hospitality and throw the both of them out.
“Lisa and I can’t keep him,” says Jean. “Her cat won’t stand for it, and our place is papered over in Timaeus’s notes. He can’t stay in his own house. He can’t operate the doors.”
“Flimsy. You could make it work. There are plenty of other people in Mondstadt. Why me.”
“Everybody else who knows his identity either can’t bear him or wants him dead. Sir, it’ll only be a few days, perhaps a week at most, before Lisa reverse engineers the potion—”
“I can’t bear him,” he grits out. “Don’t call me ‘Sir,’ and give me one good reason that this should be my problem.”
The Acting Grand Master has no such reservations about sighing.
“Sir—Master Diluc,” she says, and her diplomatic façade melts away. “Frankly, I cannot allocate any resources in defense of Sir Kaeya. The only reason Lisa can assist at all is because she’s working off hours.” Diluc feels a sudden kinship with that woman, dragged into Kaeya’s mess. “If I lift a hand in his aid, the increased oversight of my office following the Stormterror incident publicizes this entire thing, and I cannot allow word of this to get out to the people. Or else that information makes it to the Ethics Commission.”
Ah, the Ethics Commission. A board of “allied” interests that supposedly keeps its members in check. In practice, those “allies” while away their days making petty shots at each other, and Diluc has the weekly privilege of witnessing this debacle because he is, strictly speaking, a member.
He despises it.
Jean continues: “Unauthorized public projects, unauthorized substance abuse, imprudence leading to disability," she ticks them off on her fingers, "the list of new misdemeanors goes on. Sir Kaeya’s record is already tarnished beyond belief. He’s too wild for me to viably defend, but too valuable to the safety of Mondstadt for me to act in a manner that’d get him discharged by the Commission. My hands are tied.”
Allowing public image and politics to take precedence over the immediate good of the people. Typical. Diluc almost voices his derision for the Knights for the hundredth time, but Jean, with utter confidence, holds up a hand and interrupts him in his own manor.
“However, this leaves him unprotected,” she says. “Somehow, the exact wrong interests have found out that Sir Kaeya is...peculiarly indisposed. His enemies won’t attempt a character assassination, but they definitely want him dead. This is where you, Master Diluc, come into the picture. You are unassociated with Ordo Favonius. We need both safety and discretion to keep him alive, which the power attached to your name can uniquely provide, and it is in your best interest to assist.”
Diluc reads the unstated logic in that statement instantly. Kaeya uses his web of intel to twist the arms of blackmarketeers, keeping certain unspeakable rings tamped down underfoot. This makes him a much reviled figure in the Mondstadt underworld.
As much of a headache as it would be for Jean, getting him fired would hardly change what he knows and which important figures believe him. This renders obsolete for his enemies the revelation of a few eccentric misdemeanors, but an actual assassination—now that would afford those same enemies the freedom to run hog wild in Mondstadt. At least until Diluc gets his hands on them.
In short, Jean is (appropriately) throwing Kaeya to the wolves. If Diluc allows the Conman of Favonius to die, the share of the nation’s underworld that Kaeya keeps at heel has to be beaten into the Ragnvindr thrall, thus becoming—as all things somehow do—very much his problem.
He almost laughs. Jean just played her subordinate’s life and the very safety of Mondstadt as pawns, and Diluc, a man whose influence stretches across the entirety of Teyvat, finds himself in check on the opening turn, his hand brutally forced.
A performance worthy of the Acting Grand Master of Ordo Favonius. Truly.
He steeps in the inevitability of it all for a moment too long apparently, because Jean finds him in need of further convincing. Firmly, as if dealing a finishing blow, she speaks her piece: “Yours is the only name on his emergency contacts list, Master Diluc.”
Silence.
This is not the winning move. Diluc knows better than to mine for errant sentimentality in Kaeya, wherein sentimentality will never live. He knows better than to take the alarmed, lupine yelp that echoes those words at face value, especially with Jean there, toying so openly with some assumed element of pathos. Foolish.
Yet he finds in himself the magnanimity to ignore that stunningly misguided play. After all, this has been an otherwise exquisite game.
“Sweeten the deal for me, Grand Master,” he says finally, smiling something fake and wan. He has no choice, but he might as well get a little something out of it.
She’s prepared, of course.
“Hypothetically, the file on Mondstadt’s mysterious vigilante disappears,” she says. “All of our substantial evidence disappears with it, and that file would have to be rebuilt from scratch. Coincidentally, the only Knights in the know,” a gesture, to herself and the wolf, “would be very firmly in your debt.”
An adequate consolation prize, Diluc has to admit. He knows the purpose is to smooth over wrinkles between Ordo Favonius and Mondstadt’s reigning wine tycoon, but he considers his wrinkles sufficiently smoothed.
“I have business to attend to at the winery in five days,” he says. “Sir Kaeya will not set foot in Dawn Winery. That is non-negotiable. If he remains indisposed at that time, he will be dumped in the forest en route, and nature will take its course.”
His acceptance leaves behind a void, nearly as empty as his threat, until a butler comes in with two glasses and a bottle. They toast over a deal well and mercilessly made. Kaeya the wolf does not move from his place, choosing instead to stare stonily at the pair who just gambled his life like a poker chip.
Then Jean leaves.
And that, it seems, is that.
Diluc keeps no sensitive information in his city estate. His true office is elsewhere, in his home, the winery, where his people can guard against any overly curious eyes. Therefore, this humble abode within Mondstadt’s walls is fastidiously intel clean—desk, drawers, and staff alike scrubbed of anything that could possibly be used as leverage.
This is the only reason he trusts Kaeya the wolf in his city estate.
Somewhere down the line, something changed. He often pins it on that rainy day by the broken wagon, when Kaeya the brother was replaced by Kaeya the Conman.
Diluc changed as well—undeniably so. He became a fundamentally different man from the boy who rode out with his father that day. Both boys learned to cheat, torture, and kill for the benefit of the nation, but the difference between brothers is thus:
Diluc’s loyalties lie with Mondstadt. Kaeya’s do not.
Despite having traveled the length of Teyvat, despite having acquired a network of connections far dwarfing the scope of Mondstadt, Diluc bends these resources in service of his single-minded, near covetous devotion towards his home country.
Meanwhile, Kaeya has barely stepped foot outside the nation since arriving, yet he hides something behind those charming smiles. Kaeya is the reason Diluc can’t hire servants for his city manor without weeding out moles every week. Kaeya laughingly spouts petty lies as if being honest for five minutes would kill him, gathers intel like so many loaded crossbows, yet saves the trigger for some nebulous ulterior motive, staring with an inscrutable eye after that homeland on the horizon which so divides his loyalties.
Kaeya is the reason Diluc cannot keep sensitive information in his city estate.
Diluc assumes his estranged brother has no ill intent for Mondstadt. The knight would not be left alive otherwise. However, the defense of the city has never been a priority to the Conman of Favonius; he is emblematic of a type of wrong entirely separate from red tape and inefficiency—he knows nothing of loyalty.
These are the many reasons Diluc will never trust Kaeya the Conman in his—what was once their—home.
“This is Kai, one of Ordo Favonius’s surveillance dogs.” Diluc gives a fleeting smile and pats Kaeya the wolf on the head just to put his servants at ease. It took an hour after the Acting Grand Master’s departure to gather the manor for an announcement. “I’m sure you’ve seen them on the streets. Treat this one with civility, but take care not to leak my many torrid secrets to the Knights.”
His naive city staff proceeds to laugh at the most ironic joke he’s ever forced himself to deliver. Kaeya, lying with front legs folded elegantly in front of him, shoots Diluc a look that’s one part mirth—the kind sharp enough to convey that he’s not amused at all—and one part grudging respect.
“A bonus for each of you this week as well. Compensation for the added trouble,” he adds, to much applause. He’s considered one of the most compassionate employers in Mondstadt for a reason. “Dismissed.”
Servants filter out of the conference room to attend to their tasks. A maid shuffles up to Diluc, and the prospect of pretending for even a moment longer that he doesn’t despise the very ground Kaeya lies on is enough to sour his mood. Still, he schools his expression.
“Master Diluc,” the maid begins, and he recognizes her. A girl named Amelia. He knows she fancies him; that saccharine, one-sided loyalty is exactly why she’s on the staff.
“Master Diluc, I must,” she takes a moment to gather herself. “I just want to say. Thank you. So, so much. Money is tight this month, and my father is ill. This bonus—It means a lot to me.”
How quaint, he thinks.
Quaint, but heartwarming. It’s a shame he has to keep leading her on.
“Amelia. Is that your name?” She nods vigorously. It’s good to keep the workers at a distance, to foster that worship. “Mora is a trifling matter compared to the wellbeing of family. If you and yours meet financial troubles, come to me. I will do everything in my power to assist.”
She looks utterly besotted. Words plucked right off of her already ineloquent tongue. He reaches into the coinpurse in the breast pocket of his coat and gently presses a 10,000 mora piece into her palm, lingering just long enough to be ambiguous.
“Spread the word. This applies to every worker in the manor,” he says. “And call Dominic in on the way out.”
He watches her mouth work fruitlessly around formless praise and thanks and confessions, and when she looks quite ready to faint, she manages to flee the room, the heavy double doors practically slamming shut behind her.
In her absence, Diluc finally allows himself to take a long step away from Kaeya’s sprawled form. The smile slides off his face, his mouth bittering. A passing glance confirms his suspicions—the wolf is casting a judgmental eye in his direction.
Hypocrite.
“At least I don’t exult in it,” he says to the room. Unlike some people. He hears a heavy snort in response.
The doors to the conference room ease open once again, and in walks Dominic, the young servant boy. Hopefully energetic enough to handle Kaeya hitting a caprice just to piss Diluc off.
“Master Diluc,” the boy says, bowing. He nods in acknowledgment, and Dominic straightens, bounding to his side. “Master Diluc, how do you do that?” Those fervent glances at the door, behind which Amelia is no doubt having some kind of meltdown, are enough to clue Diluc in.
“Pardon?” he questions, carefully blank-faced. “What, exactly, are you referring to?”
The young servant stares in bewilderment.
“So you’re really not—You really don’t—Huh. Nevermind.” Let the rest of the staff convince the girl her hopes are delusional. “Gosh, Master Diluc. You’re really something else. Anyways, you called for me, sir?”
Diluc pulls his lips into some semblance of a friendly smile again and gestures towards the wolf on the ground.
“Dominic, I was hoping to assign you to our guest.”
“Wow, me?” the boy asks.
He nods.
“Yes. I’m mildly allergic to mutts,” he says smoothly, earning the barest of ear flicks from Kaeya. It must be infuriating, having so many snarky comebacks and the capability to voice exactly none of them. “I’d prefer you keep him where I’m not. Consult the head maid, Mrs. Shallay, for dietary advice. He can use the gardens for his business, but take care he doesn’t leave the grounds,” something Kaeya should be happy to respect, given he’d be promptly assassinated otherwise, “and never let him into my office. Understood?”
Dominic hastily bows.
“Yes, Master Diluc! I won’t let you down, Master Diluc!”
“Good.” The boy might need that energy. “Select a bottle of the toymaker’s favorite vintage to take home at the end of the week. That should net you a decent present for your brother’s birthday.”
“Oh, golly, Master Diluc.” Dominic’s eyes sparkle. “Yes! Thank you, thank you!”
The upturn of Diluc’s lips feels a little less stiff at the sincerity in that expression. It makes sense. This is, after all, what he kills for.
He flicks his hand in dismissal.
“Gather the dog and make yourself scarce.”
Dominic bows again. The boy whistles from his place next to the door, waiting for “Kai” to take notice, and Diluc indulges in a rare delicacy—meeting Kaeya’s eye, just to witness his humiliation.
“C’mere puppy,” Dominic coos. Even though a five foot wolf can hardly be called a puppy. “Come on! Let’s go see what kind of treats we can get you.”
Kaeya’s gaze narrows dangerously, and he doesn’t budge an inch. However, Diluc knows he won’t last long. Dominic is starting to get visibly anxious, and if there’s one thing he respects in his estranged brother, it’s his soft spot for the miserable.
After a tense moment, the wolf responds to the whistling and clambers clumsily to his feet. Dominic greets his companion’s compliance with praise and fur ruffles, to which Kaeya submits with a long-suffering huff.
Then Diluc is pinned with one final, icy grey glare that speaks volumes: this isn’t over.
And this, because it’s Kaeya, manifests later that day.
Diluc scans over the letter from his benefactor in the north once more, committing the information to memory, before promptly incinerating it with a snap of his fingers. He keeps no sensitive information in his city estate.
He tosses the ashes into the fireplace with a guttural, ragged sigh. If the increasing intrusions of the Fatui and the Abyss Order weren’t enough, if the pilfering of his country’s Archon gnosis were not enough, this seals the deal. He’s needed outside of Mondstadt. He needs to leave Mondstadt.
But how. He doesn’t even know where to begin. The power vacuum he would leave behind is staggering; he’d return to a city in ruins.
It’s getting late. Today has been an exceedingly frustrating day, and he needs to work some of the tension out of his shoulders before even attempting to battle sleep. A fist fight might do the trick. Or perhaps hunting down that cryo mage he found traces of earlier in the week and cremating it in its own robes. He pulls on his coat and tugs on his gloves as he exits the office—
And that’s when he sees it.
Diluc’s office is, strictly speaking, on the top level of the manor. However, directly across the building, past his late father’s chandelier that twinkles merrily against the ceiling, sits a slightly elevated half-level that leads onto the balcony.
And there, on that half-level, lies Kaeya the wolf, looking him straight in the eye.
Kaeya lost about a foot in the transformation, robbed of his glorious two centimeter advantage over Diluc. However, with the help of the half-level, the wolf stares down at the master of the house for the very first time that day. With everything else whipping around his mind in the moment, Diluc is ashamed to admit that he blanks at the sheer absurdity of it all.
Dominic stops running his hands over the animal’s fur to bow.
“Master Diluc!”
He nods in greeting. Kaeya very pointedly stares down his snout.
Petty bastard.
(Diluc stalks the streets with an unusual fervor that night.)