Chapter Text
He only remembered running.
That was his entire childhood— one footstep after another, the sound of his shoes beating against the ground as he made his way out to the snow. He remembered feelings better than he did faces or locations, he remembered rage and grief and the overwhelming need to pick up a sword and fight. There was a boy in a mask, there, kicking him down the tallest of walls he could remember, and then, nothing. No past.
No future.
—
“Is that all, Lord Zhongli?”
“That’s all. You’re dismissed.”
He brought the tea his servant prepared for him to his lips. Made with imported leaves, it tasted of the home he hadn’t seen in a long while. A glance out the window showed a kingdom covered in snow— the ground outside iced and slippery with a winter that couldn’t choose if it wanted to stay or melt. The winters had gotten worse since Crepus died, and though Zhongli didn’t know why, he could feel the chill in his bones even with the thick robes he wore. He set the cup aside to stoke the fire. Even if he could simply call a servant to do so, he preferred not to bother them with things he was still capable of doing himself. That was a lesson he was taught long ago.
In the Kingdom of Mondstadt, thirteen years after the death of its last king, Zhongli was working a foreign diplomat for Liyue as a master of contracts and a noble within the ranks of the royal court. He took the mantle at the apparent age of seventeen. He had only just turned thirty but looked nearly a decade older, thanks to the stress of his job. He had looked forward to this, once. Being trained for diplomacy from a tender age had blessed him with a certain charisma, even as a young teenager. However, even as that charisma became more inherent and his skills grew, he grew tired of dealing with Mondstadt’s court and all of its rules and traditions. It was nothing like how Crepus ran the country, once.
A dark shade cast over the kingdom ever since his death. People had the propensity to continue with life even under the most dismal of conditions, so on the surface, when Crepus’ adopted son Kaeya took the throne, things seemed normal. Aside from the brutal assassination of the king and prince, Kaeya had a certain grace when handling people, and made sure the kingdom prospered just enough to not seem suspicious. He had opened doors, however, for people Mondstadt wouldn’t usually dance with. The Fatui and denizens from Khaenri’ah became more common appearances within the city limits, and Zhongli wouldn’t mind this at all if it weren’t clear to everyone that some sort of plot was unfolding beneath them. Kaeya’s choices for leadership were… strange. The poor were growing poorer, money from the kingdom seemed to be floating into the coffers of people who were once enemies. As the master of contracts, Zhongli knew about all of this and was expected to keep quiet about it, out of respect for His Majesty.
He didn’t like it.
In fact, once he finished his tea, he brought himself to his feet. There were rumors floating around about a thief who resembled the dead prince, one who was impossible to catch and a massive thorn in the knights’ sides. Of course, it wasn’t impossible to have red eyes and red hair in Mondstadt, just rare, and Zhongli had spent many fool’s errands on leads that lead nowhere. He was once basically a babysitter for the prince, sent to entertain him and his younger, adoptive brother who was now king by his father during meetings. He was a bright, sunny child, and Zhongli couldn’t abide by the fact that he’d died and his body was never recovered. Surely the assassin would leave behind proof in order to ascertain Kaeya’s claim to the throne— assuming the assassin was working on Kaeya’s behalf, which Zhongli did.
There was too much coincidence with Kaeya’s life that Zhongli didn’t think added up. First, a member of Khaenri’an royalty died, asking his lifelong friend Crepus to adopt Kaeya and take him under his wing. Crepus did so happily, both to strengthen the bonds between the two kingdoms and to honor his fallen friend. Things were idyllic for a while, before there was a coup in Khaenri’ah and the Royal family essentially dissolved. It left Kaeya, the last one remaining, in Crepus’ care. He was hesitant to send the boy back to Khaenri’ah, understandably, so instead of returning the last remaining royal over, he kept him and made him second in line to the throne, despite lacking the bloodline.
Apparently, whoever planted him there had no aim for subtlety. Zhongli’s suspicions weren’t uncommon, and for that reason alone, Kaeya’s rule had been met with unrest, but his knights were loyal to him, and Kaeya never technically did anything wrong himself— it was impossible to prove who organized what in the tangle of conflict and trade between kingdoms. The only way to restore order to Mondstadt? It would be to find the true prince of it.
That had been Zhongli’s true reason for staying here.
Crepus had been a friend, and he couldn’t let his will go unfinished.
“… If I give up here, there would be no point to pursuing any lead at all. No better bait than a wealthy person visiting that thief’s town.” He mused to himself.
—
Another boring day of being king.
Kaeya could handle it, sure, but it didn’t mean he had to like it.
His handmaidens drew a bath, he dressed himself in his finest clothing, blue with glittering gold starlight embroidered on the darkest parts. His hair done back in a ponytail, a golden circlet fitted on his head, the very picture of regality. He’d meet with the head of his knights and the royal adviser to start the day, and then spend the rest of it listening to political nonsense while he sipped as many glasses of wine that would be deemed ‘socially graceful’.
This was easier when subterfuge was the name of the game, which is to say, this was easier when he was a child, being prepped for this instead of in the shoes he was meant to fill. He was a cat having caught a mouse it had no intention of eating, and killing that same mouse had been worse for his psyche than any crown could make up for.
He missed Diluc.
They were at each other’s throats as children, but the one crime he couldn’t forgive himself for was his death. He had grown up alongside him, knew his older brother’s secrets like they were the back of his hand. When he was taken from him at age eleven, Kaeya had lost a part of himself he thought he’d always have. On some level, he wanted this plan to fail, to live comfortably as the second in line to the throne as Diluc took up kingship on his own accord. While he was deeply loyal to his homeland, he was also a puppet on its strings. This was a situation where he was convinced no one won. He no longer had family back home, and now he’d been stripped of it here.
It was no wonder he had a taste for wine.
His captain of the knights, Childe (or Tartaglia, if you were his enemy, or Ajax, if you were his lover) had been with him every step of the way, as had Dainsleif. They were the only two in the palace who knew of his secret, the one that could get him beheaded if told. It was lucky he trusted them both implicitly.
Kaeya yawned, covering his mouth as he stepped into his meeting room. As a rule, he didn’t drink before noon so he could get some work done, but something about this day made him want to break it. Childe lit up upon seeing him, Dainsleif with his eyes still glued to the parchment in front of him.
“How did you sleep, my king?”
“Miserably. I’ve got a terrible headache…”
“One that would lessen if you didn’t litter your room with bottles of wine.” Dainsleif said as if he’d said it a million times.
“Thank you. I know. I’ll work on it.” It was an empty promise and Dainsleif knew it.
It pained Childe to see his king like this. He had been loyal to him since they were children. His victory had been Childe’s, and he’d served him through Kaeya’s breakdowns and triumphs. He had no doubt that Kaeya was a perfect king, bolstering his own homeland while taking care of Childe’s, but Childe conveniently neglected to think of Mondstadt at the center of it all. It was as if the kingdom meant precious little to him in the long run— a mine waiting to be tapped of its resources.
It was Kaeya’s attachments that bothered him. Surely, he didn’t need more than his most trusted knight and adviser? Why was he still miserable over something that happened thirteen years ago? It didn’t make sense to him. Then again, Childe had never lost family before, so he didn’t know the touch of its pain.
“In any case, how is the trade route between Snezhnaya and Mondstadt coming along?”
“It’s doing well! As you know, that’s my personal project.” Childe said, cheerfully. “I like getting to go back and forth between here and home. Even if it’s kept me away from your side.”
“Good to know. And Khaenri’ah?” Kaeya looked toward Dainsleif, tiredly.
“Nothing to report. Still a bit of unrest, but it’s stabilizing.”
“Good…” Though Kaeya was happy to know his own kingdom was starting to recover, it didn’t necessarily bring him joy. Joy was a hard emotion to reach these days.
“May I speak to our king alone?” Childe asked.
Dainsleif said nothing, just nodded and left, the heavy oaken door shutting behind him.
“It pains me to see you like this, Kaeya,” Childe said, dropping the formalities now that no one was around to see it. “I know you have good days and bad days, but it feels like—”
“— a bad week. I know.” He smiled, as if he could melt his depression at will. It might have been convincing to others, but not Childe. “I’ll bounce back. This is my life, after all. I can’t spend it drinking in misery while I have a kingdom to run.”
“Is it Diluc?” Childe asked, knowing he approached a difficult subject. “I know you’ve been searching for him with a handful of lesser knights. It’s almost like you want this plan to go belly up.”
“I just want closure. If I find his bones, or if I find him alive, it doesn’t matter.”
“…” Childe said nothing but approached his king with a warm touch to the cheek. “Hey, Kaeya—”
“Ajax,” Kaeya said tiredly. “You know we can’t keep doing this.”
“…” The light in Childe’s eyes flickered ever so slightly.
“I have to wed soon. I’m expected to pick a princess or a noblewoman or someone— I don’t know, but it can’t be my knight. I’ve put it off so long…”
“You wouldn’t be the first chaste king.” Childe protested. Kaeya snorted.
“I’m not, for one.”
“I know, I know! But… I mean, no one would go against you if—”
Kaeya sighed. He wanted to spare Childe of this life. Of being— tethered to Kaeya. He knew dismissing him would break his heart, so he never had, but their secret relationship was starting to draw suspicion. He loved Childe… more than he loved anyone who was still alive, but he knew that even if he betrayed him by marrying someone else, Childe would still stay loyal, still be content to be at his side. Kaeya hated that, couldn’t stand the thought of it. He would rather Childe seek his own happiness than call loyalty the only love he’d have.
It was the other big thing paining Kaeya, the pressure mounting to find a queen. He’d never been particularly interested in sharing his burden or bed with someone he couldn’t even tell his secret to.
It had been easier to ignore it, but he couldn’t anymore.
“I… will put it aside for one more week. Just for you.” Kaeya said warmly, but it just made Childe uneasy— a deadline to their love. How awful. Kaeya, on some level, knew it must have been discomforting so he reached out to Childe and kissed him.
“You are the one constant in my life I’m lucky to have, but you don’t have to walk this path for my sake.” He reassured.
“I don’t know any other life.” Childe responded blankly.
The words weighed heavily down on Kaeya. He was ruining someone else’s life with every decision he was forced to make. It made him crestfallen to see the look on his love’s face when it was obvious he wouldn’t know what to do with any rejection from Kaeya. His hand fell from his cheek, sliding down his arm and then slowly he grasped his hand.
“I’m sorry,” Kaeya said quietly.
“I know you are, but it doesn’t change what you have to do.” Childe said, glancing away. “You might as well get it over with now.”
With that, Childe took his leave, not even taking the week Kaeya had offered him. It seemed like everything existed to twist the knife Kaeya had felt buried in his chest ever since thirteen years ago.
He sighed, turning his attention to the wine cabinet, pulling out a bottle of dandelion wine.
—
Lux sat against the back of the wagon, heading back to his hometown— if he could call it that.
As a child, he held no memories of the past. He’d been found by a blacksmith washed up on a riverbank and had been raised as ‘another mouth to feed’ by his family. He didn’t belong, so he didn’t stay. As soon as he was old enough to fend for himself, he learned pickpocketing from a homeless thief, and had eventually stolen enough coin from the wealthy to buy his first sword and bow— instead of stealing them, oddly enough. It was a life that constantly risked being hanged, but Lux didn’t want to think of himself as anyone’s burden. After all, if he couldn’t even tell them where he came from, what was the point?
He belonged to no one, was beholden to no one, and was loved by no one.
The only things he felt were anger towards the current monarchy and a dull ache in his heart when he tried to probe his memories whenever he saw something that felt oddly familiar. The only thing that gave him joy was spreading the wealth he had learned to liberate from the noble class— giving children and refugees enough coin to buy food until he could steal some more.
As he got off the wagon that didn’t know he was hitching a ride, he snuck back into the house he called home. He was only able to avoid death this long because of his own skill and a few friends in high places. Jean had been the daughter of that same blacksmith who rose in the ranks, who he regarded as (distant) family. She knew what he did and did her best to keep him out of trouble. This was because he didn’t just pickpocket the rich— he had a hobby of getting rid of bandits and liberating their wealth, too.
A kind of person who no one wanted to be their friend, even if the orphan children of the village seemed to think otherwise.
Lux had overheard two maidens working in the fields that a wealthy nobleman from Liyue who worked in Mondstadt would be visiting their humble tavern. Making a note of it, Lux decided to camp out the area and wait for the man’s arrival. Drawing up his coarse, brown hood and sitting against the wall of the tavern, he watched and waited as the Liyean diplomat arrived, flanked by two guards.
He’d never had problems with guards before. He swore that he’d seen the diplomat somewhere before, though.
He waited outside that tavern for hours. Eventually, he overheard the man pardon himself from his guards to go outside for fresh air. If not now, then Lux would never have his chance.
As the man rounded the corner, Lux pulled a dagger from his belt and pinned the man to the wall, who said nothing, looking unsurprised. As if this had become a normal occurence for him, by now.
“Your coin,” Lux said. “Now.”
“… you’re not talented enough just to take it?” Zhongli asked.
“I couldn’t see where you kept it. Not a word, or I’ll cut your throat.”
“I’ll give it all to you without any fuss if you make a trade with me. I have 500,000 mora on my person right now.”
“…?” The first hint was how the thief put his dagger away, almost immediately. He didn’t want a fight. Rather, he wouldn’t spill blood unless he absolutely had to. “That’s a lot of coin to give away.”
“Show me your face.”
“As if I would—”
“— no fuss. No wanted posters. I’ll make it 1,000,000 mora.”
Lux rolled his eyes and pulled his hood back. Zhongli’s eyes widened.
“It’s you.”
“…?” Lux took a few steps back, suddenly thrown off at Zhongli’s marveling. The other man reached out to touch his cheek, but Lux slapped it away.
“What are you talking about?” He asked.
“You’re who I’ve been searching for. You don’t remember me?”
“… no, I don’t.”
Zhongli paused. “Do you remember anything from thirteen years ago or before?”
“How did you—”
“Because I know Crepus’ face when I see it.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re his son. You’re the lost prince, Diluc.”
Lux looked at him as if he were insane, worried that he’d gotten caught up in some nobleman’s scheme for— something, his mind running a million miles a minute. Find someone who looked like Crepus and try to overtake the throne? That’d be the most obvious.
“You’re crazy,” He thought he was forgetting something. “The mora, if you will.”
Zhongli handed it over with no fuss at all. “That’s only 500,000. If you want the other 500,000, you have to come meet me at my home in the castle town. You’re really him… I can’t believe my fruitless search finally turned you up.” He lowered his voice. “But we had better talk in my personal quarters back home if you want me to teach you more. Will you ride there with me?”
It could be a trap, but 500,000 mora… that could rebuild this whole town.
Lux thought it over.
“Tell me where it is, and I’ll meet you there on my own terms.”
Zhongli could compromise with that.