Work Text:
overcoming hardship, welcoming
It was a fairly innocuous thing, really. A small bouquet of dandelion puffs and mayflower branches, arranged in a small glass vase with a handwritten note:
To Miss Lisa Minci:
On behalf of Grandmaster Varka, we welcome you as the new Head Librarian for the Knights of Favonius. Thank you for your help in enriching the lives of Mondstadt’s citizens.
The gift appeared on her desk sometime early in the morning, freshly trimmed with a spot of ink still drying on the embossed card. Lisa smiled when she saw them, and made a mental note to personally thank the Grandmaster for such a gracious, welcoming gift.
It did not take much probing to discover that it was not, of course, Grandmaster Varka who sent them. He was packing for a long expedition, one of the knights told her, and would not be back for some time. He was much too busy to send flowers to the newest member of the Knight’s headquarter’s staff. Lisa didn’t fret though, as the same young knight could easily point her in the right direction of who had arranged such a gift: the Grandmaster’s Assistant Sir Jean Gunnhildr. Such small acts of hospitality around the office could always be attributed to her thoughtfulness. Although, the knight explained, he didn't understand just how she made the time, considering all the other housekeeping of Grandmaster Varka’s she tended to.
Lisa thanked him, and returned to the library, already mulling over whether an herbal or spiced tea would be a more enticing invitation.
The task of meeting Sir Gunnhildr, however, turned into an endeavor all on its own. Lisa set out in the early afternoon, once she settled into her office, only to find the famed Sir Gunnhildr already out on patrol. She heard that Sir Gunnhildr helped repair a broken training dummy near the barracks, then just as suddenly disappeared to fend off a prowl of Hillichurls spotted near the front gate. At lunch, the knight's office was empty, but so were the tables of the Cat’s Tail and Good Hunter of any mention of Sir Gunnhildr. By the time Lisa was beginning to consider her first day—nay, her first task as Head Librarian of Mondstadt—to be a fruitless effort in propriety, she saw an unfamiliar figure waiting at attention at her desk. The figure stood with arms crossed behind her back, in a neatly pressed navy blue and white uniform with a well-polished rapier at her side. She seemed to glow in the flickering candlelight.
“Sir Gunnhildr, I presume?” Lisa spoke, approaching her with an amused smile.
The knight blinked, turning her head and dipping slightly at Lisa’s approach. “Yes, I apologize for coming by so late in the evening. I meant to introduce myself sooner, but I was drawn away by other matters.” She was short, despite her commanding presence, with wispy blonde hair and watchful blue eyes.
“It's no trouble,” Lisa reassured her. “I was just going to snuff out a few candles on my way out. I don’t think I would leave a very good impression if I burned down my own library on the first day.”
Sir Gunnhildr’s stony face smiled, and it was lovely. “Yes, both the city and the knights would prefer our library as well as our Librarian intact.”
The flower bouquet on Lisa's desk still stood at attention, somewhat forgotten in the wake of everything else on her first day. Lisa blew gently on two candles and the room dipped into deep purple.
“You know, I’ve actually been trying to find you all day,” Lisa said.
The knight’s gaze widened just slightly, and she dipped her head again, “Me? I apologize for keeping you waiting.” She stepped forward, all serious once more. “Did something happen?”
Lisa smiled and shook her head, “I simply wanted to thank you for the bouquet. It was a lovely gift this morning.”
“Of course. We’re happy to have you as our Head Librarian.”
“Still, I do want to thank you properly. Maybe I could tempt you to dinner, if you’re on your way out?” Lisa mindlessly dusted away a few pieces of lint from her desk to break the stare between them.
Sir Gunnhildr let out a soft sigh, and shook her head. “I do appreciate the offer, but I’m afraid time has gotten away from me today. I still have a few more hours of work to do here. Perhaps another time, Miss Minci.”
Lisa laughed while shaking her head. She got the sense that for Sir Gunnhildr, this was a common problem. Luckily Lisa was not insulted. She would just have to find another way to impress the enigmatic knight. “Please, just Lisa will do.”
Sir Gunnhildr smiled all the way to her eyes as she stuck out her hand for a formal handshake. “Jean.”
encouragement, protection, and readiness
A small, tightly wrapped bundle of goldenrod blossoms, white heather tails, and valerian stems wilted in a thin, tall vase on Grandmaster Varka’s desk. Well, it used to be the Grandmaster’s desk. It was Jean’s now, as the new Acting Grandmaster in Varka's absence. Jean wasn’t used to sitting at his desk, but the flowers Lisa had so graciously provided on the day he left did their part to liven it up.
In the mere three weeks since she joined, Lisa had quickly fallen into step at the Knight’s headquarters. The librarian, always dressed in her signature purple robes, could trade wit with Kaeya, muse alchemical theories with Albedo, and even wrangle the interest of Klee to keep the young Spark Knight out of Jean’s hair—a most welcome feat, considering the disarray of Varka's Jean still found herself sorting through.
Maybe it was a ploy to get Jean to join her, or perhaps the library did get as drafty as Lisa said it did, but since Varka’s absence, Lisa had been taking her afternoon breaks in the Grandmaster’s office. Jean appreciated it. Lisa could fill the air with stories real and imagined, and was not put-off by the large stretches of silence that often accompanied the grueling task of approving expense reports.
“I should probably throw out those flowers for you. They’re looking a bit…sorry,” Lisa remarked softly. She stood up from the tray of tea and desserts laid out on Varka’s desk—a tray that Jean was pointedly ignoring—and walked towards the desk.
“I think I’ve grown fond of them,” Jean replied, glancing up just in time to see Lisa pluck the delicate stems from the vase. Jean signed her name and tidied the papers with a quick shuffle of her hands. “I’d hate to see them go.”
“They look dreadful, Jean.”
Lisa, as usual, was right, and Jean couldn’t find it in her to be stubborn with her. “Maybe I should ask Flora about a plant to put in here instead. Just something to liven the place up.” Jean turned in her chair, eyeing the window at her back up and down. “Would you say this is an East-facing window? Or more North?”
“I couldn’t say, really. But I do think a plant would do wonders here,” Lisa replied. She looked at the flowers still held in her hand when her face lit up. “I had a friend back in Sumeru who used to preserve flowers. I could press them for you, if you’d like?”
Jean paused for a moment, then smiled. “Could you? Maybe I can display them somewhere.” She looked around, imagining a space for the flowers between the hanging boar’s tusks and a framed photo of a massive Venomspine fish.
“Varka really wasn’t much for decoration in here,” Lisa said dourly, following Jean’s eyeline. “The walls could use a bit of a woman’s touch.”
“Interior design is out of my area of expertise, I’m afraid. Unless you’re offering?”
Lisa made a noncommittal sound and sipped her tea. “If it’ll get you out of this office for a day, then yes.”
Jean pretended to think about the offer, tilting her head to emphasize the gesture before responding, “You drive a hard bargain, Miss Minci, but I just don’t know.”
“I still owe you lunch, dearest Grandmaster,” Lisa pressed, setting her cup back down.
“Acting Grandmaster.”
Lisa rolled her eyes, but the twitch of a smile softened the blow. “So, what do you say?”
“If you insist.” Jean knew she shouldn’t agree to this—there was always so much to do—but the softness of Lisa’s expression left Jean's face feeling warm in its wake. It was amazing how Jean agreed to anything Lisa proposed.
Jean set aside her quill, stretching her arms behind her head in a loud sigh. Lisa clapped her hands together and stepped forward. As she reached for the tea tray, she leaned down and pressed her lips against Jean’s cheek. The kiss lasted for a moment—a silly, flirty thing that was absolutely successful in its aim of getting a rise out of Jean. Lisa laughed, and pulled the tray away.
“Well, I’ll have some ideas for you this evening, so be sure to stop by the library when you get a chance, okay?” Lisa said, amusement still lighting up her features against the afternoon sun.
Jean nodded.
Lisa hesitated in the doorway, and looked back at Jean. “It suits you, you know.” When Jean didn’t respond, she continued. “The title. Maybe not the room, just yet. But you'll grow into it and make it your own. I know it.”
Jean cleared her throat. “Thank you, Lisa.”
forgive me
It was a rash decision. But it was inevitable. Lisa did take some consolation in that. The tightly wound bundle of purple hyacinth flowers on her bedside table was a poor replacement for the body that had lain there just hours ago.
Lisa wasn’t ashamed to admit she was smitten with the Acting Grandmaster. Every excuse to bring her food, spend time in her office, and brush against her gloved hands was taken, and when the opportunity was lacking, created. Lisa knew she was a flirt; she even leaned into it if it meant Jean would spend a moment, an hour, a day away from the job that in a few months already left purple rims under her eyes and loose clumps of hair beside her desk. Sometimes, Jean would reciprocate—a flirty remark or a twirl across the office—but just as often a frustrated sigh followed Lisa's antics. Lisa knew that her adoration for the stubborn, sweet, altogether careworn Grandmaster was only second to the adoration Jean held for Mondstadt and its people. And, truly, Lisa told herself, she was content with being second best. It was enough to imagine the longing in Jean’s eyes when the knight humored her indolent friend. It had to be.
They played their parts well. Lisa, playing the role of the lazy Librarian and Jean as the devoted Grandmaster, and between them this evening, a dinner feast courtesy of the Good Hunter alongside a half-empty pot of jasmine tea. Jean, true to form, was silent, stoic, reserved as she read some document or other. She didn’t even glance up as she grabbed a piece of her cold mushroom pizza and bit into it. Lisa, lovestruck and easily distracted, watched from across the desk and smiled as a sliced mushroom clung stubbornly to Jean’s cheek. Jean made no motion to remove it. It wiggled in time to Jean’s increasingly exasperated scowl before Lisa couldn’t help herself any more.
“Oh, darling, let me get that for you.” Jean immediately looked up. Lisa removed her glove, and licked the edge of her thumb before reaching over to swipe the stray mushroom from Jean’s face.
Lisa made sure to never overstep her carefree-seeming facade, always relenting when the flush of Jean’s cheeks matched the color of blooming windwheel asters. She’d even asked, once, if her antics truly frustrated Jean, who had assured her that, no, she was the finest librarian Mondstadt had ever seen. So, when she laid her hand on Jean’s face, she was expecting it to be another simple, meaningless but heartfelt, gesture shared between them. That was how their roles were written. Lisa did not expect the soft cupping of Jean’s hand against her own, and the deep, long sigh that escaped her.
“Thank you, Lisa,” Jean said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I cannot thank you enough, for everything.”
Lisa could feel her heartbeat thrum against her ear drums, and when she finally registered Jean’s words, Jean kissed her hand. It was not the teasing, gentle kiss of a stoic knight humoring her librarian. Jean’s eyes were wide, bright, and wanting.
Jean stood, setting aside her quill and capping the ink while holding tight to Lisa’s hand. She stepped out from the desk, and ghosted her hand over Lisa’s face to tuck a stray strand of chestnut hair back beneath her hat. Lisa breathed in Jean’s scent, a pleasant, airy mixture of sweat and sweetness.
“Are you ready to go home for the evening, Grandmaster?” Lisa whispered, never taking her eyes off Jean.
Jean first looked back at her desk, piled high with scattered papers and smudged ink. She paused. They had never danced this close to the sun before. And yet. And yet—Jean squeezed her hand tightly, and nodded.
The walk to Lisa’s home was familiar and hushed. It was all Lisa could do to unlock the door before she was in Jean’s arms, hoisted by her hips and Jean was kissing her, pressing into her, wanting her.
Between breaths Lisa fiddled with Jean's outfit, the menagerie of buttons unveiling the flushed, muscular body of the famed Dandelion knight. Once, in a dream, Lisa imagined the feeling of Jean’s hands holding her own. But now, in the waking hour, Jean held all of Lisa with such casual, flippant strength. Here, Jean, rolling sword-calloused hands over soft curves and iridescent stretch marks and trembling, lightning-blackened fingertips.
When the moon remained the last witness to them, Jean held her, lazily kissing the side of her neck while she repeated Lisa’s name back to her.
When Lisa woke, she was cold and alone.
thinking of you
It was nearly two weeks later that Jean found a small package and a single, plucked zinnia greeting her desk early in the morning. There was no signature attached, but when she cut away the brown parchment, she knew exactly who it was from.
The small bundle of flowers that had once celebrated Grandmaster Varka’s departure now lay splayed and carefully arranged against a dark black canvas background. A thin black-and-gold frame surrounded the arrangement, decorated with a design of floating dandelion puffs. The ache nestled deep in her chest grew in size, emboldened by the pre-dawn light of the Grandmaster’s office, and dragged her to her seat.
Jean was a fool, she knew that. She lived her life held by the tension of tightly wound strings. Duty to her city, to her knights, to her family. She didn’t know another way to be.
But Lisa did. Lisa, gentle, sweet, charming, and witty Lisa, who hid her insecurities behind an idle façade. Lisa made her want to spend mornings in bed and afternoons in the sun and evenings with someone in her arms. Jean missed her company. Jean missed her.
Lisa stopped taking tea in her office. Jean couldn't blame her. Pitched up in her office from early morning until late evening, Jean read and wrote and worked until her wrists ached and her vision blurred. It wasn’t enough, even though at one time it was all she had. All she needed to do was become the person she was before she met Lisa. That’s all.
A knock at her door alerted her to how late the morning had gotten. She quickly shuffled the pressed flowers into a drawer of her desk, and beckoned the visitor in.
The exhaustion that permeated from Kaeya was one that could only be felt by someone who had worked with him for years and knew that the nicer he dressed, the more hungover he was. Today, he looked immaculate. His makeup hid the dull pallor of his brown skin and sunken eyelid well. He carried with him a stack of papers, all written in his precise, tightly packed script and set them on Jean’s desk.
Jean picked them up, shuffled through the pages, and thanked him without reading any of it.
“Just go talk to her, Jean,” Kaeya said. Jean felt like she was one misplaced kindness from a choked sob, and Kaeya knew it.
Jean looked up. Kaeya sighed.
“She misses you. You miss her.” He drew his hands down his face. “Just make this right.”
“It's not that simple—”
“It is that simple!” Kaeya groaned. “Go. Talk. Apologize. So you can stop moping around your office.”
“Captain Kaeya—”
He glared at her. “This isn’t Captain Kaeya speaking. This is your childhood friend, tired-of-walking-on-eggshells Kaeya, who is telling you, as my oldest friend, to just go talk to Lisa.” He paused, and when she was too stunned to speak, he added quietly, “If this was Captain Kaeya, you’d be writing me up.”
“You know I wouldn’t do that,” Jean finally said.
“I know, I know,” he responded, waving her off. He began to turn around, then a crinkle in his nose made Jean realize he caught a whiff of her day-old clothes tucked in the corner. “We really need to air out this room. At least go take a walk, or something.”
That seemed easier than going across the hall to where she knew Lisa would be, so she did. The perfect weather of Mondstadt was absent today, replaced by a heavy coat of gray clouds that blanketed the city with chill. Jean found that just fine. There were few people in the market and those that saw her gave only a brief nod before continuing to light lanterns in the steadily darkening afternoon. The distant tremble of thunder was the only warning before the sky opened up and a cold bucket of rain water soaked her through.
Shit, shit, shit. She hunched over, the walk turning into a frantic jog as she struggled to maintain any semblance of dignity. Unsuccessful, she pushed open the doors of the Cat's Tail with her hair steadily dripping down her face. She looked and felt like a drowned rat.
She wasn't the only one who had sought refuge here. A small gaggle of equally soaked market-goers clustered around the bar, gathering and passing around towels to the new arrivals. Someone handed her a towel, with small embroidered cat paws, and she gratefully wrung out her hair and ruffled it dry. She looked up to return it and saw Lisa, a faraway smile etched on her face.
"There we go, darling. Much more befitting our Grandmaster." Jean winced—oh, how her title never hurt her more—before handing it back to her.
"Thank you, Lisa," she responded, nodding and torn desperately between the desire to catch pneumonia in the rain or to admit to Lisa what a fool she was. “Did you get caught in the rain as well?” Jean said, looking her up and down. Lisa looked remarkably dry.
“Oh, no, I was collecting some overdue books,” Lisa responded, flashing the edge of a book safely tucked in a side satchel. “I have a sense for these things, you know.” Some of the sadness on her face dissipated with another rumble of thunder.
“That’s helpful.” Jean sighed, and studied the floorboards. At least Lisa didn’t seem too repulsed to talk to her, but that did little to assuage her festering guilt. Jean wasn’t about to push her luck beyond pleasant frivolities. She was a fool, Jean reminded herself, and the simple statement reverberated through her mind until any excuse to get out from beneath Lisa's charming gaze spilled out.
“I should probably be heading back—”
“Do you need to change clothes—?”
They both stopped, and Jean coughed, waving her hand forward, “Go ahead.”
Lisa pulled from her satchel a large umbrella and said, “You look like you could use a change of clothes. Let’s walk together?” Jean could feel the shudder of a chill begin to take hold and she looked at Lisa. A mere glance at her would see only the veneer Lisa reflected: cool, aloof, and sometimes forlorn. But there was a crack that Jean and only Jean knew: the soft clenching of her hand that always preceded a tremble. Lisa was nervous, just like her.
And Jean finally realized, it was that easy. She was a fool. “Yes, let’s.” Slowly, she held out her elbow and, against all odds, Lisa looped her arm through. If Jean wasn’t already shivering, she would say she felt relief wash over her. Instead, the gentle point of contact of Lisa’s arm against her soaked uniform was warm and pleasant.
Discounting the initial downpour, the walk to Jean’s home was quiet, perforated by the soft tapping of drizzle against Lisa’s umbrella. The umbrella was surprisingly unlike her: stark, stretched black, oil-slick linen, unprinted, undesigned. But it was large enough for both of them to walk side-by-side, and once the wind picked up, Jean was happy to have Lisa standing so close to her.
Jean didn’t want to say anything, though. If she did, it would break the easy silence of whatever they were doing. If she did, the conversation would have to get difficult, and Jean would hurt her again. Jean would be left, sopping wet in the rain once more.
Lisa was braver than her. “What did you think of the flowers today?” She asked. Her voice was soft, and muffled by the splashing of their footfalls.
“I—ah. They were lovely. Thank you.”
“I’m just glad they were all dry. With all the humidity, I was worried it was going to take another month.” Lisa breathed out.
“The frame was really nice,” Jean replied. She caught eyes with a cat who huddled beneath an upturned crate, with its bright yellow eyes trained on the two of them as they walked. “Did you make it yourself?”
“Oh, no, no. I know a friend.” A pause. “That’s also why it took so long.” Another long pause, and Jean could see from beneath the umbrella the arch of her own home begin to come into view. Lisa slowed beside her, and Jean turned, but she was unreadable. When they reached Jean’s front step, Jean disentangled herself from Lisa. She almost handed the umbrella back, but stopped herself.
“Would you like to come in? I could get some tea going and the fire started.”
Lisa’s smile seemed tight, but she nodded. “Sounds wonderful, darling.”
Jean collapsed the umbrella and shook it free of water droplets. Then, she beckoned Lisa in, directing her to a small but modest living area where Lisa removed her coat. Lisa sat, back straight and legs crossed as Jean lit the fire. Beside the fireplace was a stack of blankets, and Jean held one up. Lisa nodded.
“Perhaps I should visit more often,” Lisa mused as Jean draped the blanket over her lap. “Who knew the Grandmaster was such a gracious host.” Lisa winked.
Jean sat beside her, acutely aware of the damp stain she was leaving in the cushion but finally steeling herself for the words she had wanted to say all evening: “Lisa, I’m so sorry.”
Lisa’s posture immediately changed, her wink furrowing into a sad, angry frown as she watched Jean, unblinking. Lisa beckoned for her to continue.
Jean watched many unlucky library patrons be on the receiving end of Lisa’s temper or disappointed scowl. Jean, herself, had even received such a stare when her stubbornness overrode her own sense (which, without Lisa, it was oft to do). The words had tumbled out, unbidden, and Jean was a fool but she knew Lisa deserved to hear it and so she would not stop them now.
“I’m sorry for everything. I’m sorry for that night. I’m sorry for hiding away. I’m sorry for not apologizing sooner,” Jean stilled her trembling voice into something cool, detached. She wanted Lisa to know she meant every word, and wanted to speak them fully. She was grieving something lost, but her grief was not Lisa's to bear. “I shouldn't have thrown myself on you like that and I know nothing I say will make it right but—”
Lisa held up her hand and Jean immediately froze, words halted on the angry buzz that had filled the air. “Jean. What are you talking about?”
All of her conviction died and her voice felt tiny and small in her throat. “That night. With us.”
Lisa was angry, that was obvious. Angry, and hurt, and something else that Jean couldn’t read, and she shook her head furiously. “Jean, you did not throw yourself at me or force yourself onto me. You don’t get to take that night or my affections, away from me. I wanted you." Lisa paused and she choked. "You wanted me, too, until you decided you didn’t,” Lisa’s voice, hard and calm, collapsed and she sobbed. Her body trembled and quaked and Jean was left, sitting there beside her, gears and uncertainty clicking into place. Oh. Oh .
Jean gently touched her shoulder, and Lisa immediately stopped. She breathed in deeply, and shuddered a breath, and looked at Jean as if she wasn’t convulsing in tears just moments before.
“Lisa, I… I’m so sorry. I can never say it enough. I wanted you. I love you." The words that once seemed so hard to say, suddenly laid raw. Surprisingly, the world hadn't collapsed around her.
Lisa stared at her. "Do you mean that?" Her voice was the whispering of the wind in the trees, the dapple of rain against the window. "Truly?"
"Yes." Jean tried her best to put everything she could into the word. To bare her soul in three letters. To apologize but not demand forgiveness. To explain but not condone. To hope that Lisa could know just how much she meant, and more. Words were never her strong suit, so she clung to the three letters like a wind chime in a storm. "Yes, yes, yes."
Lisa was crying again, but this time she leaned over and rested her head on Jean's still wet shoulder. It was quiet. "I was so afraid," she whispered. She was, rightfully, accusatory.
"I know." Jean gingerly rested her hand on the top of Lisa's hair. She pet it, slowly, and Lisa gave a shuddered sob. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
Lisa pulled away, eyes angry and bloodshot. "If you hurt me like that again, Jean Gunnhildr, you will wish the Gunnhildr legacy ended with Frederica."
Jean met her eyes, and nodded.
There was a pause ruptured only by the sounds of their shared, ragged breaths as they watched each other. Then, Lisa exhaled. “Can we stop this?” She stared at Jean, all fight gone from her in a single shuddering breath. “I hate these insecurities. The feeling like we’re not enough for each other.” She pulled away. Jean didn’t have anything to give her but a rain-soaked handkerchief which Lisa accepted with a shaken head. “I’m tired of waiting to be happy. I want to be happy. Don't you?”
Jean thought, like in most matters, Lisa was right.
adoration, reciprocated love, happiness
The two knocks on the library door were a mere formality to Jean's regular visits now. Lisa glanced up, signing and dating the library card on a returned book and was greeted with a bouquet of freshly cut ambrosia flowers, dwarf sunflowers, and nemophila buds spilling from Jean's hand.
Even after four months had passed since that fateful evening, Jean was still Jean. Lisa knew that. Jean could not become more open, more honest, more self-preserving overnight. Just as Lisa could not become less incessant, less overbearing, less insecure overnight. Their love existed within mutual growth, and Lisa would not want it any other way.
"First sunflowers of the season," Jean proclaimed, her face stretched into a wide grin that was beginning to replace her stern countenance around the headquarters. Lisa laughed, taking the flowers into her arms and breathing in the scent of sun and fresh dew.
"Oh, they're lovely Jean, but just where am I going to put them?" Lisa gestured with her free hand across the library to where every flower vase (and even a few drinking glasses) was stuffed with spring flowers in various stages of wilting.
Jean bent down and kissed Lisa's cheek, pulling back with bright eyes that made the Mondstadt sky pale in comparison.
"We'll just have to find something new to put them in." Jean thought for a moment, then said: "Maybe we can check with Marjorie today?"
"Is the Grandmaster proposing a day off?" Lisa gasped, but she couldn’t hide the way her eyes crinkled with Jean’s infectious smile.
Jean was not perfect—Lisa wasn't either. They were broken beings, pieced together with apologies and good intentions. They chose happiness, in spite of their flaws.
"Well that depends," Jean paused, and extended her arm for Lisa.
All Lisa knew for certain was that when Jean struggled to say I love you , she filled Lisa’s room with flowers.
"Would you join me?"