Chapter Text
i.
(Rex Lapis died fifteen months ago. Diluc only knows this because of bar talk.)
“Are you sure,” Diluc says in the most even tone he can muster for the moment. The rocks glass in his hand is close to shattering, and he knows it–the wine polishing cloth in the other hand hides white knuckles. He forcefully clears his throat, and relaxes his clenched jaw. “Are you sure that’s what they said?”
“Yes.” Charles repeats, and dutifully ignores Diluc’s violent polishing of a glass that he knows has no smudges or water spots left to scrub out. “Personally haven’t seen him, but then, I haven’t exactly left the tavern since my shift first started.”
The shift in question is referring to the annual Bartender Academy Week that Charles has to supervise. Everybody remembers the infamous alcohol incident of last year, and nobody wants a repeat of that. Diluc resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. “But you think it’s interesting enough that a good portion of Mondstadt’s talking about it?”
“Well,” Charles shrugs. “People like to talk when there’s outlanders, boss.”
It happened with the Traveler when they rescued Mondstadt from Stormterror’s wrath, and the same thing happened with Miss Xiangling when Springvale hosted a cooking competition for her, and–the point is, Mondstadt loves outlanders almost as much as it loves its wine.
Is that so, Diluc wants to say, but nothing about what Charles says warrants the harsh tone that he knows will follow those words. He sighs. “Can we please go over the details again?”
As Charles has said, there are reports of a mysterious white-haired lady visiting from Liyue, accompanied by rumors of her status as an adeptus descending from Jueyun Karst. Diluc cross-references it with the other written accounts from willing witnesses on hand, and the details of her reported appearances remain consistent.
Nobody had dared to disturb her sight-seeing, and stayed out of her way. The one detail that remains inconsistent was of her companion. Her choice of companions are varied: she was seen leaving Angel’s Share with Captain Eula of the Lawrence clan, but before that, several Mondstadters are believed to have followed her around, along with a couple of accounts about a man, gold in his hair and the sun in his eyes, a Geo vision on his back, pointing her to the land of wind. Some say she was escorted only until Mondstadt’s border, some say they were both briefly spotted in Mondstadt.
(His mouth tastes like blood, and Diluc thinks, spiteful and vicious, of the news delivered to him by word of mouth in the shadows of his tavern, of how Rex Lapis died fifteen months ago.)
“The consensus is that he came to Mondstadt,” Charles says. “As supported by Miss Donna—Master Diluc, please save your reservations about the girl for the moment—and the statements taken from half of the Cat’s Tail’s staff.”
“Hm,” Diluc grunts, grudgingly acknowledging that Donna’s observations of him was a key testimony in the Knights of Favonius’ investigations. “Please spare me the details of that report.”
Charles slowly sets down the mentioned report. All five pages of it. Archons. “As you wish.”
“In the meantime, check with our sources from Liyue to confirm the lady’s identity. I don’t think she’s here to bring any sort of danger to Mondstadt, but it never hurts to be careful. As for her companion—please also look into it.”
“Sure, boss.” He shuffles through the papers. “Wouldn’t be too hard. The Traveler should be a handy asset, then.”
Right. Of course. It’s always the Traveler. “And what does the Traveler know of this?”
“See, the Traveler was on shift when the lady came into the bar. They’ve mentioned several times that her name was—“
—Shenhe, the Traveler is saying, in careful fingerspell, to not startle Eula. Well, they're not talking to her, but Eula should be paying attention anyway. It's just that none of her limbs are working properly. She can’t even prop her head up. Would you mind if we do Eula’s order first?
“No worries.” Contrary to popular belief, Eula is very much caught up with all the rumors on Mondstadt’s grapevine. She's not above listening to the most informal information network of the world, because there is always some semblance of truth to these rumors. Especially with how noisy it is today for the appearance of the white-haired adeptus sitting beside her. “She looks like she needs hers more than I do. And I suppose this is one of the new experiences of integrating with human society that Master was talking about.”
“We won’t be long,” Paimon promises. The Traveler nods along. Eula can’t see much, slumping into the table. “It’ll be quick! You wanted another Foamy Reef, right–Eula?”
She shakes her head. Where is her head at? Against the dirty table. “Mhm. One more, please,” she slurs, pushing against the table in an effort to rise, and the world tilts–
A hand reaches to clasp her shoulder and pull her back, firmly holding her against broad shoulders. For a moment, the world is upright, and a woman, tall and well-built and beautiful, frowns at her. “Miss Eula.”
The adeptus’ eyes are very distracting. Eula can’t think much of anything else at all.
“Your eyes are distracting,” Eula says as much. She averts her gaze, tries to push against the table again and fails. The grasp on her shoulder is strong and Barbatos Almighty, please take her away before she embarrasses herself even further. “Please look away from this pitiful sight.”
“...What are you talking about?” Lady Shenhe’s tone is strange. Bewildered. “Are you… alright?”
“I’m fine.” Oh, right. Adeptus from the mountain, not much experience with humans, and seeking to experience human experiences…like what? This? The drunk, dishonored scion of the Lawrence Clan about to fall off her seat? Eula should really shrug off the strong arm holding her back from tilting off her seat, but she kind of… doesn’t want to. But she should, though. “Although, my manners are lacking today. Please excuse me.”
“Excuse you?” The hand on her shoulder tenses. “Miss Eula, you’re drunk. You won’t be able to walk upright.”
Of course, she’s right.
“I can usually hold my drink better than this,” Eula huffs, and willingly lets herself drop to the table once more, staring up at a visage as stunning and unmoving as Dragonspine’s frigid beauty, the kind of beauty that the adventurers never tell of. “If you’d like, you can check on me in two business days.”
Lady Shenhe raises an eyebrow. “That’s if you don’t somehow brain yourself on the ground by stumbling, Miss Eula.”
Brutal, but efficient. Oh, well. It’s doing a great job of keeping Eula still seated. “You’d be surprised at what human persistence can do, Lady Shenhe.”
And as always–it’s the wrong thing to say. Lady–Miss Shenhe’s faintly confused expression shutters off, and something in Eula’s heart drops. “Don’t pay any heed to those rumors. I am not–” she grimaces, her next words clipped and short. “I am not an adeptus.”
She swallows. Her mouth is dry. “Oh?”
“I am not an adeptus, nor do I possess any divine abilities. I am but an adeptus’ disciple,” she brusquely corrects, and looks away. Much softer, she says, like she has to convince Eula of it, she says: “I am human.”
“Ah.” Her mouth is dry. No coffee or liquor can drown out the sour taste of shame on her tongue. Nothing of what she’s said has warranted such an admission, a confession so loud and quiet at the same time. “My mistake. I apologize for assuming and for partaking in such idle rumors about guests as distinguished as you.” She ducks her head and the world spins and it hurts, but it doesn’t matter right now. “I truly am. I really should be on my way.”
That’s the logical conclusion after thoroughly embarrassing herself in front of a pretty lady she’s just met. Eula should get out and wait out the hangover and mope around Stormbearer Mountains for a while, enough to fill her patrol quota for at least two weeks –and forget this ever happened.
Except—she stands and then she stumbles, and Miss Shenhe grabs her arm, and pulls her back, a terrifyingly still gaze searching Eula’s face, reminiscent of a storm about to break, thunderous and unmoving. It's really no stretch to mistake her for a god, for someone as dangerous as she is lovely. “No.”
Eula blinks. No? “No?” she echoes.
“No.” Miss Shenhe repeats, carefully securing her other arm. And then; “don’t go.”
Her cheeks are red from the copious amounts of liquor she’s drunk. Eula has to remind herself of that multiple times. “Miss Shenhe—“
“The Traveler hasn’t served our drinks yet.” Shenhe clarifies, eyes briefly sliding over the empty counter and the open door to the back of Angel’s Share, before settling the full weight of that hard gaze on her. “Aether is a friend, and I trust their judgment in…mixing our drinks. At least wait until they give you yours to help alleviate your headache.”
Ah. The hangover cure, but before the hangover even sets in. “I can just tell them to cancel my order,” she stubbornly tells the frowning woman, adjusts her stance until her feet are grounded against the well worn wooden floors. “I shan’t be keeping you and your companion waiting, after all.”
“My companion?” Shenhe’s brow furrows. “I didn’t come here with one.”
“Your companion,“ Eula gestures, almost losing her balance. “The man from earlier, with a Geo vision, wearing that superfluous suit in Mondstadt’s dastardly hot weather?” She shakes her head, except it does something worse for her headache. Maybe she should not have done that. “I really shouldn’t keep you from your journey.”
“Mister Zhongli? I met him in Mondstadt. He just pointed me towards Angel’s Share. It’s not exactly a name that rolls off the tongue—” Shenhe frowns at Eula’s attempt to pry her hands off her wrist. “Miss Eula, stop doing that.”
Maybe Eula is just too damn drunk to understand the wisdom of those sent by the divine, because why won't Shenhe just let her go?
“The Traveler,” Miss Shenhe says, like Aether’s word itself is the word of God, “says it’s not safe for you outside the tavern at this hour. So stop doing that. Sit down.”
She doesn’t buckle. But something in her crumples with Miss Shenhe’s resolve to make her stay. Out of what? Pity?
“‘m tired.” Eula mumbles, syllables jumbled and strange, instead of just yanking her arms away and stumbling off to her damn apartment. Miss Shenhe is a strange outlander, and she doesn’t owe her any explanation–but the excuses fall from her lips, anyway. “I… don’t think I’ll be—awake enough to wait for my drink.” She shakes her head, steels her resolve, but as always–it’s not enough. She almost falls on her way to sit down.
If Miss Shenhe understands or even hears anything of what she’s just said, she doesn’t show it. But when Eula lets herself be settled and the furrow of Miss Shenhe’s brow finally smoothens, Eula is thinking—something. Something about relief. Something about the shine of the tavern’s dim lights haloing the woman, making her seem like a benediction, a prayer granted.
And Miss Shenhe—she’s saying something, something distant, something… gentle, like: Then I’ll be here when you wake up. As simple as that.
— and the rest is pitch black.
(It’s supposed to be just that. A night that Eula definitely does not remember, as is with all nights filled with alcohol, and a night that the Traveler refuses to disclose out of fear of evoking her vengeance, which would be a wise move indeed.
If only Miss Shenhe wasn’t here, in the flesh, wiping the blade of her polearm that had flashed so starkly against dripping red, having just cleared out two hilichurl camps with Eula, just for the sake of it.
“It’s just hilichurls,” Miss Shenhe–who says, Shenhe. Just call me Shenhe –waves off her concerns. “They’re nothing more than mild annoyances. Nothing to worry about.”
“If you say so.” Eula kicks the tip of her blade with her heel to shift stances, and sheathes her claymore. “Still, I apologize.”
Shenhe frowns. “And what for?”
Eula opens her mouth. For disturbing you. For dumping such earthly sentiments on you. She pointedly does not swallow. For drunkenly hitting on you.
The Spindrift Knight decides none of those are worth saying, and pointedly closes her mouth. “For last night’s… inconveniences. And,” she eyes the empty cliffs of Mondstadt. For all the beauty the land of freedom yields, none of it would be impressive to someone who’s dwelt on mountains higher than her cliffs and sheer drops. “For interrupting your morning stroll.”
“You didn’t interrupt my–morning stroll, as you call it.” Shenhe doesn’t shift in place, none of that mortal awkwardness for her, but her tone is strange. Less bewildred than the night before, but more reserved. Almost shy, if Eula didn’t know any better. “I was… looking for you.”
“You–huh?”
“You mentioned ‘checking’ on you after two business days. The librarian of the Knights of Favonius told me where you’d be at this particular time.” She explains, unknowing of Eula’s narrowed eyes and a silent curse sent towards Lisa’s way. “And the Traveler mentioned something about enacting vengance?”
Oh, right. Adepti disciple from the mountains, and not well-versed in the nuances of Mondstadt’s hostility towards its aristocrats and... probably does not understand exaggeration. Eula inwardly prepares herself, and–
“Although, Paimon did say it was your strange way of telling that you would remember—or appreciate, even—the sentiment.” She tilts her head. “And that you wouldn’t take well to have that told in your direct presence.”
“Such grave grievances cannot be forgiven, and I’m glad those two are aware enough to recognize that.” Eula unsheathes her blade. “Please step aside.”
”Not so fast.” Shenhe’s eyes glint like polished steel under the light of the morning star. “For all I owe my friends, I can’t let you do that. Not until you go through me, at least.”
Unsubtle, and entirely honest. Eula can’t deny her that after everything she owes Shenhe for last night, but maybe she can start somewhere. Somewhere with a duel, maybe, even if she got her ass kicked.
She lifts her claymore. “Very well.”)