Chapter Text
Moonlight through filtered panes of the windows of a home is warm, gently kissing—a reminder that after a day’s work, there will be rest and companionship. Sunlight through stained glass of monumental windows of a castle is blinding, bringing forth larger shadows, giving the illusion of a wider space that makes one feel so alone.
Shackles and bells clamor, a loud chorus akin to what accompanies the walk from prison to gallows, as Zhongli is led to the podium at the center of the room. The chains around his arms and ankles grow heavier with every step.
He’s read once that the Grand Court of the White Palace could host up to a thousand people. A time when Snezhnaya’s Archon saw fit that the whole country should be jury to a governor who’s stolen from the National Treasury. He was executed then and there too when found guilty, in front of hundreds who demanded he get the guillotine.
Only thirty-eight are in these hallowed halls today.
Ten of the country’s greatest philosophers, ethicists, lawyers, what have you, are sat in two rows to his left, masked and hooded. Twenty soldiers are posted around the room—two in every exit, he’s counted. Two more stand behind the box he’s in. All Visionless. Surely they do not think that such weak guards can contain him?
Then again, he is in the presence of the Hydro Archon. He’s flanked on both sides by his most trusted: two personal guards, the Royal Advisor, and his right-hand woman. Zhongli has learned their names, their aspirations, and their personal relationships in his time in the country. If asked a month prior, they would even call him their friend. They now can’t look at him without a sneer or a glare. Ekaterina reads:
“Zhongli, Fifth of the Seven Stars, Harbinger of Misery, you are brought before the Divine Court with His Majesty, Rex Mare, the Celestial Vanguard, the Flawless Lily, your judge, and the High Council, the Fatui Senate, your jury. You are charged with crimes against Snezhnaya, its Archon, and its Peoples—”
He tunes the Herald out in favor of letting himself sink in the scent of lily of the valley. The Hydro Archon sits on his throne, his long flowing robes cascading down the steps of the dais. Branches of ivy curl around his arms and out his back. Pendent, bell-shaped white glass flowers bloom intertwined with them. Zhongli is sure the slightest movement would make them chime but with how still he sits, his nonchalance is magnified by their silence. Although behind the god’s veil, he imagines there is a tempest raging in his eyes.
“—how do you plead?”
“Not guilty… for is it truly a crime to fall in love with a god and be loved in return?”
“Such insolence!”
“Cut out his tongue—”
The archon raises a hand. The sudden jolt makes the bells on his wrists jingle. What started as a soft ringing reverberates across the room, feeding a loop of cacophonies until the sound drowns the outrage of the Council.
When the noise dies out, the Herald clears her throat and continues, “Despite how much you are unworthy—”
“Ekaterina—” the Hydro Archon finally speaks, cool like the last drops of rain before a drought, soothing until one realizes it has only made them more thirsty; now they have nothing left, can do nothing but crave “—if you are unable to keep your head level and true, then perhaps you should leave Our court.”
“Apologies, Your Majesty.” She lowers her head in shame but not before sending one last scowl toward Zhongli.
“We are just. We are not without mercy. Fifth Harbinger, you may give your opening statement before this court.”
He has no need for everyone to hear what he has to say. He only needs him to understand. So he gives his whole attention to the god and speaks as if only them are in the room.
“‘Aiai, my name is lament. Aiee, Aias! My name says what I feel; who’d believe that pain and I’d be one.’ Ajax, the name you have given yourself, who you are without the crown that you bear. My Empress—”
“Knows nothing of war, of true pain.” The Hydro Archon stands and floats to a spot right before Zhongli with such otherwordly grace that the swift movement does not rattle the bells he adorns. This close, he can vaguely see the god’s frown and furrow in his brows. This close, he drowns in the scent of lilies and valley water, of life in the outskirts, of their home near the sea— “You know nothing of lost, of the darkness, despite your name or the lingering Abyss beneath your skin.
“Celestia is above us all but Our mountains are the closest to the Heavens,” he flourishes a hand, and the water in the air moves so that it reflects light in such a way that the god is framed by an iridescent halo. The air becomes purer and Zhongli has to steady himself as it makes him light-headed. The god also draws what little moisture he has in his skin and mouth. The pressure of the deepest ocean and the aridity of the vastest desert all at once.
“The Sky City has deemed Us their sword and their shield. We have served the Universe for six thousand years and will continue for six thousand more,” the archon says with pride clear in his voice and, perhaps, to remind himself and his court of their roles within the world.
“When the time comes, We will be the one to strike your beloved Empress. But this trial is neither for her nor her crimes, so We suggest you revise your statement. This will be your only warning.”
The god brings his hand down to his side, letting go the show of power. He moves to return to his seat but Zhongli, heaving, in a croaky voice, stops him, “Is it just when Celestia punishes innocents for something they cannot control?”
“This trial is also not for Celestia—”
“Perhaps you are scared to hold one for you fear that you will find that Celestia is wanting of justice.”
A beat. Then laughter like the tinkling stream that leads to the sea, beating against stone to let the lilies grow—
The Hydro Archon has one weakness and that is when his courage is questioned. For if Pyro is the symbol of bravery then it comes to reason that its counterpart must mean cowardice.
Ajax throws all logic when called a coward, and will go to lengths to prove such dishonor wrong. A fact that Zhongli knows too well, that Ajax has confided in him. A fact that Zhongli has no hesitation in exploiting, it seems.
Peals of disbelief are the stream beating stone, not letting the lilies grow but further damaging their eroding relationship.
“Hah! Say that I indulge your heretic delusions—”
“Your Majesty!”
“Say,” the god says more loudly, now fully facing Zhongli, only one breath away, “that I will hold a trial prosecuting the Heavenly Principles—the very foundation of fate—are you truly so arrogant to think that you, a liar and a fraud, will be able to convince this court?”
“Ajax would hear me out without bias and an open mind. I’m not sure that you will permit yourself to be him ever again, but since His Majesty has dropped the royal plural,” this close, he sees Ajax’s eyes widen, cheeks redden and puff in indignation—so adorable that Zhongli couldn’t help but chuckle, “Forgive my impudence but I am feeling rather hopeful.” This close, he yearns to touch, to cradle Ajax’s face in both his hands as he would pick precious lilies near their home, soft and smooth and—
Ajax’s gaze lowers in a split second and Zhongli smiles—grins when he gets even more flustered. The archon fails to appear menacing when he forms claws out of hydro, trailing a finger along his jawline. “Perhaps I should cut out your tongue and send it to your Empress.”
“Such punishment doesn’t fit the crime, no? When I speak nothing but the truth.”
“You believe you know the truth.” The god looks him in the eye. Perhaps, to discern whether he truly knows him as much as Zhongli says he does—how vulnerable he’s let himself become to a Harbinger. Before Zhongli could figure out the emotion in those eyes, they steel and a mask of cool indifference falls on the archon’s face once more. “The will of Celestia is absolute.”
“Isn’t the reason your best scholars are called the Fatui because you believe that the one thing that we are certain is that we know nothing—that we are all fools? And that only by continually seeking the truth, are we virtuous.”
Claws dig into skin but not enough to break it. “My, my, Professor Zhongli thinks he ought to lecture me about Virtue Ethics.”
“I simply wish to remind you that you are more than just… Celestia’s weapon, that you have your own will.” Zhongli dares to reach for Ajax’s hand. “I know there are truths you cannot say so let me tell them for you. And if… when—” a squeeze in the hand “—if Snezhnaya decides to take a stand, she will not be powerless. Not when Liyue will stand with her.”
The claws disappear and he dares to place a kiss on the palm that’s oh-so near to his lips. He closes his eyes. For a moment, they’re back in their home in the valley, sitting among lilies by the stream that leads to the sea.
He holds the other’s hand until it’s jerked away. Bells and chains clink as he chases it but Ajax has moved away and his shackles can only go so far.
“Very well,” the archon concedes. The hall breaks into chaos but the voice of the Hydro Archon domineers the shouts of his people. “The trial of the Fifth Harbinger is postponed indefinitely. We shall receive the audience of Liyue’s petitioner and if We deem his accusations false, then We shall execute them in Celestia’s name for treason. This court is dismissed.”
The scent of lilies quickly retreats and Zhongli is dragged away. Andrei lists a hundred reasons why this is a bad idea while Ekaterina is still trying to form words to be said, opening and closing her mouth like fish out of water. Ajax ignores them and looks over to him one last time.
“Zhongli,” a whisper like misty spray to a sapling as one should be careful in handling such fragile blooms, “I hope for your sake and your archon’s that you are ready to fight for your cause.”
Then, he is alone again.