Work Text:
Pygmalion gazed, inflamed
with love and admiration for the form,
in semblance of a woman, he had carved.
He lifts up both his hands to feel the work,
and wonders if it can be ivory,
because it seems to him more truly flesh.--
his mind refusing to conceive of it
as ivory, he kisses it and feels
his kisses are returned.
Pygmalion - Ovid’s “Metamorpheses”
The morning hours of Liyue Harbor are noisy and bustling, full of energy as merchants set up their wares and privateers unpack their boats. By the time the sun has finally made a dent in the sky, the harbor is packed with customers and buskers alike.
Childe hates it.
In the months he’s spent in Liyue, he’s been woken up every morning, without fail, by the sounds of merchants who don’t understand the concept of inside voices. He’s complained endlessly, hissing to Ekaterina to do something about it, and yet his sleeping problems persist.
Today, Childe stands in the midst of the chaos and finds he won’t miss it the smallest bit.
“Mr. Harbinger, sir,” says the head of the hired hands. He lugs Childe’s bags in one hand, carries a manifest in the other. “Once we’ve packed everything, we should be ready to go. I’d give it another 15 minutes, at most. Perhaps you’d like to check out the shops before we leave?”
It takes courage to speak to Childe, especially after the events of the Golden House, which is why Childe doesn’t eviscerate him on the spot.
Instead, he levels the man with a blank stare. The man maintains his gaze.
Ekaterina sighs from her place next to him and tells the man, “Thank you, but we’ll pass.”
The man hands off Childe’s bags to a passerby. “I must insist. I will personally guide you through the harbor if it means you will at least take a peek.”
“Surely your presence will be missed,” Ekaterina attempts.
The man chortles. “Ha! As if. These fellas are the best of the best. If they didn’t know how to behave when their captain was gone, I wouldn’t keep them under my paycheck, now would I? Come, come. Follow me.”
The man takes off towards where a number of stands have already been erected; the shopkeepers smile at him, then frown when they see Childe and Ekaterina behind him. Childe delights in their furrowed brows, even if it’s just for a moment.
“This place has some of the best jewels I’ve ever seen,” the man says, pointing at a suspicious looking man. Childe can tell that if he gets anywhere near the stand, he’s sure to lose his wallet. A glance at Ekaterina confirms that she agrees but the man remains oblivious.
“And here! They sold me the ring I gifted to my wife many years ago. Ha, you two likely weren’t alive back then,” he continues, rubbing his neck. “Ah, I’m getting old.”
“Sir, I really think we must be getting back to the ship now—“ Ekaterina starts.
“Nonsense! We haven’t even visited my favorite place in this whole harbor!” The man picks up his pace, Childe and Ekaterina helpless but to follow. “See, they have all sorts of souvenirs and gifts, which I’m sure you’ll need if you’re to leave for a place as cold as Snezhnaya.”
He stops in front of a seemingly harmless stand, where an older woman stands. As they approach, a small child pops his head up, eyes gleaming.
Childe crosses his arms. Has Liyue always been this sketchy?
“Mornin’! These two are about to set out and we were wondering if you had any sort of keepsakes that they could take with them,” the man greets, gesturing to where Childe and Ekaterina stand.
The woman’s eyes widen. “Um.”
“We have just the thing!” the child exclaims. “Mama, the statuette!”
The woman turns to the child. “I don’t believe we have anything these customers would like.” She looks back at the captain. “I apologize for the inconvenience.”
“Aw, but everyone likes the statue,” the kid pouts. “Especially tourists.”
The woman startles, gaze flickering to the mask sitting atop Childe’s face. “These people aren’t tourists—“
“We’ll take it,” Childe interrupts.
The kid brightens, and Childe smiles lightly. Ekaterina sends him a look, but he shrugs; the kid reminds him of Teucer, and he’s always struggled saying no to him.
The woman wraps a figurine made of stone tightly and boxes it. Childe slams mora on the wood of the stane, not even bothering to count it. “Thank you for your patronage,” the woman says with a tight grin.
Childe takes the box from her hands and nods his head. The sooner he gets away from this place, the better—they’re both in agreement on that, at least.
The captain takes them back to the boat, chattering on about the brilliance of Liyue Harbor. “You should really see it during the Lantern Rite,” he declares, sweeping his broad arms in wide movements. “Everything’s all lit up and there are beautiful lanterns sold all around. Legend has it that the rite started as a way to honor Rex Lapis and all that he has done for Liyue.”
And, that—that’s just not right. Childe has to correct him. “You’re wrong,” Childe says. “It was to guide soldiers home, so they wouldn’t lose themselves.”
The man and Ekaterina stop in their tracks to blink at him.
“Or so I’ve heard,” Childe amends.
The man and Ekaterina continue walking and Childe sighs, hefting the box in his hands. It’s heavy , most likely because it holds a statue made of stone. The brief glance Childe afforded the statue revealed that it was around eight inches tall and ten inches wide; it’ll surely make a great gift for Teucer. As for now, it’s merely an annoyance to carry around. He turns the box around as they walk, thinking back on the Lantern Rite.
Zhongli had been the one to tell him about it seemingly ages ago; he’d described the bright lights, the festivities, the joy that Liyuens felt once every year, and Childe had hung onto every word like a hyperactive puppy. It truly was pitiful that Childe was so blindsided by Zhongli’s betrayal. There’s no way a mere funeral consultant could know so much about Liyue’s history, especially not in the way Zhongli knew it. The way he told his stories implied that he had been there, had seen everything with his own two eyes.
That’s because he was there , Childe thinks to himself. He’s been alive for nearly six millenia. He experienced all the things he told you and more .
Childe scoffs. Try as he might to pretend everything is okay, he’s still deeply hurt by what Zhongli and Signora did to him. At least he can separate himself from Liyue and its traitorous ex-Archon.
As they board the boat, Childe tosses the box carelessly under his bed in his quarters and collapses into bed. The boat ride from Liyue to Snezhnaya takes a fortnight; Childe has given specific orders to the Fatui who follow him to avoid him for thirteen of these days. He has plans to sleep, eat, and sleep some more while he recovers from the Foul Legacy transformation.
For what it’s worth, Childe sticks to his plan with near-religiosity. He sleeps through the days and wakes for mere hours at night to shove the food and drink Ekaterina brings him down his gullet.
On the fourteenth day, he emerges from his chambers to breathe in the fresh air on deck. They’ve officially reached Snezhnaya’s borders: the air is biting and he shivers in his uniform, but his heart fills with joy at being home once again.
The Fatui foot soldiers who are gathered on the deck greet him as he wobbles to the railing at the side of the boat. They like him, perhaps more than they like the other Harbingers. He fights with them, leads them, knows each of their names–not by choice, but by simply keeping an ear out. It makes sense that they would feel some sort of solidarity with him.
Ekaterina slaps him on the back. “Welcome to the land of the living, sir!” She exclaims, handing him a copper tin of fire-water. Childe tosses it back with a slight wince.
“How long till we touch down?” He asks, handing her back the tin.
“Captain says a couple more hours. I’d suggest packing your travel bag, but… I don’t think you ever unpacked it.”
Childe nods and sends Ekaterina to get him some food. Peering out onto the vast sea around him, Childe can just barely see the Tsarita’s palace in the distance, with its silver walls and looming ceilings.
The first order of business, once they finally dock, will be to present himself to Her Majesty and give a summary of his visit to Liyue. It’s likely that Signora has already told her all she needs to know; he won’t be surprised if Her Majesty sends him away once he steps foot into the palace. After, he’ll return to his room in the Palace and unpack all that he brought with him to Liyue. Then, he’ll pack a bag and bring all of his souvenirs to his parent’s house.
The reminder of the souvenirs he’s bought sends him clamoring back down to his room, where he scrambles on hands and knees to pull out the box from where it’s slid all the way to the back of his bed’s underside. Using one of his blades, he slices the box and the parchment protecting the statue open.
The statuette is clearly ornate, painstakingly carved out of rock. He rubs a finger down the side of the figure; it’s clearly quality material, but Childe isn’t learned enough in ore and the patterns of the earth to place what it is.
The figure holds a square in one hand and a lance in the other. He wears a hood and robes, although his midsection is completely exposed. There’s something oddly reminiscent of the way the figure holds his head high—it’s almost regal.
No, Childe realizes. It’s godly.
Childe is holding a Rex Lapis figurine.
Ha. How fitting.
Childe imagines one thousand and one ways to destroy the figurine. He could toss it into the ocean, throw it on the ground, eviscerate it with pure strength. He could use it as target practice, could burn it. Could stab through it, watch as it crumbled at his fingertips.
He does none of these things.
Rex Lapis sits in his travel bag, buried underneath a spare pair of boots. He’ll decide what to do with it after he talks to the Tsaritsa, he figures, and tries to keep his mind off of it.
He fails.
But the Tsaritsa is as beautiful as always, and he sinks into an easy kneel at her feet as she declares his work done for now. She dismisses him after he briefly discusses his time in Liyue, pointedly ignoring Zhongli’s companionship.
The statue burns a hole through his brain, but he ignores it as he slides his luggage into his room. It’s untouched, the same as it was when he left. It’s pretty plain, only bare-bone decorations. It’s not like he spends much time here, anyways; he’s always being sent to far off corners of Tevyat.
He packs a light bag, and then a larger box with the assorted gifts he’s brought home. He throws on a heavy coat and says goodbye to Ekaterina, and then he starts his journey to his parent’s house.
The walk from the palace to the small fishing village his parents live in takes about two hours. For Childe, it takes thirty minutes. Anthon and Tonia race out of the house to meet him halfway down the street, giggling as they run to greet him.
Childe groans when they tackle him, dropping his bag and the box to pick them up and spin them around.
“Big bro Ajax!” Anthon cries, laughing as he spins. “You’re here!”
“Right on time!” Tonia continues where Anthon left off.
Childe chuckles and lets them down. “I always keep my promises. Hey, where’s Teucer?”
Teucer, apparently, was grounded immediately after he returned to Snezhnaya, and wasn’t allowed to leave the house. He pouted and frowned at the way Tonia and Anthon hung off of Childe, but when Childe opened his arms, he was all smiles.
His mother greets him with a kiss to the forehead. Her hair’s greyer than it had been the last time he visited, and he makes a mental note to come home more often. “My sweet Ajax,” she sighs, running a hand through his hair. “It’s been so long.”
Childe sniffs. “It hasn’t been that long.” He pulled away from her and reached for the packages he’d left in the doorway. “Should I hand out gifts now, or wait till Dad gets home?”
His mother’s face drops, slightly. “Ah. Your father likely won’t be home for a while, so why don’t we go ahead and gather in the living room?” She says, more to the children than Childe. They don’t hesitate before running off to find a seat.
“Dad’s not coming home?” Childe questions.
She sighs. “You know how he gets, Ajax. It’s better for everyone if he stays at his friend’s house until he can calmly return home.”
Oh . Childe’s dad isn’t here because he doesn’t want to see him. He had expected this. Ever since Childe’s adventure in the Abyss, his dad acts like he doesn’t even know him, but to go so far as to actively avoid him… it’s such a stark difference from back when they’d fish together that anger burns through him, red hot like a brand.
Well. No matter. Childe will just have to train harder so his dad is forced to see just how strong his son has turned out.
They follow the kids into the living room, where they’re already tearing the parcel full of souvenirs apart. “Ah, I see you found the Mr. Cyclopes I put in just for you,” Childe tells Teucer. “And, Tonia, that rope is to play this game called jump-rope with. I’ll have to teach you it. Anthon, that might not be much good here, but I saw the way the kite’s decorated–that’s what it’s called, a kite–and knew you would like it.”
“Thank you for the gifts, Big Brother!” The children shout in sync. Childe rubs the back of his head and smiles.
God, he’s missed these rascals.
He hands his mother spices and seasonings that he thought she’d like to try cooking with, and she grins at him so wide that he has to give her a hug. “I’ll go cook something right now!” She exclaims and turns to do just that.
Childe is about to follow her so he can help when one of the kids tugs on his shirt. “Big Brother Ajax, what’s this?” Anthon questions.
Childe looks over his shoulder; he holds in two hands the figurine of Rex Lapis.
Shit.
“Shit,” Childe murmurs. “Oh, that? It’s just. You know. A statue.”
“Who’s it for? Who’s it for?” Tonia begs.
“I bet it’s for me,” Teucer singsongs.
“Um,” Childe starts. “You know what? It’s not for anyone. I brought it home for myself, actually.”
The three exclaim in confusion.
“Yeah! As a reminder of my time in Liyue.”
“Who is it?” Tonia asks.
Childe squats down to face them and holds his hand out for the statuette. Anthon hands it over with no complaints. Rex Lapis remains as stony as ever, but Childe can’t help but look to him for answers. Who is Rex Lapis? Childe may never know.
“The people in Liyue worship an Archon, just like we worship Her Majesty. Of course, their archon isn’t nearly as beautiful or as wonderful as the Tsaritsa is–” the kids nod their heads in agreement– “but they still love him all the same. His name is Rex Lapis.”
“Is Rex Lapis a good god?” Tonia asks.
Childe sighs. “He’s good to his followers. But he doesn’t care about anyone other than those who worship him.”
Teucer’s face sours. “Well, why would you bring home a statue of him then?”
Why, indeed? Childe could tell them that he was tricked into it, that he intends to destroy it then glue it back together and destroy it again, but for some reason, that doesn’t feel like the right answer.
“He was my friend, once,” Childe explains, turning his eyes skyward. “And he was nice, and he was good. But he lied to me. He hurt me, a lot, and he doesn’t even know he did something wrong.”
“I don’t think I like this Rex Lapis,” Anthon declares.
Despite the pain in Childe’s chest, he musters up an easygoing grin. “Good. He’s a meanie, and nowhere as cool as Her Majesty.”
“Hey, speaking of Her Majesty, isn’t it, like, kinda against the rules to have a statue of another god?” Tonia, ever the smart one, pipes up.
Which. Is technically true, and Childe never thought about it. “Hey, it’s just a keepsake. It’s not like I’m gonna start worshiping him or anything,” Childe scoffs. “If he was the last Archon in the world I’d still refuse to give him the time of day.”
Childe pats each of them on their heads and tucks the Rex Lapis figurine back into his bag. Perhaps the craziest part of this entire situation–teaching his siblings about Rex Lapis and then subsequently being interrogated on his faith–is that he doesn’t even remember packing the statuette.
Eventually, Childe’s father does come home, but he simply nods his head at Childe and sits down to eat dinner. And that is that, apparently.
After dinner, once the kids are all tucked in and his parents have settled down to sleep, Childe holes himself up in his old bedroom. Technically, it was the bedroom he and his older siblings shared, but now that they’ve left the home, he has the room all to himself. The walls are perpetually cold and the beds smell slightly of dust, but Childe wouldn’t rather be anywhere else.
He lays on his bed and turns the Rex Lapis statute over and over. He thumbs over the blank, featureless face and wishes, desperately, for some sort of respite.
Unlike practically all the other problems he’s faced, he can’t fight his way through this. He can’t slash through his own feelings or cut his way past his expectations. He has to deal with them like a normal adult.
Gross.
With a sigh, Childe turns on his side and rests the statute next to his head. Celestia, it even looks vaguely like Zhongli. How in the world could he be so blind?
“I don’t forgive you,” Childe whispers into the cold air between him and the statue. “You broke my heart and didn't even realize it. How could you be so cruel?”
Rex Lapis’s empty face stares back.
Against his wishes, Childe imagines Zhongli’s eyes and lips and nose and eyebrows on the statue. He closes his eyes, pretends Zhongli’s the one sharing his pillow. Pretends he can feel his hot breath on his face. Pretends Zhongli’s here, even though he’s almost ten thousand miles away.
Somehow, Childe falls asleep.
In his dreams, Zhongli waits.
He sits at their usual booth at Xiangling’s restaurant, pouring tea for two. It’s a brew Childe particularly likes, although he never told Zhongli that; he’s of the state of mind that a person should eat or drink what is put in front of them without complaint or compliment. After all, it’s all just oil in the giant machine that is their bodies, right? Still, despite this belief, he’s partial to the way Zhongli lets the tea steep for the perfect amount of time and serves it in just the right way.
He watches Zhongli putter around, going about his usual routine. Once the tea has been served, Childe takes his place opposite him.
“Long time no see, Mister Zhongli,” Childe greets. “You miss me?”
“Deeply. Your companionship provided the optimal amount of background noise in my day-to-day life. It kept me mortal, so to say,” Zhongli replies, looking particularly proud of his joke.
Childe scowls at the not-so-subtle reminder of Zhongli’s godlihood. “That wasn’t very funny.”
“My apologies. I only wished to break the ice.”
The Zhongli Childe knows wouldn’t have to break the ice. That’s the thing. But Childe’s starting to realize he never really knew Zhongli.
“So, Mister Zhongli. Or, I’m sorry, should I call you Rex Lapis now? Your Godliness? The Honorable and Venerable Prime of the Adepti?” Childe spits, slurping at his tea.
Zhongli winces at the offensive noise. “Ah, please, there’s no need for such formalities. You may continue to call me whatever you wish.”
“Meaning… if I wanted to call you dickhead, you’d let me?”
Zhongli pauses, long, slender fingers wrapped around the rim of the porcelain cup. “I… guess I would see nothing wrong with that.”
Celestia above. Zhongli’s either the dumbest man Childe’s ever known, or he simply is that oblivious.
Childe sighs and hangs his head. “I’m not going to call you dickhead, so you can relax.” He laughs. “Were you really gonna let me get away with that?”
Zhongli peers at him with the eyes of someone who has lived a long, long life and smiles this soft smile that Childe would kill to see stay on his face. “Tartaglia, I would let you get away with anything.”
The earnest look he levels Childe with and the fervent tone in his voice sticks with Childe even after he wakes up.
Childe comes to with a gasp.
He surfaces from his dream like a drowned man, splashing around in his sheets and trying to fight his way to air. When he opens his eyes, he’s greeted by the same room he spent his adolescence in. Childe catches his breath, one hand clenched in the fabric of his shirt, right where his heart is. The other is gripped around the statuette.
Celestia above, that dream felt real. It truly felt like he was in Liyue, in Wanmin Restaurant, dining with Zhongli. Instead he’s here in Snezhnaya, a stranger in the home he grew up in.
For a brief, overwhelming second, Childe wishes he was with Zhongli so badly, he nearly throws up.
Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Childe swings his legs over the side of the bed and stumbles into the kitchen, where his mother and father sit at the dining table. His mother acknowledges him with a smile and his father glances at him. It’s enough.
“Morning,” he croaks, voice rough.
“Good afternoon,” his mother corrects. “You’ve been asleep for nearly fifteen hours!”
“Travel takes a lot out of me,” Childe excuses, plopping into the seat directly across from his father. “Where are the kids?”
“At school,” his dad replies. When Childe raises an eyebrow at him, he explains, “With the money you sent us, we were able to enroll them in Her Highness’s academy. Now they spend weekdays in class.”
Childe nods his head; that’s what he was hoping his parents would do with the money, although he never specified exactly.
He eats a late breakfast and dresses in appropriate clothes before setting out into the village for the day. There’s not exactly much for him to do, but he can’t imagine spending another second under the same roof as his parents; for all that he loves them, he surely despises the way they speak so loudly.
Zhongli would love it here , he finds himself thinking, venturing around the small town and all it has to offer. Zhongli would ask questions about how the village was established, and whether it was always a fishing town. He’d watch over the sale of fish for gold and would probably convert the cost into mora, just for kicks.
Childe wanders around for a while before heading into the woods. He finds a tree stump and sits down, reaching into his coat to find the statue he had stowed away before he left.
It’s moments like this where Childe finds he misses Zhongli the most. It was easy to forget, even if just for a second, back when he was in Liyue and was constantly dealing with the consequences of his actions. Even after he’d gotten on the ship, he’d remember in fits and starts. But in these quiet moments where no one is around and he can’t find anything to fight, he yearns.
“Do you miss me?” He asks the figurine. “Have you even noticed that I’m gone?”
The statue is as quiet as always.
He remembers Zhongli’s words, even if they were spoken to him by his subconscious. But he can hear them said in Zhongli’s voice, so clearly, that he closes his eyes and thinks of Zhongli, and he is okay.
It’s obvious Childe’s not doing well.
For the first time since he fell into the Abyss, he lets himself go. His hair begins to grease, his eyes begin to darken. He has no spark, no desire to do anything.
Although his family is worried, they’re not exactly surprised. Back when he was a child he would fall into fits like this. When he was terrified of his own shadow, too meager to even raise his voice, he’d close in on himself, forget to do even the most basic of acts.
It’s an act of preservation, of sorts. Except, Childe hasn’t needed to protect himself from anything since he fell. Ever since then, he’s been driven to battle, to conquer the world and make it his own; yet, for some reason, Childe can’t remember why exactly he wants to.
So his father did exactly what he did all those years ago: he throws Childe to the Fatui.
Of course, it’s not nearly as dramatic as it was when he was fourteen. Childe at least has the presence of mind to understand that he’s not benefiting anyone, especially himself, by staying with his parents.
He returns to the Tsaritsa’s palace two weeks after he left, marking an entire month since he’d left Liyue. A part of him feels as if he never actually left Liyue; it certainly feels as if he’s stuck between two places at once.
Her Majesty welcomes him with open arms, completely unaware of his treachery. If she knew his attachment to another Archon, what would she do?
Perhaps she’d execute him, a quick mercy kill. Or maybe she’d sic the Harbingers on him, let them do everything they’ve always wanted to do.
Most likely, she’d banish him to Liyue to get his heart broken a second time.
The mere thought of what the Tsaritsa could do has him trembling, pushing all thoughts of Zhongli out of his head. He ignores the steady presence of the Rex Lapis statuette pressed so closely to his heart, hidden as it is in his coat, and kneels.
“Tartaglia, you seem troubled,” she says, voice unspeakably cold.
“My apologies, Your Highness. I will sort out my problems at once.”
“That is not what I meant, child.” She waves a dismissive hand at him, telling him to rise. “Speak to me. What is it that you desire? I will give you, my loyal follower, anything you wish.”
I wish this was easier , Childe doesn’t say. I wish Zhongli wasn’t an Archon, I wish he wasn’t an enemy of yours. I wish I could worship the two of you at once. I wish to be loved, and love in turn.
Unbidden, Childe’s thoughts flash back to the Rex Lapis statue and the countless Statues of the Seven throughout Tevyat.
“Actually, Your Highness, there is something I wish for.”
Childe isn’t an artist.
He didn’t draw, didn’t make music, had no proficiency in literature. His talents lie in the battlefield, and he never pretended anything different.
And yet.
He faces down a block of solid marble, mallet and chisel in hand, and decides to take a chance.
His first attempt is a failure, obviously.
He hits the chisel a little too hard and splits the marble straight down the middle.
Well. Childe’s never backed down from a challenge before, so why would he start?
The second attempt has a similar outcome; instead of cracking the marble, he breaks the chisel.
With a sigh, he heads out to find a sturdier tool.
His third, fourth, fifth, and sixth tries don’t necessarily result in success, but they also don’t result in failure. It’s just, he’s not satisfied with his work. He’s trying to create perfection, but the tools in his hands are clunky at best. He’s made for sword fights, not calculated, measured taps at stone.
The night after his twelfth attempt, Childe goes to sleep and dreams of Zhongli again.
In this dream, they face off against each other in the Traveler’s tea pot—a perfect, sanitary place to spar. It was likely Zhongli’s idea.
Zhongli circles him, remaining defensive as always. Childe chips at his shield, makes his breath catch. Then Zhongli twists, shifts his stance, and is on the offense. He kicks his polearm and points it in Childe’s direction like he’s leading his followers into war.
Childe’s so distracted by his power that he nearly forgets to dodge.
Zhongli stops the polearm just before it can actually draw blood and smirks at Childe. “I have won,” he declares. “Will that suffice?”
More , Childe thinks, desperately.
“Not even close,” he says instead. “We need to fight, like, ten thousand more times now.”
“I’m sure you believe that,” Zhongli chuckles.
They catch their breath, passing a jug of water between them and wiping their skin of sweat. As they inhale, Childe turns to Zhongli and asks, “How did you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Direct your polearm without even touching it,” Childe expands.
Zhongli furrows his eyebrows as he thinks. Childe entertains the thought of reaching over and smoothing the skin out and is startled when Zhongli speaks. “I simply listen to the rhythm of the battle,” he says, as if that explains anything.
Perhaps he catches the face Childe makes, because he chuckle and continues, “There is more to life than just battle, Tartaglia. There is art, philosophy, history. They are all interconnected. When you know one, it is easy to learn the others.” He holds Childe’s gaze. “That is why I can see the dance of a battle and why others can see the truth in delusions.” He lowers his voice, as if he’s trying to make something exceptionally clear. “It’s why artists can make beauty out of brutality.”
Oh. Oh. Childe gets it now.
“Do you understand what I said, Tartaglia?”
“Yes. I-yes, heard you loud and clear,” Childe breathes out.
“Good. Now, then. Up for another round?”
This time, when Childe wakes, he doesn’t choke.
He scrambles out of bed, barely remembers to pull on a coat before rushing out to the courtyard, where the marble from his last try still sits. He pushes it to the side and summons another block of stone.
Rather than grabbing the mallet and chisel, he chooses to activate his vision and create a sword.
Placing the Rex Lapis figurine on a table to the side, Childe faces the block of stone. He imagines what he wants to see and enters first position. Then he makes the first cut.
Despite the fact that he is cutting solid marble with a blade made of water, the stone cracks under his attack and falls just the way he wants it to. It makes sense, when he thinks of the way rivers erode rocks.
He works for hours, switching between a sword and his smaller daggers to get the finer details. At some point it begins to snow, softly—the first snow of the season. Childe pays it no mind, though. He’s too focused on his work.
He knows he’s done when he backs away from where he’d been scratching in the figure’s left pupil and his heart skips a beat.
There, in all his stony glory, stands Rex Lapis.
Except it isn’t Rex Lapis, and it possibly hasn’t been for all the time Childe’s known it. Maybe in some distant time, long before Childe was born, it was Rex Lapis, and maybe before that it was Morax. It could have been a dragon, or a woman, or a small child. Childe doesn’t know. But what he does know is that the man etched in marble in front of him is anything but a god. He’s a funeral consultant, a purveyor of knowledge and history, and he is constantly broke, and Childe doesn’t know why he keeps him around, sometimes. All he does is drink tea, talk about the Liyue of the past, and spend Childe’s money. And despite it all, he’s good company.
He is Zhongli, and Childe is in love with him.
With a sigh, Childe caresses the statue’s cheek. True to life, it stands just a few centimeters taller than him. He has to tilt his head up just the slightest to maintain eye contact, but he doesn’t mind the crook in his neck. Zhongli’s eyes always burn just this side of gold, and they tell the stories of wars won and battles lost. Childe looks into the statue’s eyes and sees his past and his future.
This close to the statue, Childe can see his breath starting to fog up Zhongli’s face.
Around them, the snow begins to fall harder.
Childe wipes snowflakes from the tips of his eyelashes, cleanses his cheeks of the lingering ice.
With one last searching look of Zhongli’s face, Childe closes his eyes and presses his lips to the statue’s.
At first, it is cold. Cold to the point that Childe’s immediate reaction is to pull away. But the Abyss burnt away his flight response long ago, left only a searing desire for fight, so Childe remains interlocked with the statue.
Which is why it’s so surprising when the skin beneath his lips starts to warm.
This time, Childe does pull away, if only to see whether he’s starting to go mad from hypothermia. The statue remains largely intact; there is no noticeable difference in its demeanor, but—
Slowly, nearly impassable, a drop of water begins to make its way down the statue’s cheek.
The snow that has collected on the statue is melting.
Indeed, the cheek under his palm feels warm—near feverish, in fact.
Childe curses under his breath. The Harbingers would never let him live it down if they saw him making out with a statue of an ex-god, but… none of the Harbingers are present.
Childe reconnects their lips.
Within three seconds, the marble softens under his touch, until it feels like the skin of a living, breathing human being.
Childe makes to pull away once more, but before he can move, the statue brings a hand up to hold his waist, trapping him. Childe’s eyes shoot open, and he sees Zhongli .
Zhongli, in Snezhnaya. Because Childe decided to get a little artsy.
Celestia. Childe’s actually losing it.
Zhongli presses kiss after kiss to his lips as color bleeds into his cheeks, up into his hair, until his eyes, which had closed while Childe’s were closed, flicker open. There—they are the gold Childe remembers.
“Zhongli,” Childe starts.
“Ajax,” Zhongli murmurs against his mouth. “You understood.”
Childe nods desperately. “How—what did I do?”
“My gnosis may be gone, but I can still hear all that my followers pray to me. I heard you every night you went to bed with the statuette in your hand. And it pained me that we were so far, but I did everything I could to interact with you when I could.”
“Those dreams,” Childe gasps. “They were real?”
“I could not go so long without seeing you,” Zhongli explains. “I had to see you.”
“So you taught me to make a statue in your honor so you could possess it. Yeah, makes sense.”
“Ajax, please. I don’t have much time left. Please, if you have forgiven me, come back to Liyue. There is a place for you here beside me if you would have it.”
Zhongli’s voice is urgent, and it startles Childe. Even in the midst of the resurrection of one of his mortal enemies, his voice never changed from its usual placidness.
“Zhongli, I—“ Childe starts, but is interrupted by Zhongli kissing him once, twice, thrice.
“Think about it. Please, Ajax.”
“What, exactly, is going on here?”
Childe nearly brains himself in his haste to turn, although Zhongli’s grip on his waist remains iron-tight. Childe glances down at his arm in annoyance. “Your-Your Highness! I can explain—“
“There is no need, Tartaglia.” The Tsaritsa peers at him with the same freezing stare; Childe shivers at the fear it instills in him. “I believe I know.”
“Your Highness?”
“I sensed the Geo Archon, Morax, in this very spot not thirty seconds ago, and instead I find you and a marble statue. A marble statue with an alarming resemblance to what I know is currently Morax’s mortal form,” She states. Cold facts.
“I—“
“Tell me, Tartaglia. What happened in Liyue?”
Childe hangs his head. He has no choice but to confess, so he does.
When he’s finished, the Tsaritsa nods. “I see. Morax always did have a tendency to focus too much on the bigger picture. I see that you two have made up, however.” She gestures at where Childe is still held by Zhongli’s arm.
Scoffing, Childe attempts once more to release himself. “My apologies, Your Highness, but I haven’t forgotten how he hurt me.”
The Tsaritsa raises an eyebrow. “Why haven’t you allowed yourself to forgive him?” When Childe doesn’t reply, she continues, “Is it because of your ego? Your bloodlust? Your desire to get stronger?” Childe opens his mouth to answer, but she silences him with a raised hand. “Or is it because you are afraid to get hurt again?”
“I have not known you to be cowardly, Tartaglia, which is why I’m ordering you now: go to Liyue. Return to Morax. I will send for you when necessary, but your place is beside him.”
“Your Highness, I would never betray you like that—“
“You can be loyal to one person and love another,” The Tsaritsa interrupts. “I do not doubt your devotion to me. I know that when I call, you will answer.”
Childe finally frees himself and immediately moves to kneel on the ground. The Tsaritsa places her hand on his head, much like his mother did to him when he was a child. “I thank you deeply, Your Highness.”
The Tsaritsa removes her hand and Childe stands once more, shaking snow off his knees. The Tsaritsa makes to leave, but Childe rushes out, “If I may ask one question, Your Highness. Why, exactly, were you so lenient with me?”
The Tsaritsa pauses. She turns her hand so it is outstretched, parallel to the ground beneath their feet. Snowflakes gather on her palm. “Too often, we rulers get caught in our plans. We forget about those that we rule in favor of seeing our goals come to fruition. After all, anything is necessary when it comes to war.” She clenches her hand into a fist, crushing the snowflakes. “But, on occasion, I am reminded of the lives of those who have been loyal to me since birth, and I remember what I used to be.” She relaxes her fist, revealing a crystallized heart made of ice.
“Thank you, Your Highness,” Childe says.
She nods. And then she is gone.
Childe turns on his heel. Zhongli is a statue once more, eyes closed and arm extended in the shape of Childe’s waist. Childe presses one last kiss to the statue’s lips, and when he is sure Zhongli won’t be coming back, he returns to his chambers.
Although he makes plans to leave for Liyue, Childe decides to spend a few days with his family.
He cooks with his mother, plays with Teucer, tells Anthon silly stories, teaches Tonia how to read Liyuen. He even goes ice fishing with his father, which is both therapeutic and perhaps the most awkward experience of his entire life.
His siblings can tell that he is feeling better, and when they corner him after dinner, he begrudgingly tells them that he’s going back to Liyue.
“Huh? But didn’t you just get back from Liyue?” Anthon asks.
“Yes, and now I’m returning,” Childe confirms.
“But I thought you were gonna stay here forever,” Teucer pouts.
Childe’s heart stings. “Aw, I’ll come back! It’s not like I’m going to spend the rest of my life in Liyue. And you guys are always welcome to visit me over there. I have this friend who can show you around all the coolest places, and he’ll make you the best tea, and he’ll teach you how to use chopsticks—“
“Oh, oh! I know which friend this is!” Tonia shouts. “This is Mister Zh-Zon-Zongli!”
Childe sighs. “Maybe when you come visit we’ll work on your pronunciation,” he teases, “but, yes, this friend is Mister Zhongli.”
“He sounds pretty great,” Anthon says.
“Ah, he is.”
“Is he as great as Her Highness?”
“Teucer!” Their mom hisses. “Don’t ask such silly questions!”
Childe looks up to see his mother and father watching them from the entryway to the living room; he blushes, slightly, at the implication that they overheard his spiel on how great Zhongli is, but he figures if he’s about to move countries for him, he might as well be blatant about how he feels.
“No, he’s not as great as the Tsaritsa because he and the Tsaritsa are very different. Zhongli is great in his own ways!”
“Ooh, Ajax, are you in love with Mister Zhongli~?” Anthon jokes.
Childe flushes even brighter.
All three of his siblings gasp and laugh and scream, trying to get more information out of their older brother. Childe assures them that no, they aren’t together yet, and that yes, they’ll be the first to know if they do get together.
“Have you guys kissed yet?” Tonia questions.
“Celestia, Tonia, where did you even learn about these things—“ Childe starts.
“Answer the question!” Tonia demands.
His silence is more than answer enough. The kids hoot and holler, and their parents have to remind them to be quiet, that there are people trying to sleep, but they’re too worked up.
Once he finally bullies them into bed, his mother and father have their own questions. They ask him how old Zhongli is (older than 25), what he does (he works at a funeral parlor), and whether or not he makes Childe happy (extremely).
It’s strange to be in the position of a child again, but when his mother soothes a hand over his hair and his father clasps a palm around his shoulder, he understands that no matter where he goes, no matter how he loses himself, he will always have his family.
The next morning marks a month and a half since he’d left Liyue, and he decides he’s been gone for too long. He eats breakfast cooked by his mother and waits patiently for a Fatui carrier to bring the package he’s waiting for. When the carrier knocks on the door, Childe scrambles to open it and thanks the carrier profusely. Then he drags the box in.
His mother and father stare with wide eyes as he drags the box through the house, into the back yard. There, he summons a blade and cuts into the box to reveal the statue of Zhongli he made.
“Woah! Who is that?” Anthon crows.
“That’s such high quality marble,” Tonia comments.
“Hey, he’s tall!” exclaims Teucer.
“I carved him myself,” Childe explains. “I didn’t want to leave it at the Palace, so I hope you’ll let me keep him here.”
“I-Of course!” his mother stutters. “You carved that? It’s beautiful , Ajax!”
“Who exactly is it supposed to be?” his father questions.
Childe clicks his tongue and rummages around in the discarded box for the plaque he made out of the leftover marble he had. He props it by Zhongli’s feet and watches his family read the epithet.
Rex Lapis, the Okay God
“See? He’s not bad, but he’s not as good as the Tsaritsa,” Childe laughs. “He’s just okay.”
By some sick turn of fate, the captain of his ship to Liyue is the same as the one on his ship from Liyue.
Unfortunately, he’s just as annoying this time around as he was a month and a half ago. Childe spends half his time hoping they’ll touch down soon and the other half imagining ways to kill him.
Thankfully, the trip from Snezhnaya is significantly shorter than the one from Liyue, and the captain reports that their trip will take nine days.
That means nine days until he can fight Zhongli again, for real this time, Childe whispers to the Rex Lapis statuette he still keeps in his coat.
Childe dreams of Zhongli, again and again and again, and when his eyes burn the right shade of gold Childe knows Zhongli’s visiting him, even as he travels.
In these dreams, they simply sit side by side, enjoying each other’s company. Other times, they trade kisses for secrets, sharing what little they didn’t already know about each other.
The day Childe is scheduled to dock in Liyue Harbor, Childe catches the Rex Lapis statue up to speed, ignoring the strange looks the Fatui foot soldiers send him. Honestly, he could care less about what others think of him.
The sun is just starting to streak across the sky when they finally reach the Harbor. It’s the same bustling morning Childe remembers; there are the same buskers, the same merchants, the same hired hands unloading and loading ships. It’s the same chaos—except for the man standing in the midst of it all.
Childe attempts to calm his heart, but he’s been away for nearly two months, not including his time giving Zhongli the cold shoulder, and he’s excited to see Zhongli again. He pointedly does not run off the boat and into his arms, regardless of how much the voice in his head that sounds vaguely like Tonia tells him to, and instead waits until all of his belongings have been unpacked to walk calmly down the plank and stand in front of Zhongli.
Zhongli in the flesh is far better than any stone reincarnation of him. Stone doesn’t capture the intensity of his eyes, or the heat of his smile, or the steady way he breathes and exists.
“Hey there,” Childe grins. “I forgive you. You up for that rematch now?”
Zhongli doesn’t respond, too busy sweeping him into a kiss.