Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

On a night where the wind howled, almost in anguish, the gods struck down the very last of the sinners, or so they had thought. 

All of that was of no importance to Crepus, as he leant over his papers, owl-feathered quill in hand. Old fashioned, yes, but it fitted nicely with the plan of his office, with the oak floorboards that creaked at the lightest step. The Dawn Winery, as it was known, his ancestors having long forgotten the proper name, was as ancient as the Ballad of Venessa, possibly more so. Even the portraits' gilded frames were at the least several decades old, and never seemed to be fully clean. He had never minded. To be honest, he rather liked it. The old manor had been his home since childhood. 

He sighed and continued to skim the documents, all reports of the local tavern's business. It was tedious, especially when Crepus could be spending quality time with his son. He signed his name and wrote down the figures in a motion that probably looked like clockwork. The sound of his scribbling wasn't enough to drown out the raging storm outside. He could've hit himself when he remembered he had to go down to the city for some errands. At best, the storm would be over in an hour, at worst, it wouldn't cease until daybreak. Possibly longer, considering the heaviness of the rain. Someone must have angered the gods, he thought. What else would cause such a nightmarish storm to brew in mid-September? 

A hesitant knock at the door broke him out of his stupor. He opened the door carefully, wondering what had happened. Thank the Archons it was only his Diluc, and by his hopeful expression, only there to beg him for something he wouldn't normally get the chance to ask for. His crimson eyes widened as his father bent down to his level. 

"Diluc? What have you done this time?" 

The boy grinned, hopping on the balls of his feet in joy, "Can I go cook something with Miss Adelinde?" 

Crepus laughed softly, the boy was such a ball of energy sometimes. 

"Hm..." he mused. "I suppose so. Be careful for once, would you?"

Using what was technically reverse psychology on his seven-year-old son probably wasn't the best idea, but what else could he do? Say no?

Diluc ran off down the corridor, calling for Adelinde. His red hair flew out behind him, a shade lighter than Crepus' own. Father and son were so alike, yet so, so different. The man reluctantly dragged himself out of the room. He hated storms, always had done, but he had no choice but to leave the warmth of the manor. 

The wind screamed in his ear as he walked, bitter and merciless. The weather had only got worse after Crepus left the house, and he couldn't prevent the shudder that ran down his spine.

He thought about Diluc as a means of taking his mind elsewhere. Diluc, his only family except for Adelinde and Elzer. Diluc, his... well, as much as Crepus didn't want to admit it, his closest friend. 

His baby boy.

He paused for a moment, looking towards the statue of Barbatos. He could barely make out its distinct shape.  

Crepus did not know how long he stood there, aimlessly eyeing the statue. All he really noticed was how wet his hair had become, the red curls starting to hinder his vison.

He looked up at the darkening sky.

Archons, what a horrendous storm...

Midway along the path, he came to an abrupt halt. He could've sworn something just ran past him. A hilichurl, perhaps? Crepus scanned the vineyards for any sort of activity.

Nothing, not until he felt a sharp pain in his back. He whipped around.

Ah, that's what it was.

A child, no older than his own, younger even. It was impossible to tell, they were so slight and frail-looking. Dark hair covered their face, obscuring their eyes. He knelt down, closer to their level. The child, now looking like a wounded animal, scurried backwards on their hands and knees, tears pooling in their eyes. Crepus raised his arm, meaning to help them up. They flinched away as if they had been hit. Their eyes - eye, they had one eye - widened, lilac meeting crimson. Their pupil, Crepus thought, such an interesting shape. A four-pointed star, unlike anything he had ever seen. It merely hinted that they were not of Mondstadt. 

The child stood up carefully, murmuring what sounded like an apology. They may have looked malnourished, but Crepus had not realised how downright filthy they were.

The once-magnificent cloak they wore was ragged at the foot, their shirt closer to grey than white. Blue hair fell to their waist, matted and clumped together with mud. Their hands were obscured by their sleeves, but Crepus swore he could make out bruises around their wrists.

He edged closer.

"What's your name, hm? Are you alright? Why... Why are you out here alone?"

The child mutely stared, before sighing. They said what could only be their name, although it was in a language the man didn't understand.

"Well, Kar’ah, are you hurt at all? I can send for Adelinde if you would like..."

Crepus trailed off, thinking. He wondered if the Knights of Favonius would be of any help. Probably not, they were of more use fighting hilichurls than looking after lost children.

Kar’ah shook her head hurriedly.

The girl let out a stream of of harsh syllables. Crepus could tell from her tone how scared she was, but couldn’t understand the words themselves.

She took a shaky breath, before repeating herself in broken Mondstadtian.

“My… um… my faðir… he- he went to get some… some grape juice. For… for the road..? Back soon…” 

Crepus nodded, offering his coat to Kar’ah. She nervously, far too hesitantly, took it from him, draping it around her own shoulders. It seemed to overwhelm her diminutive figure, half of it trailing behind her. He would have to have that replaced eventually if it was damaged beyond repair, but it was the least he could do for such a poor child. Kar’ah had fastened herself to his arm, murmuring in what could only be her native language, her grip vice-like. Diluc would certainly appreciate the company, but maybe he would be a lot for the smaller girl to handle? Crepus could always arrange for him to be schooled properly, but his son was not exactly like the norm. He couldn't stand the idea of other children picking on him for the slightest of reasons, whether those reasons be his hair, or the way he acted, or even his lineage. People could be so cruel.

"Adelinde?" Crepus called from the doorway. "I... have something I'd like to discuss."

"Yes, Master Crepus?" came the response, then a few moments later, as her shadow formed along the corridor, "What was-"

The housemaid faltered, her sharp eyes flitting from man to child.

"O-Oh my, you poor thing! I'll set something up, don't you worry. Shall I... find some of the young master's old clothes?"

"That will do fine. I'm sure we can find garments more to her taste when the time comes."

"Of course. Speaking of him, Master Diluc should be in the kitchen. I left him to keep an eye on the potatoes, but I would rather keep an eye on him instead. I suppose he'd enjoy cooking with his father?" Adelinde's tone was commanding, blatantly suggesting he spend some quality time with the boy.

"Yes... I do suppose he would."

Diluc was crouching in front of the oven when Crepus entered the spacious kitchen, eyes bright with wonder. His hair was matted, flecks of flour and who-knows-what else peppering the crimson locks.

The older redhead cleared his throat, “Diluc, my boy, why are you on the floor?”