Chapter Text
“So you want revenge?” Pantalone preens in his seat, crossing one leg over the other as if it were any old conversation.
“I want to be stronger,” Diluc affirms.
“Stronger than the fatui?”
“Stronger than a dragon.”
Pantalone chuckles mirthlessly. “So you've come to the source? Out of curiosity? Cursed ambition?”
“Whomever put the delusion in my fathers hands didn’t force him to use it. He made his choice and it ended his life. If he was so interested in wielding such power, then why shouldn’t a son uphold his fathers dream?”
“And you have.”
“I have.”
“You wield it well. Do you want to keep it?”
“… Excuse me?” Diluc’s taken aback by such an unexpected offer, suspicion heightened in his voice.
“Certainly there are expectations involved. You’d join the ranks, though I'd place you under the care of one of my elites so as to not waste you elsewhere. Have you been acquainted with the fair lady? Perhaps not but your temperament would suit her well.”
“Okay.”
“You’re quite confident in your answer.”
“You have something I want and I have something you want. I don't see how this agreement is that complicated.”
“You’ll have to surrender your allegiance to Mondstadt.”
“The only allegiance I ever had was to my father and as you know, that’s no longer an issue. The knights are powerless, that much is clear. I see nothing in what they have to offer me.”
“Oh, I think I like you. I do hope you aren’t making a mistake trifling with the likes of us. We’ll know if you have a change of heart, so best be sure of yourself before committing.”
“I already made my decision.”
“That you said.”
“I'm not one to change my mind once it’s made.”
“Hm, as you say. Have you ever been asked to kill?”
“I've killed plenty.”
“Humans, I mean.”
“…”
“I had a feeling. Is that going to be a problem?”
“…No.”
“We’ll see.”
—
It's uncommon that more than three harbingers remain under one roof at any given time, perhaps for the sake of the roof's structural integrity. Though under the right circumstances, all twelve must reconvene within the hold’s walls. Each master wrapped in fur coats from their shoulders to their toes, they stand solemnly still while each member has their chance to debrief. All except for the twelfth, the protege with no title yet to speak for and only anecdotal familiarity with the majority of the harbingers.
Diluc stands stiffly, alone in a room full of people. The grand graying walls make even Pierro of his great stature seem small. Diluc, however, pays special attention to the others surrounding him in the hall while a few of them return the favor. He tries to think of each name, based solely on the descriptions he’d been given by Signora, who stands beside Diluc, paying closest attention to her nails though Diluc knows better than to assume her guard is actually down. Despite the few he has already met, the others are easy to point out, given they all stand out in a room where uniqueness is commonplace. Perhaps in the past he would have felt uncomfortable in the presence of overwhelming power despite it only simmering behind the eyes of these seasoned warriors and officers, yet Diluc doesn’t find himself feeling uneasy until a pair of eyes find him a little too interesting. He finds them next to the captain, blue as the sea and unreflective in the cool light.
Diluc had already put a name to the young face, Tartaglia, the eleventh and newest harbinger and someone roughly around Diluc’s age and height. Perhaps Tartaglia feels threatened, no longer being the only redhead among the elites given the way that he glares at Diluc as though he’d personally offended him. He wonders briefly if he should be concerned that he’s caught an evil eye already until the aforementioned offender sticks his tongue out ever so slightly like a mocking child. Diluc is taken aback by such a gesture, grimacing as his face turns slightly pink. His annoyance crescendos when he spots Tartaglia’s expression change to a smirk as though victorious for causing any sort of reaction in Diluc. This results in Diluc huffing and refusing further indulgence, focusing his eyes on the current speaker, though his attention has trouble diverging from the feeling of being watched.
Diluc can only avoid the bastard until it’s his turn to speak of recent events. Tartaglia’s narrowed focus on Diluc is finally lifted when he addresses the harbingers as a whole. Diluc can’t help but notice the difference in the way he talks from the rest, unlike the others, he brims with excitement as he rehashes tales of his adventures fighting monsters further north. He goes deeper into detail than anyone needed to know, subsequently causing a few exasperated sighs from his elders but Diluc finds himself having no trouble listening to his stories, even if they’re flamboyant and perhaps overstated. The meeting had yet to encourage any fashion of emotion from himself or the harbingers, they all carry the same matter-of-fact demeanor that makes this debrief simply a means to an end. Until the last of them, who would also be the one with the farthest relation to the important matters at hand and yet still seems the most enthusiastic.
Tartaglia’s eyes meet diluc’s again, just as he’s finishing his whirlwind of a story about him, an abyss herald, and two mages. He’s smiling this time, a real, proud smile that has nothing to do with Diluc, yet he feels an earnest excitement for him despite only knowing Tartaglia from the anecdotes of others. He surely fulfills the expectations of annoyance and immaturity that Signora had set when describing him. Though she had also mentioned that despite his downfalls, he has a method to being somewhat charming at the end of it all. Diluc was discovering that to be uncomfortably true as Tartaglia seems to notice his having complete possession of diluc’s attention. If Diluc knew him better he might even say he looked even prouder in that moment, causing Diluc to whip his head away and find anything else to look at, resisting the tell of his embarrassment staining his cheeks. Luckily, he’s interrupted promptly by Pierro’s booming voice. One that demands any and all attention with so much as a word.
The leader thanks the group for their time and energy here and includes their travels home, though many of them had not descended from Snezhnaya. He decides to bring each member back to his office one by one to deliberate further plans and stationing. Then he rises swiftly for a man his age, and exits the room without another word. Tension seems to release from the air though it takes a few seconds for quiet conversations to begin once the veil of professionalism is broken. Diluc remains as he was while Signora sighs loudly as though she wishes the others to hear and knowing her, she probably does. Diluc finds himself drifting into thought, his eyes finding a place on the table taking the center of the room. He wonders mostly what his role will be in all these carefully laid plans, trying to piece together what they’re after as though he was just given a five thousand piece puzzle with half of the pieces missing. Of course there are objectives kept separately but it’s unclear how they come together as a whole. Do the others know the whole plan? Or are they simply playing their part as they’re set? Do they wonder what picture this puzzle will create? Are they satisfied with blind obedience to the Tsaritsa? Do they gather that they already know what is in store? Surely the demeanor of some tells that of perfect confidence in their placement and abilities. Diluc cannot figure out if it's ignorance or intelligence.
His line of thinking is broken, however, when the captain approaches and asks for an aside with Diluc’s mentor. Suddenly enough, Diluc is left beside Tartaglia, whose eyes are more persistent than before. Silence stretches thin between them as Diluc feels he’s on the wrong side of an evaluation.
“I could take you,” Tartaglia speaks blatantly, looking down his nose in a way that already makes Diluc's blood boil.
“Excuse me?” Diluc sputters slightly, offended and confused.
“Fight me. Come on. Don’t you wanna see how you put up against a harbinger?” In this manner, Tartaglia's attitude changes to something giddy if not opportunistically assaulting.
“If I wanted to fight a harbinger, I’d pick a stronger one.”
Tartaglia frowns at this, dejectedly placing a hand over his heart as though Diluc had wounded him. Diluc only rolls his eyes in response. “Sure but I’m the only one who won’t kill you when you lose.”
“When I lose?” Diluc sounds purposefully doubtful.
This elicits an immediate and coarse laugh from Tartaglia, something halfway between a chuckle and a giggle or perhaps the combination of the two as he takes a step closer much to Diluc’s displeasure.
“When you lose,” he lowers his voice as though he were sharing a secret. His smile, the utmost condescending, “I’ll let you try again.”
Diluc sneers as his face blushes so furiously there might be steam rising from his ears. What he wouldn’t give to be able to punch Tartaglia square in the jaw right here and now, even if he’d be bruising those annoyingly dumb looking freckles speckling his cheeks. The offer of a fight is becoming more appealing by the second but he still has his pride.
“Diluc, darling,” Signora interjects before either of them start a scene, though her intentions to do so lie simply in the end of her conversation. She doesn’t pay mind to Tartaglia's existence for a second, knowing full well that her protege’s attention is owed to her alone. “I'll have to stay here until I'm summoned, which will undeniably be much too long. I need you to collect my belongings and bring them to my room so I can retire when this is over. Do you mind?” She asks as though he has a choice to mind, which they are both perfectly aware he doesn’t.
“Of course, my lady.”
“Perfect,” she enunciates expressionlessly before turning her attention to the eleventh fatui harbinger, “I'll thank you not to cause any more distractions. Have your fun when he’s off the clock.”
Diluc thanks the archons for the excuse to escape, not hesitating to walk away without further addressing the threats of his (unfortunate) superior. That is if he could even consider them threats, since it seems more like a game that Tartaglia is set on playing with Diluc of all people. He supposes he understands why he’s targeted, of all those in the room, Diluc is probably the least threatening and the only one without a true status. Seeing as Tartaglia is one step above him, Diluc is sure that he wants to assert some kind of misguided dominance just to feel better about himself. Although it’s a little out of place considering the sheer amount of confidence Tartaglia exudes despite being the second lowest rank in the room.
He steps outside into the open air corridor and is immediately assaulted by the frigid winds of Snezhnaya. The red and white formal coats layered on his person only protect his body and his face is forced to endure the sharp sting. His sigh puffs into the air in front of him, swirling around as he shivers. He's suddenly brutally aware that he actually has no idea where he ought to be going, previously having followed behind Signora since the moment they arrived. He hadn’t a moment to actually orient himself in the large snow bearing castle. Though its architecture did feel slightly reminiscent of his home in Mondstadt. High walls built with stone, arches that tripled him in size. A certain cathedral comes to mind, although he refuses to allow himself to feel nostalgic.
He’s got to go in deep, he thinks. To be the perfect spy, he must forget all that came before now and continue with the narrative he’s built himself. He finds it difficult at times to upkeep this illusion he’s sculpting. The other fatui are still rightfully suspicious of his motives and origin, just as he had expected since making it past the first obstacles. Signora keeps a close eye on his movements, whether with her own or someone else’s, nothing seems to get past her, although Diluc has done nothing yet to hide.
He takes notes from someone else in his life who had managed to deceive him for so long, although the circumstances there were different considering that neither Diluc or his father had any reason to suspect Kaeya of anything. That definitely gave him the advantage when sneaking his way into their home and hearts. Diluc shudders at the memories, but steels himself almost immediately. This would be different. This was not a home he was infiltrating, but a fortress. He couldn’t imagine actually caring for anyone he may meet among the fatui, and vice versa, they wouldn’t care for him. This was an organization after all, and not a family.
Despite this reality, Kaeya never had to make himself a killer to fit in with the Ragnvindrs. Luckily Diluc has some leeway in terms of dedicating himself to becoming a murderer, there is some understanding that he is new to the act, and therefore should he shy way from it, it’s not necessarily suspicious. However, this excuse would not last forever, Diluc would need to solidify himself among their ranks if he means to gather meaningful information before it’s too late to be useful. So far he’s done well enough to gain a protege position beneath Signora but she’s not quite as cruel as he had envisioned she would be. Don’t interpret him wrong, she was vicious and unforgiving but it rarely affected those who weren’t immersed in the war. Those who must have dedicated themselves somewhat to their sacrifice. She wasn’t one to take out her rage on the innocent bystander though, and Diluc supposed that was the least amount of humanity he would see from her.
The most conflicted he feels however is in the act of disparaging his fathers name. He’s disciplined in his attention to detail but it doesn’t deter the strong guilt that punctures his heart when figuratively staking his fathers head into Snezhnayan dirt. It’s painful, but he knows it's necessary. He hopes that whatever afterlife his father may or may not be in, he’s forgiven for what he’s done, what he’s going to do to protect the peace of his homeland. If it matters, he knows he’s already damned, so what’s more sinning now but a means to an end?
He realizes he’s been staring over the threshold windows for much too long now when a familiarly aggravating voice surprises him out of his rigid thoughts.
“It’s fantastic, isn’t it?” Tartaglia says, joining Diluc by the arching window that gazes over a large half of the castle fortress and out over the snow draped horizon. Tartaglia looks more at Diluc however, perhaps already familiar with this view in particular. Diluc gathers himself quickly, although for a moment he had eyed Tartaglia as if an owl in a stupor.
“Right. Yes, it’s fine.”
“You’re lost, aren’t you?” He says with a strangely pleased look on his face. A look that Diluc frowns at before replacing the sight of that face with the overlook.
“No, I’m just thinking.” He’s lying, he’s lost.
“Oh? About what?”
“Why are you so heavy with the questioning, Tartaglia?”
And there it is again, that mock offended look on that stupidly perfect face. Diluc can’t help the roll of his eyes that seem to be an automatic response at this point, his arms crossing defensively over his chest still covered by two layers of draping coats.
“Tartaglia? What did I do to require such a formal title from you, Diluc?”
The sound of his name is enough to set him off an edge. He wants to say, ‘don’t call me that,’ but that wouldn’t make very much sense would it. It’s just the way it sounds, in his mouth, with his stupid face. “I don’t know you by any other name,” Diluc deadpans.
“My friends call me Childe.”
“Why because you are one?”
“Ha, ha, you got me.” Childe returns with heavy sarcasm.
“I’m not your friend.”
Childe shrugs as though the insult phases right through him. Unsettlingly, he hops up to take a seat casually on the stone window, as if the backwards fall wouldn’t be a death sentence. Diluc shouldn’t care about the safety of this annoying stranger but he wouldn’t admit it puts him on edge. “Don’t sit like that.”
“What? Why? Scared you’ll watch me fall?” Childe smiles as if it’s a joke, jokingly lifting up his hands that were previously steadying him on the ledge.
“Stop it!” Diluc shouts a little louder than he’d meant but not so loud that it would disturb the fatui in the other room. He moves to action without thinking, stepping forward to grab at Childe’s coat right over his chest to prevent an accident. Suddenly much closer than he ever wanted to be to the man, Diluc found himself blushing hotter than he already was due to the cold. Of course Childe wouldn’t have noticed the minor difference but Diluc surely felt it. “You are infuriating,” Diluc grits out, unable to resist the draw of his anger. Childe has this look of surprise on his face that makes Diluc seethe as though he hadn’t imagined the consequences whatsoever. Then to Diluc’s chagrin, he starts laughing, a velvety, genuine laugh, clutching at his stomach while literally leaning off a ledge, supported only by Diluc’s grip on his coat. Has he no means of self preservation? Is he absolutely insane? All these thoughts promptly rush into Diluc’s mind before he pulls Childe unceremoniously inside the walkway. Childe still laughs while picking himself off the stone floor.
“Oh, you are a riot, Diluc,” Childe wipes away at the slightest glint of a tear in his eye, sighing and catching his breath, his radiating smile having yet to dissipate.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Diluc genuinely wants to know.
“Lighten up, sunshine. You still need to move Signora’s bags right? What’s she gonna think when she comes out here and we’re still at it?”
If possible, Diluc flushes hotter with fury. He tries to think of an excuse to send back but fails to reason one.
“See, that’s what I thought~” Childe sing songs with a little wave of his finger. “Come on, I’ll show you around.” He seems to give up his front and walks right past Diluc as if he hadn’t just annoyed him into a stutter. When Childe reaches the doorway at the end of the threshold and Diluc hasn’t moved, he calls, “You coming or what?”
With all of Diluc’s might, he tries to think of an excuse not to, but it seems that he really doesn’t have a choice if he wants to avoid Signora’s wrath. He sighs with his whole body in defeat, shoulders and head sagging forward before turning around and dragging his feet towards the end of the hall.