Chapter Text
Dunyarzad's lips were always upturned, whether it be out of her usual politeness, or because she genuinely found something pleasing or amusing – which was strange, considering the kind of mess she was in.
There weren’t many things in her life to smile about. She suffered from chronic aches and pains all over her body, had rather unflattering scales running up and down her forearms, and she couldn’t really do much in her day to day life without the help of another able-bodied person accompanying her. Though she was known to be a sweet and kind soul to all, it seemed that the world refused to treat her the same way she treated others.
It was that kind of admirable strength that caught Dehya’s eyes when she was first assigned to be a bodyguard for the Homayanis.
Upon signing the contract, Dehya had expected a princess. A whiny, petty, nihilistic woman who only knew how to mope and sit in the stew of her own misery. The mercenary wouldn’t have blamed her; battling Eleazar sounded like a rough deal, but Dehya despised it when people complained about their issues without doing anything to solve it. So, with Eleazar or not, Dehya fully intended to let Dunyarzad know that she wasn’t going to spare her any pity, apologies, or well-wishes – she was a bodyguard, not a therapist.
To her surprise, Dunyarzad surpassed quite a lot of Dehya’s expectations.
They first met in a garden patio inside the Homayani estate. It was filled to the brim with shades of white and apple greens, golden filigree, and hanging plants all around. Plenty of the researchers underneath the Homayanis were in the patio as well, distanced a good few feet away from where Dehya was. She didn’t know why there were so many researchers in someone’s home, but to be perfectly honest, Dehya could not give less of a shit.
It was actually quite uncomfortable for Dehya to be around this many prim and proper looking scholars dashing to and from the main foyer, what with their sharp tongues and rushed footsteps. She couldn’t understand half of the words they said most of the time; it was always ‘open-ended data’ this, or ‘wider focus group’ that. All they seemed to care about were arbitrary numbers and letters on a paper, is what Dehya was saying, rather than all the life happening right before their very eyes. Dehya, being a mercenary, was always focused on the here and now. Always aware of the number of people in a single room, including those who were hidden. And, though the scholars' conversations were terribly and utterly dull, Dehya made sure to listen for any mentions of her or the lady of the house, just in case.
That was when Dehya heard it – Dunyarzad’s entrance into her life, both in a literal way and a symbolic one.
There really were no other words for the experience aside from startling, in the gentlest way possible.
Within the bustling academic crowd, Dunyarzad’s footsteps were calm and slow, and that alone was enough for Dehya to set her apart from the rest. Her footsteps were not entirely graceful; she walked with a slight limp, the mercenary noticed, but even so, Dunyarzad greeted her with a smile that held no shame or embarrassment about her gait – just a mature kind of acceptance that this was how she was, and how things were going to be for the foreseeable future.
“Good morning, Ms. Dehya. You’re the new bodyguard my parents hired, correct? Thank you so much for agreeing to meet with me here today; I just wanted to iron out a few details about our contract and get to know you better." Dunyarzad steps closer to the table, and that is when Dehya could clearly assign a face to the woman she has been internally preparing herself to tolerate the moment she confirmed her interest in the job. Light brown hair, with thin bangs laid across her forehead, Dunyarzad was quite beautiful, just as the locals rumored her to be.
Now, so as not to confuse anybody, Dehya was not one to ogle at her clients in the way she did in that moment – with a brief tilt of her eyebrows upwards, that is, accompanied by the drying of her throat. Dehya liked to keep things professional, as she had quite the reputation to uphold, being the one and only ‘Flame-Mane’, and all.
…that, and the fact that she knew she was quite intimidating to take in all at once.
Dehya had many features that have made people shy away from her in fear before, but the worst one by far would probably be her stare. Her eyes were a shocking blue, like the tip of a hot flame - quite uncommon to see brightly colored eyes like hers in this part of Teyvat. And finding eyes like those staring right at you was about as frightening as placing your hand right beside a freshly lit torch. It worked to her advantage, though, for the most part, having eyes like this. It suited who she was, and what she did for a living.
It even set her apart from a lot of her competitors - most mercenaries had eyes that have long clouded over from years and years of less-than-ethical dealings and bloodshed. Looking into their eyes was like staring into a bottomless abyss, Dehya often found herself thinking.
If you were to look deep into Dehya’s eyes, however, it was like staring directly at a predator with its teeth bared, ready to pounce. Her hand was always close to her greatsword, and her toned limbs communicated effortlessly to anyone nearby that she was more than capable to withdraw it at any time.
So, yes, because of this reputation Dehya has built up as that-one-mercenary-you-shouldn’t-mess-with, Dehya avoids staring her clients in the eye too much, unless they were also mercenaries themselves or if it benefited her.
Oh, and of course, she sometimes used it to amuse herself as well. It was hilarious to frighten stuck-up old researchers sometimes.
But not now.
At this moment, she couldn’t exactly help herself from gazing at Dunyarzad. Not at anything in particular, either – just her.
Though the Flame-Mane has never allowed herself to get attached to a single person for too long, the mercenary admittedly couldn’t help but savor the strange – yet nonetheless welcome – warmth that was poured directly onto her chest and spread to the rest of her body upon hearing the heiress' voice. It was soft, like she had been using her inside voice her whole life, and she said Dehya’s name with a tenderness so foreign Dehya could’ve sworn she felt her heart squeeze.
Dehya quickly stands up, chair scraping at the suddenness. Her dark cheeks were turning warm, but not so much so that it was growing obvious that she was taken aback by Dunyarzad’s arrival. The mercenary gives the heiress a curt nod in greeting before bringing out the other seat of the table for Dunyarzad to take a seat at.
“Good morning,” Dehya starts, settling back into her seat as soon as Dunyarzad was in hers. Still feeling a bit stunned, Dehya only managed to look in the general direction of Dunyarzad, but never directly towards her face. It almost felt as if she'd be disrespecting her client if she did, in a way.
Dehya continues in spite of her initial stumble, “you can drop the ‘Miss’, by the way. I don’t like those sorts of…”
“–formalities?” The heiress completes her sentence with that same, honey-like voice. Upon hearing her voice again, Dehya’s eyes are pulled to meet the heiress’. Like the ocean with the moon, Dehya found it difficult to pull away – to return back to the rhythm of her own waves. Similarly to most citizens of Sumeru, Dunyarzad’s eyes were brown; however, Dunyarzad’s eyes were rather unique, in Dehya’s mind, because they were sparkling just as much as the freshly-watered plants around them.
Dunyarzad’s eyes were filled with the kind of glistening life Dehya only saw and felt in fleeting moments; the kind of life whose presence you only recognize when it is gone; the kind of life defined by those moments where you are doing the things you love and cherish the most. For Dehya, that would be the heat of a battle – and even though she gets into brawls about as often, if not more, as she has meals, it’s hard for her to find anyone who can truly make her feel like the stakes are rising.
But what was Dunyarzad doing that was making her eyes this bright?
“Yes. That was the word I was looking for.” Dehya finally finds the strength in herself to smile back, finally starting to feel like her usual self for the first time ever since she stepped foot into this mansion of a house. Safe to say, Dehya did not feel like she belonged to this scene. You could tell from the way she sat in her chair - legs spread apart in a very non-feminine-way, and arm resting on the hilt of her weathered greatsword. She chose not to acknowledge the weird looks she was getting from the house staff that continued to pass through the patio at a swift pace.
“Alright, thank you for letting me know, Dehya. You know, you don’t need to use any formalities with me, either,” Dunyarzad leans close to Dehya, which absolutely did not help with the flushing of Dehya's cheeks, thank you very much. She cupped a hand over her mouth and lowered her voice down as if she was about to tell a secret. Dehya, being the experienced mercenary that she was, automatically turned her ears to better listen to what her client had to say .
“I actually don’t like formalities either,” she whispers with a hint of a giggle in her throat.
Oh. Well, that was anti-climactic.
But... Dehya also found it cute. Dunyarzad was a lot less tense and rigid as she thought she would be.
And then Dehya scolded herself in her head for thinking that about a client in the middle of a meeting with them.
“Really?” Dehya managed to reply in her usual way – a bit too loud for indoors, in all honesty, but Dehya was indoors almost never. She sounded a lot more interested in speaking with Dunyarzad now, and perhaps a bit more relaxed, too. Her image of the only daughter of the Homayanis seems to have been changed, and in a good way.
“I’m working for a family member of the Homayanis who doesn’t have a stick up their ass? Wow, and I was worried I would have to learn to play tea party with you, or something. Hah, this must be what a dream feels like.” Dehya says this with a snort, not realizing that that comment might have been too much.
The patio grew silent at her bold statement. Dehya’s ears began to tuck back as she slowly came to terms with the fact that she may have just offended a couple of the people within her vicinity, client included. She could feel a lot of eyes staring at both her, and the only Homayani present at the moment.
Somehow, within the span of a few exchanges, the mercenary had forgotten that she was meeting with a client in foreign territory.
On ordinary occasions, Dehya would not be welcome in a place like this.
She was prepared to apologize. It wasn’t the first time she’s let something like that slip, although she will admit it has been a while since something similar has happened.
But, unexpectedly, Dehya was taken aback for the third time within this short exchange.
She laughed. Eyes creased and mouth politely covered by her fingers to hide her shiny smile, Dunyarzad let out a genuine, carefree laugh. Doing so made her sleeves fall down to her elbows, but even so, she didn’t even bother hiding the bandages on her forearms. Her laugh didn’t sound lady-like at all, either – it was loud and a bit wheezy at the end – but she still let it out all the same.
Her eyes shone even brighter than they did when they first locked eyes.
“Yes," she managed to say when she recovered, "I will admit I’m very different from my family. But I see that as a good thing, and I’m glad I’ve finally found someone who thinks the same way.”
They both share a smile as the chatter of the patio returns back to its normal volume once more, before they finally get around to discussing a wide variety of things – most of which were completely unrelated to what they were supposed to discuss in the first place.
Dehya hadn’t expected this short business meeting to amount to anything at all, but she will never forget how Dunyarzad had treated her on that day. Dehya only realized this in passing many months later, but in that first instance of eye contact between them, Dunyarzad did not see Dehya as an intrusive outsider, unlike many of those people who gawked at Dehya's poor choice of words – Dunyarzad saw Dehya for who she was: a worthy mercenary who hailed from The Great Red Sand.
No, Dunyarzad saw their differences in character and upbringing as they were; and, against all odds, accepted them, just as she had accepted all the misfortune in her life – with open arms and a smile even the archons could not recreate.