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When Wriothesley emerges from the depth of the sea with the lift that leads behind the Opera Epiclese, Neuvillette is already waiting for him at the entrance.
The Judge’s form is perfect as always, his spine straight, his head held high – yet, when Wriothesley looks at him, he is small as the Opera’s building in the background towers over him. Small like a man who carries too much weight – he already learnt of the duties that Neuvillette took on himself. The sight of him leaves the Duke with a strange feeling.
More so, Neuvillette’s presence alone is a surprise – they penned each other some letters in the past few days, in which they agreed to meet today at a certain time.
Wriothesley even departed earlier than he should have, he would never thought he could end up being late. He wonders why Neuvillette didn’t decide to come down and meet him halfway, and if his usual reason to stay away from Meropide covers today’s decision. Or if it’s about something else, too.
The noise of his steps precedes him and announces his arrival, Neuvillette turns his way, watching him approach. An unfamiliar atmosphere surrounds him and Wriothesley can’t even name it to himself. There is just a kind of tense energy around Neuvillette, something like restless anxiety – Wriothesley would call it this way if he didn’t know better – that only stops after disappears fully when he arrives and their gazes intertwine.
Neuvillette’s lilac eyes find Wriothesley’s blue ones – in a quick search that almost feels like desperation.
Wriothesley is an excellent judge of situations and people, he had to learn the hard way how to become one – but to add one more layer to the list of reasons why Neuvillette is different, he also radiates a new kind of power and confidence. This too in the whole mix of it all leaves the Duke concerned about what exactly has happened to him in the past days.
Neuvillette does feel off for many reasons.
And Wriothesley hopes today he’s here to learn of these – and to learn about how he can help him. He’d be fine to be left in the dark as long as he can still do his all for the person he loves, and he hopes that Neuvillette is aware of this.
“Have you waited long for me, Monsieur?” Greeting him with a question, Wriothesley walks to him, a slight frown on his face. “It was my impression that I was to come up after my business below, finding you afterwards. Did I miss something in your letter?”
Tilting his head, Wriothesley waits, standing only a half arm's length away from Neuvillette. The past days have been messy and he had to handle everything around the Wingalet and the smaller floods that broke into Meropide when the sea had risen. He barely had time to sleep and despite the urge left him restless all day, he agreed to Neuvillette’s initial proposal to arrange their sides and meet only after.
“No, you came in time. I arrived too early,” Neuvillette answers him in a rather quiet voice.
Both of their expressions are their regular masks – but when they are alone, these usually have cracks from within as their feelings drip slowly, like the water does from a fissure, leaking its content from the inside. But not this time.
Wriothesley studies Neuvillette for a moment but it only makes him avert his eyes, turning into a motion to leave. When his face is no longer in sight, he says, “We should go, there’s a lot that you can’t know about yet. I would like to tell you all.”
Something is amiss. Like everyone, Wriothesley knows Furina is no longer the Hydro Archon. He knows Neuvillette took charge in Furina’s place for now. He wasn’t told but he has a strong feeling it was Neuvillette’s doing that allowed all Fontainians to live instead of dissolving into water – everyone’s desperation to come into contact with the waters was proven unfounded.
If one could command the Primordial Water and prevent disaster, it had to be Neuvillette. But neither this nor a few other details he suspects are yet confirmed for Wriothesley. He’s missing a lot about what happened... and now also about the distance his love keeps from him.
Neuvillette keeps him at arm’s length while Wriothesley hasn’t missed how his arrival brought him peace, however little.
Trying his best not to think more into it before he could understand everything – and Neuvillette just told him he’ll explain – Wriothesley follows him and falls into step. They walk towards the Opera in silence, the bright sunlight warming their backs as they cross the bridge, the noise of the waterfalls around suppressing the sound of their steps and the rhythmic knocking of the end of Neuvillette’s cane.
They aren’t at the building yet when Wriothesley decides to speak.
“Just answer this one, please, then I’ll trust it into your hands how much you see it fit to tell me,” he starts, and Neuvillette stops walking by his worlds. His lilac gaze feels heavy, almost disappointed by the implication. Even if Wriothesley knows Neuvillette trusts him deeply, he understands his insignificance on the bigger scale of humanity and life that his love has watched over for centuries now.
“Do ask.”
“Are you alright? Are you going to be alright?” Simple words, spoken lightly yet ever-so-sincere.
Neuvillette inhales, a bit sharper than it could be deemed normal – they both know Wriothesley won’t be fooled by anything after this. Not that Neuvillette would lie – he does not lie, ever. Especially not to Wriothesley.
Their gazes are connected, unbreakable – it’s as if time has stopped between them and they only exist in their own world. Standing on the bridge that leads to the underworld, there’s nothing but them and the stone pavement beneath their feet.
Wriothesley cares a great deal about Fontaine – and he’s here to help if he can, even if it goes against his personal desires. But he also cares about Neuvillette and he knows him enough to fear the consequences he is about to endure – and Wriothesley doesn’t even know everything, he’s aware.
Maybe Neuvillette senses his resolve, maybe he’s too exhausted, maybe he respects and loves Wriothesley enough... Whichever is true, he sighs and gives an answer to both questions, even if it pains him – and Wriothes sees it all. Neuvillette could decide to only answer the first one, yet he doesn’t do that, even if it must hurt him to not choose the easier way – the smallest change in his expression tells the Duke enough of his decision.
It’s the slightest frown that breaks Neuvillette’s neutral mask, the way his eyes reflect the light just a bit differently, and the hard line of his lips – all these sell him out and make Wriothesley perceive his reply with more depth.
“I am alright,” Neuvillette starts. It’s a statement and not a reassurance. “I have a lot to do but I believe, with the right planning, I can manage everything. Thank you for your concern.”
His words are formal and comforting – towards the man who should expect anything but this. If Wriothesley wouldn’t dare to bet even his life that Neuvillette would never lie to him, he could even consider that option.
Neuvillette doesn’t say, I’m not your concern, I can do it all and you have your own duties. But it nearly feels like he does.
Wriothesley can only nod. “Thank you for your answer,” he says, formally. It burns him from the inside but he does so if this is what Neuvillette wants from him now. He doesn’t understand enough to reason with him yet, he only hopes he can soon. He sees Neuvillette suffer in his company while telling of these, and it twists something deep within Wriothesley’s soul. They shouldn’t be like this, it feels so wrong.
The rest of their walk is spent in silence – it’s not suffocating per se but it’s not the companionate one they usually share.
Arriving at the gold-embossed doors of the Opera Epiclese, Neuvillette takes out a key and unlocks it, letting them inside before he secures the lock again. To Wriothesley’s questioning look, he elaborates, “The Opera Epiclese is closed from the public until some renovations are fully finished. We have trials to hold soon if we wouldn’t like them to accumulate too much.”
Renovations, that’s new. Wriothesley only nods, not seeing the need to ask for more as he’s sure this will be explained soon. He trails along Neuvillette as he leads them to the audience’s area – and it’s a smaller disaster.
Some of the chairs are scattered, and the wooden floor is broken in patterns that indicate something big was moving around inside. Seeing a dried but discoloured line on the wooden furniture and flooring that can indicate it got wet – the sight makes Wriothesley think of Neuvillette. To his best knowledge, the Judge wasn’t the only Hydro user around, but the wideness of the pattern now prompts him to exclude others. Because who else could have this much power over Hydro to cause this? But what had to be there that made him use his abilities to this extent…?
Despite he rarely, if ever, frequents the Opera, Wriothesley also notices that in the middle of the main stage, the Oratrice doesn’t glow in its unique light blue, the two droplets gone from the handles of the scale.
Neuvillette’s voice rips him out of his observations.
“We should sit down.” His voice is clear and quiet, he gestures towards two red-carpeted chairs on the right wing of the Opera which are still fully intact.
Complying, Wriothesley takes a seat by his love’s side – the distance between the chairs parallel with the distance between them now that lasts since he came up to the surface. It’s hard to force himself to lean back and listen, but taking a neutral position, he does so, waiting patiently for Neuvillette to tell whatever he wishes.
And Neuvillette does tell it all.
To sit in the empty Opera Epiclese’s partially ruined interior and learn about the the All-Devouring Narwhal this way. To sit in one of the chairs of the audience and look at the very stage that hosted the drama of the Hydro Archon, Focalors – and it took centuries to end. All those years, hundreds of them, while Furina kept up a facade and Neuvillette learnt to play the Iudex’s role until, eventually, it had become a part of him.
To look at the stage that hosted their sufferings.
It’s the place where his love had become so much more than what a mere human can ever even fully try to imagine – he is the most powerful entity of the whole of Teyvat, the Hydro Sovereign with all the power that was taken from him in the past, now once more having back his full authority over his element.
Neuvillette tells him what he had done to Fontaine, how he pardoned the sins that Egeria’s decision made all Fontainians inherit. Then he speaks of the Narwhal and Skirk, of how the risen water levels greeted him when he returned.
All the way as he tells the events, his voice is even, eerily neutral. He speaks fact-like, very aware of the weight of his worlds when he declares what he is capable of now. He speaks of learning he was deceived as if it could happen a million times over and he would never feel angry about it – he speaks as if he wouldn’t even consider his side worth a second thought.
His graceful sitting position is still the same, his legs crossed, his head held high. He doesn’t look at Wriothesley while he tells it all, his gaze is trained on a faraway point, up on the stage.
He looks ethereal.
Neuvillette is exquisite, out of this world; he stands above all who walk on the same earth as he does. He looks empyrean, but there is tranquil melancholy – the centuries-long hurt he endured which was staged by deception – that surrounds him, bleeding into his dignified might. And he dismisses it all.
Yet, when he reaches the point to talk of the risen waters, his next sentence is a compliment.
“The ship you built, your foreseeing and preparation, has saved countless lives. Fontaine is in your debt, Wriothesley.”
He is so honest, his voice is so kind and soft compared to how it was before that it hurts – and Wriothesley laughs. A chuckle escapes him and he can’t bother to suppress it because now he does get Neuvillette’s behaviour, and it’s ridiculous.
His jaw clenched, Neuvillette tilts his head in visible confusion as he looks the Duke’s way.
“Would you care to explain?”
Wriothesley rubs his face with one hand, frustration crawling up inside of him because of the sheer and utter injustice that Neuvillette has sentenced himself to bear.
He’s still the Iudex, now he governs and overlooks Fontaine, he gave a verdict to the humans – the byproducts of the usurper of his predecessor and him, the ones he could, he should hate – that freed all of them. He, somehow, even made it happen that the Mekas are still working in the city, and Wrtiohesley doesn’t even want to think about how this can be possible.
He has taken on so much, he has done so much, everything. And he only talked about his achievements indirectly. He hasn’t mentioned his pain, even if it’s clear as the sky on a happy, sunny day.
Neuvillette dismissed all his hardship and suffering as if they would be insignificant.
And then, he praised him for building a ship he knew about.
Wriothesley is angry – on Neuvillette’s behalf.
Even if the one who discredits him, fails to appreciate his achievements, and displays four hundred years of hurt is Neuvillette himself.
Now with all the information, Wriothesley also understands without any words why Neuvillette has been acting differently towards him. He has yet to confirm which one of the silly reasons is exactly at the leading place but Wriothesley can guess quite well.
“Neuvillette,” he starts, his voice stern, waiting until they look into each other’s eyes for long seconds. The lilac gaze on him is fierce, powerful – but exhausted. He knows the Judge too well to note the difference.
Wriothesley can’t even imagine how Neuvillette can feel now. Learning all of his past heritage, of the last centuries’ deception. Once again, as he has always done, putting himself behind, swallowing down everything painful, and helping those in need. Allowing Fontainians to stay alive and also, sacrificing himself to let them live and strive. To correct what is wrong, to stay here and uncover why this nation rots on the inside but shines on the outside.
A questioning look prompts Wriothesley to explain. His tone light, a half smile on his lips, he says, “I’d like to ask you something.”
Neuvillette blinks – he wasn’t expecting a question. But in the form of a small nod, he permits the Duke to proceed.
“Do you think you’ve changed?”
“Pardon?”
“Do you think that now, after all that happened, you’re different?”
Squinting slightly, confusion is written over the Judge. “I believe I’ve told you who I am. And how I’ve gained my power.” His voice is almost hurt and the ‘without my intention’ floats between them.
“Mhm, you have,” humming, Wriothesley turns his torso more towards Neuvillette. The Opera’s chairs are still far enough from each other, two massive armrests separating them completely.
“I don’t think I see your point.”
“Indeed, you clearly don’t.” Wriothesley stops for a moment, hesitating. The air between them feels like it’s filled with invisible Electro energy, tension building up, waiting to snap and destroy.
It’s not his intention to make this any worse but Wriothesley knows what he is about to say may be important for the person he loves the most for a much longer time than he will be allowed to walk by his side on this earth.
“You’re impartial about everyone but yourself. You’re kind-hearted and merciful towards all – even those who have hurt you – except yourself. You…” Uncertain, Wriothesley reaches out with one hand to touch Neuvillette’s forearm which falls the closest to him but seeing his tense reaction, he doesn’t dare to finish his motion, he stops mid-air. He swallows a little before he continues.
“You are incredibly powerful but you’re still the same person with the gentlest soul. You’re caring, selfless, and compassionate. You always just give and you never take. You decided to shoulder everything alone now while you discredit yourself and dismiss your suffering.”
Finding his words and confidence, Wriothesley feels like now he’s on a trial like his own was before – he’s still on the defendant’s side but now he is trying to defend and argue, instead of admitting guilt and giving up.
He proceeds to say more, “You may judge me, it is your duty to do so. If it has to be that way and you disagree with my points, then let it be. But I won’t wait in silence while you fail to take care of yourself. You are strong, unbelievably. You’re about to reform this land for the better but you’re still one person when it comes to the bureaucracy and outdated systems. While fulfilling your old duty and even more now.”
His hand still being in the air, Wriothesley stops talking. Neuvillette’s gaze is trained on him but his expression is an apathetic mask, devoid of all emotions and reactions. As the Duke stays silent, he turns his head away, slowly, but he doesn’t react.
It’s the slightest of motions of his shoulders towards slumping that allow Wriothesley to try his luck. Neuvillette’s position may have changed and he changed with it – but Wriothesley firmly believes that the person he loves is still the same. Unbothered by the possible consequences – because he is insignificant on this scale – his resolve solidifies and he reaches out.
Caring fingers touch Neuvillette’s forearm – and time stops between them for a second.
Neuvillette tenses by the connection but he doesn’t move to resist. After this, Wriothesley dares to continue with more.
His hand unwavering, his touch firm, he says, “I’m amazed by your new powers but I love you the same. I adore you for who you are, for what you stand for, and not for your titles. If you let me, I’d like to stand by your side and help you as much as I can, in every way I can.”
Neuvillette’s head drops a little, his bangs hiding his face away.
Unsure if this is rejection, Wriothesley adds what he would have said anyway, only his soul heavier as he does so. “If you don’t want my help, then I will leave. But please, allow someone close. Let others share your burden and aid you as you’re doing what is right, even if it’s the hardest option out of all. You don’t have to do it all alone.”
Silence settles over the Opera.
As Wriothesley words perish into the intangible void that’s between them, nothing more remains but the deafening soundlessness.
His hand feeling now burning – because it must have been misplaced – Wriothesley slowly raises it to take it away while he simultaneously inquires, carefully, “Neuvillette?”
But as soon as he says the beloved name and lifts his hand, Neuvillette’s other hand is on top of his, not letting the contact go. The Judge’s shoulders start shaking lightly and as hesitant as if he’d be afraid, he looks up, slowly and uncertainly as the water is when it just leaves its source as a small vein.
“Please,” Neuvillette whispers, his lips trembling. His lilac gaze finds Wriothesley’s blue – and his eyes are swimming in tears. He blinks quickly to stop them from overflooding but a large drop still escapes. It runs down on his cheek, free – it’s released which is something that Neuvillette hasn’t allowed himself for centuries and he won’t allow himself for many more. “Please,” he repeats, swallowing, “don’t leave me.”
The imaginary force around Wriothesley’s heart makes it clench so hard that his whole chest hurts. He holds onto Neuvillette’s forearm, fiercely, confirming it with words, “I am by your side as long as I can.”
His icy gaze doesn’t let Neuvillette’s glossy one go, leaning towards the armrests that separate them, he grips the Judge’s forearm as if his touch would also say, he won’t ever let go.
Standing and prompting him to do as well, pulling lightly, Wriothesley makes Neuvillette rise to his feet only to be able to hug him close. He guides his love’s body to his own and while holding him, he lowers himself back to the seat, making Neuvillette sit in his lap, his legs hanging together on Wriothesley’s right.
Neuvillette leans close and curls up on himself a bit, his face buried in the crook of Wriothesley’s neck, in the soft fur of his coat. His arms sneak around his muscular back and he pulls himself close – and Wriothesley completes their embrace. He holds his love as if this would be the last time he’s able to do so.
One hand buried in his silky hair, the other caresses Neuvillette’s back, up and down in slow motion, as one would comfort someone whom they care about the most.
Wriothesley would give his life for Neuvillette any day – and they both know this. Devoted with his entire being, he hugs Neuvillette as if he’d say, he won’t ever let go.
There’s so much he would like to tell; confessing a million times, promising he’ll always be there, already trying to help his love to figure out logistics – after all, that is something Wriothesley is good at.
But staying silent, he says neither, not now, not yet. While holding his love – even if he has become more than what Wriothesley can fully comprehend – his mind is only on Neuvillette. None of them may know the future but Wriothesley believes, unwaveringly, that Fontaine is going to change for the better.
No one could ever ask for a better leader, for a better guide who is the kind-hearted, impartial god of life by heritage, presiding over all living beings – and if it can be Wriothesley’s task to help him then he’s the most eager to comply. Whatever they will become because of the lack of time and energy as the result of how much Neuvillette’s duties may consume, he does not care.
The moment any of them would choose to be selfish over to do what is morally good, what they have, the pillars of that high tower, would break, and it all would become meaningless.
In the ruined interior of the Opera Epiclese, maybe only for an hour but Wriothesley lets the Hydro Sovereign weep, rest, and piece himself together. The rightful ruler of the land he deems as his. His Sovereign. His Neuvillette. The person he would die for. His love.
In an affectionate voice, Wriothesley whispers into Neuvillette’s silky hair that falls before his face as they embrace each other, “I am yours, Mon Chéri. I love you now and I will love you forever. You have my word.”
Neuvillette just sighs, humming softly, so close that Wriothesley can feel it on the sensitive skin of his neck. He hugs him even more – and it is an answer enough.