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Wriothesley hasn't set foot outside the Fortress of Meropide since he was but a little boy. The Fortress is a place where one hits rock bottom and can only work their way up, not only because they do not speak the language of the entire overworld—Mora, but also because this place has maintained consummate autonomy and with the knowledge that he's helping that cause, Wriothesley couldn't be more satisfied with his life.
His life is an amalgam of the gray of metal walls, the red and black tandem of his guards, and dim lighting everyday. He'd heard new prisoners complain about how claustrophobic the Fortress can be, which he understands, but perhaps the most comforting thing about the place is its unchanging nature. The waves hide these exiles from the rest of the world and in the shade comes their salvation.
Thus, an unexpected variable was thrown into his daily routine when Wriothesley found himself before Furina de Fontaine. Clad in flowing blue and white robes with flamboyant volumes in her sash and frills, she is the very epitome of the radiance of the overworld. In other words, she looked rather out of place in this gloomy prison.
“Your Ladyship.” Wriothesley regards her with surprise in his voice.
“There’s no need for that.” Furina says with a shake of her head. The only other time they’ve met in person was during his trial, where she was seated at her grant throne of divinity. Even dethroned, she has not lost an inch of dignity and how that can be so, Wriothesley is none the wiser.
“Miss Furina.” He corrects himself, and can feel himself grinning. It’s quite flattering to be visited by the most renowned performer in the land of waters and considering that there were no casualties in the Fortress, Wriothesley is sure some of his people would share his opinion. “What brings you here?”
“I’m simply here to return something.” Furina explains, taking out something from her little handbag. As his eyes dart to the object in question, he realizes it’s the Liyuen tea he’d scheduled to send to her every 1st day of the month. It’s an apology of sorts, for not entertaining her enough during his fateful trial.
And now he has to make another apology.
“I’m guessing it wasn’t to your liking.” Wriothesley says, his brows raised. He lets out a small sigh, distraught. “Apologies, madam. It slipped my mind that you prefer tea accompanied with sugar, and—”
“No, you misunderstand!” Furina protests. Her voice is high, just like how he remembers it and he can see her lips twitch as if wanting to slip back into her flamboyant act. “It’s just—uh, I am no longer your Archon and therefore, there’s no reason to send such fine tea to a civilian. I’ve come to return them, not complain!”
There are few people who would dare to raise their voice at the Duke of Meropide. Even fewer who would present themselves without pretense and with much clumsiness. Though he’s done quite a lot to earn that respect, it comes less naturally to exercise control when it comes to a former sovereign. It’s not as though Furina had said something offensive to him yet the silence of him and his subjects seemed to imply that she did. Wriothesley needed to fix that.
“Well, you didn’t disprove my point.” He says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Liyuen tea doesn’t quite fit your tastes, does it, Miss Furina?”
Furina looks at him like he’s grown another head. “W-well, yes, I do prefer extra ingredients in my tea… But—”
Wriothesley claps and flashes a wide, exuberant grin. If she were to look closely, it’s an imitation of her own theatrics. “Then let’s have tea in my office! I believe I still have some tea from Mondstadt. You might recognize it, madam. It’s the one poured over rock sugar and topped with heavy cream.”
He can see Furina’s eyes visibly light up and it is no act. She seems to deliberate her options carefully even as a civilian without a nation to lead. Perhaps even now, there is no one she can trust. When she looks up, he feels a tad warm under her scrutinizing blue gaze and takes it upon himself to lean down a little lest she has a private message for him.
“...Truly?” Furina asks tentatively. Wriothesley presumes that Neuvillette put in a somewhat good word for him, considering that she isn’t bolting out of the Fortress like she normally would in the face of a threat. Meaning she does not see him as a threat and for that, he is grateful.
“Yes, truly.” He answers with a smile.
That appears to have eased her anxiety, considering that she clears her throat and puts her hands on her hips, maintaining a proud chest. She looks positively pleased with these terms, and the air of practiced vanity and ostentation is not unfamiliar to him.
“Then I suppose it cannot be helped. I am simply too popular for my own good!” Furina remarks, sighing dramatically. “Nevertheless, I shall have tea with you, Your Grace. Ah, and I expect you to make good on your promise of Ostfriesentee!”
“Of course, Miss Furina.” Wriothesley smiles and extends his right arm for her to take. Furina looks utterly gobsmacked and looks to him for an explanation or an amendment. He does not give her one and clearly, this puzzles her. Yes, it appears he’s a complete enigma to the former archon who has five hundred years of experience of ruling all kinds of Fontainians under her belt.
Nevertheless, presumably to save face, Furina links her arm with his. It is only an act of courtesy, a gentleman’s prerogative, but Wriothesley finds himself quite pleased with this development.
“I suppose this means we are quite close, no?” He says in what he’d like to think is a stoic tone, but his face betrays him. He must look quite smug right now.
“ Technically , it means you’ve bribed my friendship with Ostfriesentee!” Furina retorts, her face turning a lovely shade of red. It appears she isn’t as accustomed to touch as he presumed. To prevent any more discomfort, he makes sure to match her steps as they walk to his office and entertain her enough not to mind the suspicious gaze of everyone else at the Fortress. In the tranquility, he’d forgotten how much Fontainians loved to gossip.
Wriothesley snorts. “And you are complaining?”
Furina clears her throat, embarrassed. “Regardless, I appreciate your hospitality.” She says warmly, and it appears this is genuine. “I truly did only come here to return your expensive tea. I wish I could return the previous ones, but ah… w-well! They were quite delicious, I have to say, and I believe it will be enjoyed by more important people you have to entertain. Now I am merely a civilian with nothing to my name, Your Grace.”
Wriothesley studies her face for a moment before scrunching up his nose and pretending to be skeptical. “...You intended to return an opened bag?”
“Err, well… Y-yes, that was… but a minor hiccup! I intended to have a taste this morning but I realized I did not actually know how to make tea for myself… Ergo, I concluded it would be best returned to you.” She hurried to explain, avoiding his eyes. “I was hoping I could explain in private , Your Grace.”
Wriothesley’s lips twitch into an amused grin. He audaciously makes no attempt to hide it either, but his tone remains flat and unrevealing.
“There is no need to explain.” He says. “I can brew it for you. Liyue mostly produces tea that doesn’t need extra ingredients. In fact, they say adding sugar or lemon will cause the elements of the tea to break down. However, rest assured. High-quality Liyuen tea is naturally sweet. Lest it’s not sweet enough for you, I still have Ostfriesentee.”
Furina raises a brow. “And you are telling me this now… why?” After an extended contemplative pause, she directs her gaze back to him. “Wait, did you perhaps… orchestrate this? Did you send me tea knowing I’d come here?”
“Well, I wouldn’t go that far.” Wriothesley flashes her a self-satisfied grin. “I was only hoping for the best possible outcome.”
“You…” Furina breathes out a disbelieving laugh. She doesn’t seem all that angry with this arrangement, he notices. “Best possible outcome for whom?”
“Unnecessary details.” Wriothesley dismissed in a burlesque tone, smiling. “Now, do you want that tea or not?”