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Something Aether can say of Childe with full certainty: he has a habit of showing up where he’s least expected.
“Since Jean said people come from all over to celebrate the festival, Paimon wonders if we’ll meet any of our friends—” Paimon cuts off mid-bite. “Aww, whaat? No way!”
Aether already knows who he’ll see if he turns around. There are few people he can think of who elicit that reaction from Paimon merely at a glimpse. He sighs, and turns anyway, and sure enough: Childe is in Mondstadt, waving at Katheryne as he ducks under a low-hanging garland of Calla Lilies.
At the first meeting of their eyes, excitement makes a genuine smile of Childe’s mouth. “Comrade!”
“Augh!” Paimon throws the rest of her Sticky Honey Roast onto her plate. “It couldn’t have been Xiangling, or Mr. Zhongli, or—”
“Now, Paimon, that’s not very in the spirit of celebration, is it? After all, I do plan to participate in the games. I heard something about prizes.” Childe is obviously as unphased as ever by Paimon’s poor reception at his presence, so Aether turns back to his lemonade.
“Last time we met, weren’t you going back to Snezhnaya? Hey!” Paimon cuts off indignantly as Childe takes the empty seat across from her. “You can’t just sit down like you’re invited—”
Aether rests his arm on the back of the chair and looks Childe over. Somehow, he doubts whatever prize Mondstadt may offer the winner of the Windblume Festival is worth such a long-distance trip. “You’re not really here for that, are you?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Childe glances over the strung-flowers and decorative foliage as he leans back. “I thought you’d be in town.” He smiles, and the expression doesn’t budge even when Aether frowns right back.
“You’re here... for me?”
“If there are festivities, there could be fighting! I wouldn’t so easily pass up the opportunity to face you again. This would make a perfect backdrop.” He gestures above at the bundles of tiny Windwheel Asters. “A fresh breeze to stir the air, deadly combat amidst all these flowers, and the thrill of triumph—for one of us.”
This is a very public place to have such a conversation, and Childe isn’t exactly keeping his voice down. Aether glances around nervously. Sara’s brow is furrowed, her hand hidden behind the counter. Margaret squints in their direction, holding a broom. Marjorie looks like she’s a second away from storming over with nothing but her fists, or perhaps a particularly sturdy turnip.
If Childe notices the looks they are starting to gain, he doesn’t let on.
Paimon catches on to where Aether is looking. “Erm, Childe, perhaps we should have this conversation somewhere else. The people of Mondstadt might not take too kindly to you—” she drops into a whisper, “—threatening the Honorary Knight!”
Childe just shrugs. “Perhaps you are right. It’s no trouble; I’ll find you later. I need to drop by a place called the Grand Goth Hotel to see my colleagues first, anyway.”
And then, as if his appearance is anything other than shocking, as if he hasn’t just drawn the concern and ire of everyone in the general vicinity, Childe simply walks away.
After a moment of mutual silence, Paimon whirls on Aether. “Wait a minute, did the Knights just let him walk right in here?! Seriously?!”
Aether doesn’t see Childe again until the festivities have formally begun.
The first event is held above a field just west of Windrise, with flowers, obstacles, and wind tunnels carefully strewn about in the sky. This game’s rules are simple: collect as many Fluorescent Flowerballs and Honey-Petal Crowns as possible, avoid the Vortex Balloons along the way, and reach the Finish Line Garland as fast as possible.
Aether arrives just in time to observe Noelle’s attempt and learn from her mistakes. She starts strong, with a clean dive and excellent form, but makes a misstep after her first Crown, when she swerves and bumps into a Vortex instead. Immediately she’s fumbling, grip unsteady on her glider and the outcome painfully obvious even before she ultimately careens into the grass below.
Aether is still cataloguing a strategy of his own when a hand suddenly clasps his shoulder. “Don’t look away,” Childe murmurs beside him, before approaching the launch point with his arms stretched over his head.
The request was unnecessary; there is nothing that could have pulled Aether’s focus from the sight of Childe diving gracefully from the cliffedge. He snatches three Flowerballs in a row, then pulls his glider for what feels like a mere second, using the momentum from his interrupted fall to swing into a different direction—and rather than gliding through the remainder of the obstacles, he free-falls.
One, two, three Crowns in a row, and then the same tactic to swap direction, and Childe pulls his limbs in close. He careens through a circle of balloons head-first, and Aether only realises he’s covering his mouth with his hand when he gasps behind it.
“He’s crazy!” Paimon exclaims, and Aether nods wholeheartedly. Childe is—absolutely, inarguably—crazy.
“He’s also won.” Kaeya is the second person to spook Aether today. “What a stunt to pull... He seems rather motivated to win, hm?”
Paimon crosses her arms with a sigh. “That’s Childe for you. Always showing off.”
Kaeya just chuckles, and when Aether finally looks away from the sight of Childe raising his arms in triumph, he catches a smirk before Kaeya hides it.
When Aether and Paimon arrive at the second event, on the shoreline east of the aerial course, they find none other than Barbatos himself, perched atop a high stool strongly resembling the kind decorating the Angel’s Share.
Of course, already standing before him, testing the strings on a lyre crafted from pale birch, is Childe.
“Welcome!” Venti greets them. “Ooh, Traveller, I’m looking forward to what music you create.”
“Come on, Aether,” Paimon hisses, “you’d better win! Paimon wants to show up Childe and the Tone-deaf Bard!”
Aether smothers his amusement. She’s been mad ever since the results of the first event came out and they placed second—behind her least-favourite ginger.
Venti just beams before leaning back on his stool. “I have high hopes for you. After all, the most beautiful ballads are oft to be found in the quietest places. Or from within the least-expected hearts.” As if to agree with his own statement, he nods sagely. “...Anyway! We have a contestant who has patiently been waiting for your arrival.”
“Wouldn’t want you to miss the fun,” Childe offers by way of explanation, before taking a deep breath. “Ready.”
Venti strums his lyre, and—
The chord reverberates and cuts through other sound in a way Aether can’t recall ever noticing before. Venti strums again, and for a moment Aether forgets they’re standing by the beach. He forgets the crash of the waves, the bending of the grass. He forgets all the ambient noise around them—there is only the sound of strings humming in the air.
And then Childe picks up alongside, and Aether’s lungs ache from how sharply he inhales the fresh breeze. He remembers a faint detail, something half-mentioned and almost-forgotten—that Childe sometimes dabbles in theatre, that he’s always had a fondness for the arts.
He does not empty his lungs until the final notes linger in the air. When Childe opens his eyes, they’re already fixed on Aether. His expression is piercing, and it feels in every way as if what was played, was somehow played for—
“When did Childe get so good at music?!”
Paimon’s outburst snaps the tug between their caught gazes. Childe shrugs. “It’s not my first time on a stage.” He hops down with a wink.
“Clearly not, stranger,” Venti says with a sideways glance at Paimon. “That was quite a performance, and more than worthy of a gold score.”
Childe nods. “You play well, Master Bard. It was my pleasure!” To Aether, he bends slightly at the waist before smirking. “It does not matter the battlefield upon which we meet. I will savour the fight regardless.”
Venti’s eyes do something best described as twinkling. Then he turns to Aether.
“Now, your turn!”
That evening, Aether and Paimon wander the streets of Mondstadt in search of festival food. The garlands sway above in the mild breeze, and all around people talk and drink. He catches sight of Margaret setting up a cloth-covered table outside the Cat’s Tail, of Sara presenting a steaming Pile ‘Em Up with flowers adorning the top, and—
“Ooh, is that Jean? And Lisa?” Paimon coos with glee.
Sure enough, there they are just ahead, Lisa spinning a purple rose between her fingers and speaking animatedly to Jean, whose cheeks are flushed a lovely pink. Aether takes a moment to appreciate the sight; friendly company and the night air suits her.
“Let’s go say hi!”
As they approach, Jean greets them with a smile. “Ah, Honorary Knight, Paimon, a pleasure to see you this evening.”
Lisa smirks. “Word around here is you’ve got a friend crushing the competition.”
Aether presses his fingers to his temples. Childe is headache incarnate, sometimes. “I didn’t invite him, if that’s what you’re insinuating.”
“Now, cutie, of course you didn’t invite him. That doesn’t mean he’s not still—”
“Enough, Lisa,” Jean sighs, “I know you’re just looking out for my workload, but we do accept guests of all backgrounds. And he hasn’t broken any laws in Mondstadt.”
“Yet,” Lisa offers.
“Yet,” Paimon concurs.
“...Yet,” Jean finally agrees.
Lisa shrugs. “Well, as long as he stays away from the Library.”
Paimon whispers under her breath. “Maybe we’d better keep a closer eye on Childe...”
The first event of the second day is a fishing tournament at Cider Lake. Each type of fish is allotted a particular score, and participants are encouraged to spread themselves along the bank to avoid crowding and dissuade arguments.
Aether arrives on the far eastern shore bright and early and manages to catch a respectable quantity of Medaka and Pufferfish. After a vigorous high-five from Paimon, they haul the spoils back to be judged—meaning, of course, that Aether carries the fish while Paimon floats.
They hear the argument before they see it. “I caught them in this lake!” Childe’s voice is clear, and he doesn’t sound pleased.
“But sir, there hasn’t been a sighting of this fish in Mondstadt... ever! We checked the records—”
“Come now, comrade,” Childe’s voice has dropped a beat. “You’re not accusing me of cheating, are you?”
“W-w-w-well...”
“What’s going on here?” Paimon bursts in.
“Ah, Honorary Knight, I’m glad you’ve returned,” the judge says. “This contestant is claiming to have caught two Angelfish in the lake, but...” He nervously glances over his shoulder at an increasingly irritated Childe before whispering, “They don’t live here.”
Paimon narrows her eyes at Childe, but Aether steps in before she can escalate. “Easy solution.” He faces Childe. “You caught two of them, right?”
“Yes.”
“You can catch a third, then, can’t you? Right in front of the judge?”
Childe blinks, and his smile relaxes into something more like his usual. “I certainly can.”
The judge stammers. “B-but, if he planted them in the lake—”
Aether cuts in again. “It doesn’t matter either way, does it, if he’s catching them? The rules don’t specify that the species must be endemic.”
The poor man blanches before sighing and giving in with a wave. “Have at it.”
An impressive few minutes later, Childe drops his third Angelfish directly in the judge’s hands.
“Th-That’s a gold score...”
The last event of the second day is held outside the Thousand Winds Temple. Childe joins them after the fishing tournament is halted by an investigation into those Angelfish. Aether doesn’t ask how he caught them; he doesn’t even want to know.
“Three gold scores means just one to go, right, Childe?” Paimon asks.
“Correct! I’m close to completing the festival, and not a moment too soon. I’ll be departing tomorrow.”
Before Aether can comment, a high voice rings clear. “Rejoice! For none other than the Prinzessin der Verurteilung will be the shining beacon against the looming dark, vanquishing all villainous falsehoods where suspended!”
“Ready to take out the targets, Mein Fräulein!”
Their approach is met by the sight of electric-lanced arrows soaring through the air, bursting balloon after balloon. A streak of dark against the blue sky marks Oz crashing through a number of them with a raucous caw.
By the time they reach the judge, Fischl’s round has already ended.
“Ring the bells, sound the trumpets! For your Prinzessin hath once more triumphed!”
As she and Oz leave the arena, Childe looks back, contemplative. “Hmm. I’m not so sure about this Prinzessin business, but I think I see a solid strategy here.”
Paimon sets her hand to her cheek. “How is Childe going to compete against Fischl? He says strategy... but Paimon doesn’t understand what he means!”
It turns out that what he means is to unleash absolute chaos. No sooner has the whistle blown than Childe is shooting more arrows than Aether has ever seen in his life. He’s fast—so fast it takes Aether a moment to realise he’s supplementing the actual wooden ones with hydro, and even longer to realise that he’s missing almost half his shots.
Accuracy notwithstanding, it is in an astoundingly short time that all balloons have been popped.
Paimon’s jaw clicks shut. “Well, Paimon supposes that’s one way to win.” Childe jauntily rejoins them, pride radiating from him at the clear success. Behind him, Fischl approaches.
“How rare... this competitor hath rendered mine Auge der Verurteilung blind. What secrets kept might beget such anomaly?”
“Mein Fräulein is asking—”
Childe shrugs as he turns around. “How I won, right? Simple. You can approach an accuracy-based game in one of two fundamental ways: precision, or force. You used the former. I used the latter.”
Fischl covers her mouth with the back of a gloved hand. “Aha! You must be a Krieger-Träger der Entropie! None other could evade mine Auge! Very well. I, the Prinzessin der Verurteilung, sovereign of the Immernachtreich, hereby acknowledge thy victory.”
“You travel with the most interesting people,” Childe murmurs, once Fischl and Oz depart. “Wherever did you manage to find—”
“Sir! Sir! Your gold score!” The judge stops running to catch his breath. “We humbly grant you this, under the caveat that you never, huff, participate again!”
“Never participate again?” Paimon repeats.
The haggard man wipes his brow. “We’ll be picking up arrows for an hour just from him alone.” He hurries off as quickly as he came, complaints drifting in the wild, “Where does he even KEEP them?”
“I suppose we’ll come back later,” Aether suggests. His head is killing him. The festival has been barely relaxing at all, running through event after event with Childe like this. “Actually. There’s a pub I think you might enjoy.”
Kaeya never seems to have a full day’s work on his plate, after all.
The sun still hangs high in the sky but Aether’s energy is fast ebbing. He needs a break—for his own sanity—and Childe might also benefit from a little time away from the competitive nature of these events.
Thankfully, they’re in luck. Just outside the Angel’s Share, Kaeya is lounging with a glass of wine, nodding along as Klee acts out some kind of story for him.
She stops mid-sentence to greet them when they’re near. “Hello, Honorary Knight! Hello, Paimon! Hello... hmmm.” Klee glances up at Childe. “Who are you?”
Kaeya chuckles, though his eye is fixed firmly on Childe. “That is a Fatui Harbinger.”
“My name is Childe. Nice to meet you, Miss...?” Childe offers his hand.
“Klee! Nice to meet you too, Mister Fatooey!”
Kaeya sits up properly. “And what brings us the pleasure of a visit from Mondstadt’s Honorary Knight and Snezhnaya’s youngest Harbinger?” His smile is wide, entirely without warmth, and if Aether weren’t so tired he might think twice about leaving Childe with someone who looks at him so intensely. But Aether is exhausted, and Childe can look after himself.
“Don’t the Knights entertain foreign dignitaries?”
Childe turns to Aether with a surprised noise, Kaeya sips his drink with a contemplative hum, and Klee hops up on a chair.
“I suppose we do.”
“Comrade—”
“Good.” Aether is already turning to leave, ignoring the scramble of Paimon catching up with him, the bemused chuckle from Kaeya, and the “Well, I suppose the pleasure’s mine, Klee,” from Childe.
“Is it really a good idea to leave Childe with Kaeya of all people?” Paimon hisses.
“He’s already babysitting.” Aether shrugs. “What’s one more?”
He’s finally nursing an apple cider, sitting comfortably in the shade behind the Angel’s Share, and beginning to feel for the first time as if the Windblume Festival could be relaxing.
BOOM!
Paimon shoots forward in alarm. “Aether! What was that?”
BOOM!
“We should check it out! Come on! Paimon thinks it came from that way!” She points at the outer wall of the city.
Aether looks longingly at the cold, sweet cider, and then sets it down and follows. The Knights are on different patrol routes for the festival, so Guy and Herta aren’t in their usual spots. Just as they duck around the corner, he can hear high-pitched giggling.
BOOM!
“Is that...” Paimon begins.
“Fish blasting, yes,” Aether confirms.
Down the shore, Childe points animatedly as Klee wiggles and readies herself to aim. He yells something indecipherable, and as they watch, she throws the bomb and cheers when it explodes. Kaeya seems entirely unbothered, leaning against the outer wall of the city and drinking wine. At their attention, he looks over and raises his glass.
“They’re fine,” Aether dismisses. “Kaeya’s not actually so irresponsible that he’d let anything happen to Klee.”
“Hmm, Paimon supposes you’re right.”
As they make to return to Aether’s drink, shade, and hard-won rest, he overhears Klee ask Childe, “Will Mr. Fatooey be giving the Honorary Knight a Windblume? He’ll probably get lots. Everyone loves the Honorary Knight!”
Childe’s response isn’t loud as much as it is cutting: “What.”
BOOM!
Margaret’s Windbrew specialty has almost been perfected, and with the sun setting just beyond the horizon, Aether is ready for a hearty dinner. Just one more taste test and he can eat. He adds the ice cubes and raises his mixing spoon when a commotion breaks out by the entrance gate.
“Hey, uh—you—uh—”
“Stop right there!”
“What is that thing!?”
Aether freezes at the sight of Foul Legacy dragging a giant Cryo Regisvine corpse across Mondstadt’s bridge, the magic spilling from it and freezing the lake as they pass. He seems to barely notice the Knights’ attempts to stop him, and before anyone can intervene, he drops it in front of the Cat’s Tail and faces Aether with a grand gesture.
“I’ve been told it’s tradition to give a Windblume to the one you most admire.”
Proudly, Childe turns back into his regular self, looking only slightly worse-for-wear. His hair and suit are rumpled, he has a scratch on one cheek, and he’s positively beaming.
“What?” Aether croaks.
“I admit I only have a passing understanding of this festival, but mine meets all the criteria. A Windblume must be a flower,” he recites in a way that hints to Aether this information might have come from Klee, “and a very special one. What could be more fitting?”
“Oh my, when I heard there was something happening in the square, I certainly didn’t anticipate this.” Kaeya sounds entirely too amused.
First the insanity of Childe winning every event. Then the fish blasting. And now... Aether hops over the rail and grabs Childe’s hand to drag him off. They need to talk, and he doesn’t want an audience for this.
“Nope,” he hears Kaeya say, as Paimon yelps, “Let me go!”
“Give them space, I’ll buy dinner.”
Just past the bridge, Aether tugs Childe under a nearby Cuihua and finally vents his frustrations.
“You’ve been taking this way too far—”
The golden sheen of the crown Childe pulls from his pack halts Aether’s words. The care with which it is placed upon his head halts his breath.
“I may not know much about Windblumes, but I do know about winning.” Childe cups Aether’s cheek in a glove-warm hand. “Thank you for looking after Teucer, my friend.”
“I—” Aether starts. “Childe? Why did you come here, if you were going to give me your winnings?”
Childe just looks confused. “Isn’t it obvious?”
He kisses Aether, and time must pause, or freeze, or entirely give way, because the ghost of that touch lingers long after Childe has pulled away.
“Let’s make the next festival a Snezhnayan one, alright? I’ll host you for Krsnik Noc.”
And then, as if his presence in Mondstadt is anything other than shocking, as if he hasn’t just stolen Aether’s words and left his heart racing—
“Happy Windblume Festival, Aether.”