Chapter Text
In Neuvillette’s mind, his personal history is always delineated as thus; before Celestia, and after Celestia. His own memory of life before is always muddled, hazy; he must have been young, he thinks - at one with the Primordial Ocean he had called his home. He cannot remember any of his own kin; but that is to be expected - dragons are, by nature, solitary creatures - prone to territorialism, wittingly or unwittingly, and more content to dwell alone - undisturbed by the troubles and travails of others, be they supernatural, or mortal. There are some things which remain in his memories, however; the warm intimacy of the Primordial Sea, with its almost amniotic comfort as it cradled him - carried him on all its eddies and currents; the strength he had felt welling in him, as he swam and span through the water - unrestrained, unburdened, free - at one with the land he lives close to, and its surrounding seas.
He remembers flashes of the war, briefly - not yet old enough to recognise it for what it was - the sky sulphur yellow over Liyue, as Morax felled god by god, one by one; the thunder over Inazuma, the storms over Mondstadt, the ceaseless rainfall over Fontaine. He remembers when it had stopped ; the strange, eerie quiet that surrounded him - the unbearable agony that coursed through him, as his own spirit had felt as if it were torn in half - of slipping into nothingness, only to wake and realise that his own power had been robbed from him; the rage that had filled him then. He had drifted almost aimlessly then, through the oceans - past the Primordial Sea, and into the waters of Teyvat; had watched as this strange new race of humans had bustled around Fontaine, crowding the land with new constructions, obscuring the skyline, carving channels into the land for artificial waterways. And he watches silently, causing barely a ripple in the waters around him; resentment welling deep within him as he grieved his loss, as if he only possessed only half of himself.
There had been a strange emotion that had lanced through him then - cold and hard; a need for vengeance, he had realised - soon afterwards. If he could make those who had robbed him answerable - and if not the Heavenly Principles themselves; then their avatars would suffice.
But most of all, he remembers Lady Furina. Lady Furina, who had once swaggered about the city as the Hydro Archon, who would go on to carve such an important place for herself inside his chest, in the centuries to follow - but Neuvillette, still young, practically in his infancy, for a dragon, had not known that. He certainly does not think it at the time; when he follows the divine aura contained with a blunt letter, asking him to be the Chief Justice of the Court of Fontaine. He remembers rolling those words about on his tongue silently, the words and script clumsy, foreign; human. Artificial titles for an artificial ruler. I shall leave you a seat with the best view in the greatest theatre, the Archon writes - he almost crumples the scroll it is written on in disgust. How pompous. And yet -
- yet, he is curious. The humans who come to populate the land are odd creatures, no doubt, from what he has seen of them - who seem to take their mortality as something to compete with; a burning need to prove themselves and make their mark on the world, if the alacrity with which their new city is built is any indication. Sometimes, he is not above a little playfulness; sometimes teases those who venture out to fish - a large shadow drifting under the boat, a flash of glowing eyes in front of fishermen who appear on the verge of sleeping at their posts; another tale for them to, undoubtedly, convey to their peers. He thinks of the children who line the jetties with large, brightly coloured kites that soar through the air; of the individuals who bustle past in all manner of garments - finds himself thinking, as he drifts through the sun-warmed waters that summer, much like the otters who frequent these seas, of how perplexing humanity seems - their determination to invent so many distractions to occupy their time. What drives you so?
The best view in the greatest theatre, he thinks idly - turns the offer in his mind at night; the rest of the world may sleep - but the sea is always awake - and he has never felt a need to slumber. And to preside over it as Chief Justice. Hm. Perhaps he should not dismiss the notion so readily. After all; he has been here longer than the humans have; longer than the new Archon has, most likely - he is closer to the land they occupy, than they.
It is not as if the position will be permanent, either; long, but not forever. Neuvillette can be patient; knows that Archons are not permanent - has heard vague whispers through the water, of the demise of the Archon in Sumeru, the disappearance of Barbatos - the turmoil that had caused Inazuma to shut itself away from the rest of the continent. This Hydro Archon, too - will not last forever. And what, really, is time in the eyes of a dragon? And when judgement day comes - what grander irony would it be, to be able to judge the archons themselves, for their stolen power, than from a seat of authority which one of them had appointed him to, ultimately?
It might merit some investigation, after all.
Neuvillette realises, suddenly, that there is no way to reply. Whoever this archon is - they have not equipped him with the means to respond, other than in person. A clever ploy, perhaps; for to appear before the Archon could simply be another attempt to sway him - instead of being able to write an objective yes, or no. He doubts it is complete negligence, and he places greater stock in the gods’ potential for deviousness, rather than their complacency. After all - this is a new Archon; eager to assert their authority presumably, and with tricks that spill out of both their sleeves and pockets. Part of him is almost impressed; he quickly suppresses that, in favour of annoyance. Just like an Archon, to already presume he is at their beck and call. He almost feels inclined to refuse the post, simply because of that. And yet - it is curiousity that wins that battle, continues to drive him, as he takes the scroll delicately in his jaw - and concentrates on tracing the divinity he had felt, contained within it.
When he rises closer to the surface, he is met by a peculiar sight. It is difficult to discern all the details - the water distorts the image, threatens to wash everything to a blur, if he moves too hastily. A small woman stands on the jetty, in front of a fairly large crowd; the dockyards which he likes to observe, occasionally, are packed. Adolescents have scrambled onto rooftops, chin in their hands as they lean forwards avidly, hanging onto her every word. Neuvillette still does not know a great deal about Archons - but he supposes that it is only to be expected, that they would assume a similar form to their subjects; senses the same divinity within her, that he had in the letter - not as strong, as he might have thought, perhaps but pulsing like a second heartbeat, nevertheless. Her hair is a curious colour - several shades of blue, strands of hair floating beside her in a manner that reminds him a little of the delicate fronds of pale seaweed he will sometimes drift past in the ocean. She is - objectively - beautiful externally; he doubts that Celestia would have their pawns any other way; Neuvillette can give her that, at least - after all, he rather imagines there are no greater judges of that value, than dragons themselves.
And he can tell she is an archon. It is in the way she carries herself; posture upright, gestures grand, voice travelling through the air with such authority and arrogance and conviction - as if she is in the middle of some grand proclamation. In fact, it appears she is - although the context is unclear; he does, however, wager it has something to do with the strange, bell-shaped contraption suspended above the surface of the water - and from which a bedraggled looking human stumbles. His companion, who has been busy overseeing what appear to be canisters, is quick to reach forward and catch him with a relieved smile; and when they turn to her - eyes shining with apprehension, clearly looking for praise - no matter whether they are simply fed scraps. From his limited hearing in the water, he can hear snippets of the conversation, of “ what a magnificent invention, as befitting the Fontaine Research Institute, ” and a fawning, “we could not have done it without your help,” tries his best to restrain a snort at how easily mortals, and this archon - seem to be so gratified; he is not quite successful - a flurry of bubbles escape his nostrils, travelling across the surface - and although he does shift a little further underwater, he can see the way in which she at least - freezes momentarily; turns her head infinitesimally in the direction of the water. And then - she shakes her head; magnanimous mask slipping into place, once more - soaks up the loud, lively cheers that greet her every announcement like a sponge, smile growing wider by the second. He wonders, if he were able to spectate from a more advantageous position, if it meets her eyes.
This is, he realises - a show of her own power, as she stands in front of the cheering, whooping crowds. They love her - they adore her, beyond any measure; stare at her as if she has not only hung the moon and the stars above their heads, but holds their very destiny in her hands. And of course - she does; in a broad, abstract sort of way. If he agrees - she will hold his destiny, too; he realises, suddenly - that despite his original intention to accept, he is still unsure, exactly, what his answer might be. She certainly speaks with conviction; but there is equally something too perfect about it all - her poise, her eloquence; as if this is all simply a grand performance she is putting on for the benefit of others - rather than her own beliefs.
He contemplates the merits of emerging now; wonders, if - considering the nature of her letter, she might appreciate the drama of it all - and decides against it in an instant. While he sees the humour in it - he doubts it would place him in her favour, if they are to negotiate. So - he waits; an hour, maybe two - before the event is finally over, and the crowds have dissipated - and only the Archon herself appears to be left; fiddling with her gloves - folding and refolding some of the spare towels which the researchers have left, in their haste to celebrate their leader’s approval. And then - her posture stiffens, she inhales - head snapping upwards, spinning on her heel until she faces the water.
“Alright,” she calls - voice ringing out across the water, clear and hard - determined. “Who is it, who sought to disturb the peace of the Hydro Archon, earlier? I will listen to your entreaty, seeing as I am so generous. ” She perches on a nearby crate; one leg crossing over the other, as she nods emphatically, imperious smile stretched across her lips. “You have waited your turn - now I can provide you with at least a conversation, if not a solution. Just because I am the Hydro Archon, does not mean that I am able to solve everything with just a click of my fingers!”
And for a moment - Neuvillette is sorely tempted not to surface, until that grin slides from her face; until part of her composure wavers at the thought she might have been wrong - that there had been no eavesdropper, after all. But - he is not cruel; and quite honestly - if he doesn’t surface soon, his own burning curiosity will likely compel him to. It is odd, he muses, as he slides out - and up from the water; conscious of the impression he makes, when the sun gleams across his scales, and water drips from his snout and whiskers in steady streams - of how he towers over his surroundings - shadow stretching long across the rooftops of the nearby buildings, tail flicking lazily behind him, boats rocking as water surges around him, small waves washing over the low walls of the harbour.
Some unnameable emotion flashes through her eyes, as she scrambles to her feet; if it is fear - then she hides it well - tucking her hands behind her back, rocking backwards on her feet as she turns what might have been a surprised shriek, into a cough. He promptly flicks his snout upwards; drops the scroll towards her.
“There was no way to respond to the correspondence,” he intones, as he watches her catch the scroll - and almost fumble it completely. Even Archons, he muses, are capable of a display of nerves, it seems; “I hope I was not assuming - but I imagined the only reason for that was that you wished to see me in person.” And as he speaks - he watches as a sea-change overcomes her features - as apprehension is consumed by that easy arrogance, once more. He does not know why she should be so concerned with him; after all, it is she who wields the greater power. For now.
“Hah!” she laughs, clutching at her sides - the sound ringing out into the still air - as if she is acutely aware of any stragglers. “All part of my plan, of course, my dear Iudex - what a great jest you have played upon me, as well! If, of course,” she pauses - glances across at him carefully. “It is not too presumptuous to call you that. I assume that if you were not interested, then you would have simply consigned the letter to the bottom of the sea. And I am not surprised you would choose to accept - for who would refuse their Archon?”
“I still have not given you my answer,” Neuvillette replies, with equanimity. “As I stated before, you gave me no other recourse but to appear in front of you. And as befits a nation that prides itself on upholding justice - I would like to state my case, as it were. Or, at least, pose this question. Why should I help you? Surely an Archon would be able to manage a region by themselves, should they not? Why rely on another power when you could exert your sole authority over your subjects?”
And that, too - seems to cast the Hydro Archon adrift - if only for a matter of seconds; he can see the way that steely, over bright smile starts to creep back into her features - is compelled to halt its progress. “And - I want no answer in which only a little is disguised as a lot. I am not a human. I will not be swayed by petty blandishments.”
“I suppose,” the Archon says, gaze contemplative for the briefest of moments. “I can agree to that. I acknowledge that you might have - some initial doubts…about working with me; even if you should have full faith in me, nevertheless - ” her eyes slide to the side, arms folded, one hand under her chin, clearly deep in thought. “- we might have to work on fixing your approach to things, when you come to the Palais Mermonia - but I appreciate your desire for sincerity. As expected, of course, from a future Iudex. It is only fitting that you listen to arguments for, and arguments against. May I enquire, for a moment - as to what reasoning you have.”
There is a certain slyness that rests in the curve of her lips, as she looks towards him - settles for propping her hands on her hips, her deliberation over. “After all - in a court of law, is it not necessary that the prosecution states their case first? Oh,” she holds up a hand, laughing a little. “That is of course, the role I have assigned you in this context; after all, you were the one who sought me out with questions, were you not? So - what do you have to say, Monsieur? Can you tell me why you think you might not take up the position?”
And Neuvillette finds himself on the back foot now - rears back, almost unconsciously.
“...why should I concern myself with the affairs of humans?” he asks. “That was, I admit, my first thought. I have watched you all from a distance - before you, there was Egeria,” and for a moment, he watches a shadow pass over her features - so quickly, he might have missed it. “And - humans live such short lives. Their matters and concerns are not ones I share. I also thought, then - why should I work with an Archon? Throughout my existence, the Heavenly Principles have only been a source of grief to me - they have stolen my power, my sense of self - ” he turns away, looks towards the cool light of the moon. “I do not harbour much love for them, or for you. ” And for a moment, there is a long stretch of silence - before the Archon next speaks.
“And what, Monsieur?” she says, tone so soft - it might be a whisper. “What arguments did you have, in favour of joining?”
“...I have dwelt in these waters, far longer than many of the humans who were present today - longer than you have been Archon. I confess, my memory is lacking in some regards - I believe I was too young to remember much of the War; I did not concern myself with Egeria, nor she with me - but I suppose, it is in a dragon’s nature to be somewhat territorial. Fontaine is my home - even before its current incarnation; I would not see the land, or the seas around it fall to ruin. And I could not stand idly by, if someone else were to do such a thing. What good would it be to say, that I had been able to counter any form of destruction - if I had not been there to ward off the possibility in the first place?”
“Monsieur,” the Archon says slowly. “Then, I believe we are of the same opinion. Tell me - are you aware of my full title? I suppose not. I would think you were the only one who could claim ignorance, and I would believe you. But - I rule not just over people, but kindreds, waters and laws. My role is to uphold the notions of justice, despite the spectacle. I am duty bound to look after everyone and everything in Fontaine; the humans, the Melusines, the land we till, sow and reap from - the waters which bless us with life, with such a bountiful supply of food. I do not want to see this country come to destruction, any more than you do - and I invited you, with the hope that you might have the same views, as a display of unity between the old and the new.”
She inhales, gazes up at him - there is a hard, resolved glint in her eyes. “And you do . Monsieur - there is so much which Fontaine has to offer to the world, can offer to both you or I - and in return; all we have to do is offer our hearts and our service. If one thinks about it - we are getting the better end of the deal. But trust in me, when I say that I want nothing more than for this region to flourish. I want tales of the city’s splendour and wealth to reach Liyue; of our Research Institutes to spread their findings to Sumeru - of our culture and opera to be known beyond these boundaries - to drift to Mondstadt and Inazuma. And what better seat could you have, than to help me with that? I promise I will not subjugate you. I will not think of you as lesser. We will be partners in this endeavour, you and I. The perfect conspirators, to bring about the revival of this nation!”
It is not, Neuvillette can concede - an uncompelling argument. In fact, if he were one of the many humans who had flocked around her only minutes before, he thinks he might have fallen under her spell completely. There is a certain charm to this Hydro Archon; a constant draw to her character - as if, in a crowded room - his eyes might still be guided towards her first. But - he is not human; he tells himself that is a reassurance. He is not so easily swayed; will not change his opinion with such abandon. He is filled with a desire to ensure she speaks the truth; no matter the grandiosity which couches it - humans have already ceded their autonomy, or part of it, to their Archons. He must convince himself he is making the right decision, before he cedes some of his. The moment he agrees - sheds his skin as a dragon, and steps into the shoes of Chief Justice - he is beholden to her; no longer his own.
But, in a way, a voice in his mind suggests. Do you not think that she is also beholden to you? After all - what she proposes is a partnership - she offers part of herself to you, too. This is not as inequal as you might try to convince yourself.
“Will you swear to it?” he presses, watches the way her eyes slide to the side once more, the slight hunch of her shoulders. “Will you swear to me, that you only have Fontaine’s interests at heart? That you will not let it fall?”
“Yes,” she says, after a beat of silence - a loud exhale - looks him in the eye; shoulders squared, gloved hands curled into fists at her sides - chin tilted up; as if in defiance. “ Yes. I promise that I will do everything within my capability to prevent any disaster from occurring.”
“Then I accept,” he says. “I accept your terms - and I will become your Chief Justice.” And then - a strange thing happens; one which it is clear neither of them are expecting, if the manner in which she stumbles backwards is any indication. Because he is shrinking, rapidly - body and form changing beyond his comprehension - until, he realises, with a burst of shock - that he resembles a human. Whatever power is behind it - it does, at least, have the grace to deposit him, standing on the jetty; rather than dropping him into the sea. He thinks - somewhat grimly, about the God of Contracts; idly wonders if this is the concrete confirmation of their agreement.
“You’re still tall,” she says - perhaps, with just note of peevishness. “Could you not have changed that? I feel I will have to break my neck, looking up at you,” and then - with that same slyness. “At least you have clothes. I am not quite sure how to have explained the Hydro Archon carrying around a naked individual. More than adequately, I am sure - but I do so hate gossip, when I am the centre of it!”
“And you - are just as short as you were, when I first laid eyes on you.” He replies automatically - hears a scoff of indignation; does not understand why, when it is the truth - and what a foreign notion; to have to adjust to all these aspects of the human anatomy - he clicks his teeth - partly as an experiment, recoils at the feeling of the tongue itself. How humans are content with something that sits inside their mouths like a soft, rounded, sea-slug, he does not know. His eyesight has changed too - it isn’t as sharp; but in turn, there seems to be far more colour - as if, as a dragon - he has constantly been perceiving everything through a cooler, more muted, bluer filter. His limbs hang awkwardly by his sides; when he tries to move forwards, he has to use legs - one step, and the world goes sideways; the only thing keeping him from hitting the ground, he realises, are the two arms which have wrapped around him - solid, warm, secure. “I assure you - this is as much a surprise to me, as it seems to be to you. ”
“Careful,” the Archon says - a teasing note entering her voice. “I wouldn’t say that to the person who just stopped you from falling face first onto the pier. And surprises aside, I suppose it is far easier to assimilate you into Fontainian society when you do look a little more human. Although that is not saying much - your hair is quite the sight. We might have to find a way to obscure that, before you are announced. The gossip mill at the salons here does run very quickly - and very efficiently. Why - if we could find another way to use that power to help fuel mechanisms, I think it might even be better than clockwork! Ah - I know!”
“Believe me, my hair was not my choice either - ” he grits out, as he feels her arms wobble; between them, they manage to lever him into a sitting position.
And that is something else - in this form, it is so much easier to feel things. The brush of her hair against his cheek - near enough in colour that it would be impossible not to draw a correlation between the bond they share as Archon and Chief Justice; the small huff of air against his ear as she leans away, the splintering wood underneath his palms - the sharp scent of varnish from recent maintenance - he has smelled enough freshly painted boats in the water not to be familiar with that.
When he looks into the water - he sees their reflections side by side; drinks in his new features - soft, tearable skin, distressingly blunt teeth - hair streaked with blue, a face that looks both remote and serene. His toes skim the surface - the water ripples outwards; breaks the Archon’s image apart, before he can assess that too; lay their similarities and differences side by side. But for a moment - he can almost see, once again, how like a human she is. There is, perhaps, more to learn from her than he had initially thought, if he wishes to truly slot into this new world.
Something soft drapes over the top of his head; it takes him a few seconds to realise it is a spare blanket, which the researchers must have left behind. And the Archon takes his hands in hers, warm against his cool - human - flesh. And for all her grandstanding only moments before, the certainty with which she had spoken about his acceptance of her offer; her smile is terribly warm - kind; as if it belongs to something other than a tool of Celestia. She looks at him - not as if he is some legendary, terrifying creature she has called from the depths; but with the same focus she had given to the researchers - as if her sole attention is directed at him - as if what he thinks, matters. And - in that moment - Neuvillette thinks he can comprehend the truest meaning of the aphorism, lost for words.
“Come then,” she says simply. “Let us find you some clothes - and we can discuss how to proceed with your introduction, then. I look forward to working with you! I’m sure there’s so much we can learn from each other! Oh - and by the way, my name is Furina. You may know me by my Archon name, Focalors, of course - but I have to confess, I find the human touch works much more when in the presence of others.” So much information, freely - easily given; this partnership looks promising, after all. “And, may I ask - what is yours? I rather imagine we cannot go around calling you a dragon, throughout our entire collaboration.”
“My name,” he says slowly, “Is Neuvillette. At least, that has always been what I have called myself - although no-one else has had the opportunity to.”
“My!” she laughs again, propping her chin on one hand - an impish gleam in her eyes. “You were not joking, when you professed your love for the region - that is a Fontainian sort of name, through and through. Neuvillette, ” she says once - rolling the word around on her tongue, until it flies from her lips with ease. “ Neuvillette, ” she looks at him, eyes wide - without guile. “It’s a very pretty name.” Somehow, he thinks she is being completely honest. “How about mine? Furina, I mean - not Focalors. I imagine you might have to familiarise yourself with that, too.”
“Furina,” he says, imitating her - and then: “Furina. Lady Furina. I shall call you that. It only seems fitting that I give you a title, since it is to you I answer.” He watches, bemused - as two high spots of colour appear on her cheeks - as she holds her hands up in front of her, waving them frantically.
“Aha!” she says, “As you should! ” But the manner in which she acts, he muses - is more abashed, than proud. “I can see you will be an excellent colleague!” And the smile she offers him then, is still soft, still encouraging - he cannot help but think; I could become accustomed to this - she scrambles to her feet, hauling him up as well - wraps one arm around his waist once more. “Come on - let us go and plot our course! No true spectacle is ever conducted without a great deal of planning!”
Having to work in the service of one Archon will not change anything, he tells himself firmly, as he stumbles next to her. I will still have my revenge. I will judge her, as I will the others. And yet - that is simply one future; one which sounds far less certain, when in his mind’s eye - it has already been half-replaced with visions of a prospering city, of bright laughter - of a place where the citizens are happy, where every creature is cared for. It is - he cannot help but think - not a bad substitute at all.