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Keqing always imagined she would be happier, really. When the day Liyue no longer had to depend on Rex Lapis finally rolled around, heralding in the dawn of a new era for humanity.
But she hadn’t expected that it would happen the way it did, his lifeless corpse dropping out of the sky to crumple into a bloodied pile of jagged bone and sinewy muscle. A thousand pairs of eyes, at first fixated on their slain lord at their feet, then collectively shifting as one to bore deep into Keqing through the sillage of the clearing dust. Murmurs rippling through the crowd, whispering of blasphemy and divine punishments.
Suddenly, she was thrust into the spotlight, the whole of Liyue watching, waiting with bated breath to see how their heretic Yuheng intended to make good on her promises of prosperity for a godless nation. Even now, a year after the incident, all eyes are still on her.
Sitting in this bed and nursing a splitting headache while feeling drained to the point of immobilization, Keqing reflects on a few things. The grief wracking her people’s bodies, the gripping fear of what now? – she was never happy to see him go. Rex Lapis’ absence was what she had prayed for, yes, but it is no blessing, though it isn’t exactly a curse, either – it just is. A monumental fact of life, even if it feels a little too much like having the ground yanked out from beneath her feet.
A soft knock at the door tugs her back into reality. Keqing sits up a little straighter in an attempt to make herself seem more presentable, but she figures the bags under her eyes give away the exhaustion.
“Come in,” she calls, smoothing out the bed sheets around her.
The door swings open slightly to reveal Ganyu. She steps inside, brows immediately furrowing as she takes in Keqing’s sorry state, the disapproval in her gaze practically tangible as it trails over Keqing’s form.
“I heard you fainted at work,” Ganyu says quietly. Rounds the corner of the bed to come and sit at the edge next to her.
“Yes.” Admitting it comes easier these days. Keqing must have gotten used to it at some point. “I got too caught up in the construction planning for the new road through Dihua Marsh.”
Ganyu gingerly grasps her hand, the calloused tips of an archer’s fingers tracing soothing circles into her palm. “You don’t need to work so hard, you know.”
“But I have to,” Keqing frowns. “There’s so much to be done.”
It’s not like Ganyu doesn't know that; the Yuheng isn’t the only person who’s been swamped by the onslaught of tasks to do and matters to deal with. But for someone who was such an outspoken critic of Rex Lapis, Keqing has taken his death more personally than most. “That doesn’t mean you should run yourself into the ground like this. Everyone’s worried about you.”
Keqing flinches, the weariness on her face twisting into something acrid. “I’m sorry. Everyone’s got enough on their own plates, and here I am, unable to manage my own workload and causing more trouble for the others.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Ganyu shuffles closer, enough to lean forward and rest her forehead gently against Keqing’s, relishing the way amethyst eyes flutter shut at the contact. “I just meant that all of us care about you deeply, so you should try to depend on us more. Okay?”
“I can’t.” It’s striking, almost, the sincerity and conviction with which Keqing answers. “They’re depending on me. They want me to lead them and protect them. They want me to fill the shoes of a god even though I’m barely managing to walk on my own. They’re watching me like hawks, Ganyu – waiting for me to make that mistake. Rex Lapis was always perfect, but I can’t be. I can’t be.
I – I’m only human.”
She pulls away, and Ganyu takes a second to really study her.
A familiar tiredness clouding over red-rimmed eyes. Quiet desperation settled in the hollow of her cheeks. The bob of her throat as her voice cracks, asking,
“Who will guide me? Protect me? Who can I turn to in my time of need?
“Sometimes,” Keqing murmurs, gaze dropping to search for something Ganyu cannot see, “I wish I was able to believe in the gods the way other people do.”
The way you do. Something bitter bubbles up inside Ganyu, but she forces it down with a sharp breath. Keqing is mourning in her own way, and Ganyu knows she didn’t mean to be hurtful.
Ganyu is mourning in the only way she knows how, too.
Silently, steadfastly. Carrying on in her duties, as she’s done for three millenia. Carrying on the memory of him.
So without thinking, she says: “Then let me be your god.
“I can’t guide you, but I’ll walk with you. I’ll protect you, and you can seek refuge in me. And I will always be by your side, so you can believe in me.”
She leans forward solemnly, gripping Keqing’s hand in earnest. “Make me your god, Keqing. I’ll give you everything. I’ll give you my everything.”
For several moments, Keqing seems not to know what to say, and it dawns on Ganyu that perhaps that was too much, too soon. But then–
“That seems sacrilegious, coming from you.” Keqing raises an eyebrow, expression serious.
She scrambles to explain herself, all gravitas forgotten and a deep scarlet flushing down to her collar, but then Keqing laughs, amusement shining through. “But I understand what you meant by it.” And as if to immediately make her point, leans her head against Ganyu’s shoulder.
“Do you?” It comes out as a half-hearted scolding, but the tension in her body has already been washed away by relief.
“Mm.” Keqing’s eyes are closed again, lips creeping up into a smile. “I’ll ask for help more often.”
“Not just that,” Ganyu’s hand reaches up to card gently through her hair. “Depend on me too.”
“Okay,” Keqing says, and nothing else. She eventually shifts positions to lay her head down in Ganyu’s lap instead, the two of them content to simply enjoy each other’s presence in silence for a while.
“I feel a bit like a kid again,” Keqing hums. Her eyes are still closed, but she can feel Ganyu smiling at her nonetheless. “Being cradled like this.”
A soft laugh floats down from above. A silken voice, warm like sunlight spilling in, tender as it responds. “Have you forgotten? I’m a lot older than you are.”