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This was, by far, the worst day in Childe’s life.
Falling into the Abyss; Signora (ew) winning the race to retrieve the Geo gnosis; wasting his chance to fight the Hydro Sovereign; getting a papercut in the webbing between his fingers— all of those memories paled in comparison to what he had experienced this day: losing everything.
The Harbinger did not mean it in the way a lesser man might say he’s “lost everything” –something Childe has heard many times from pathetic, sniveling men that had drunk and gambled away the money they had borrowed, faced with reckoning at the end of his blade. No, he meant it in the way only a true man can say he’s lost: in competition.
It started with a pancake-eating contest at the Dragonspine base camp. Paimon had not been allowed to participate –an adventurer told him that the pixie was banned from eating competitions throughout Mondstadt— and so Childe had thought he had a decent chance at winning.
It hadn’t even been close. Lumine had consumed two times the amount of pancakes he had. When someone rang the bell to signal the end, there had been a moment of silence in which everyone stared at the victor in reverent astonishment.
Childe had been disappointed but shook off the loss. He would be headed up Dragonspine with Lumine, and there would certainly be opportunity for adventure and competition on its wintery slopes.
There were barrels of explosive slimes perched on rocks, perfect for archery practice; Lumine hit more of them than he did and made fun of his posture while she was at it.
She challenged him to a race up to the caves. The Harbinger was in the lead for most of it, but just when the cave entrance came in sight he was afflicted by a horrendous stitch in his side (most likely caused by the ungodly amount of sugar and carbs he had consumed for breakfast). It knocked the breath out of him, and he staggered to a stop as Lumine rushed ahead to victory. To add insult to injury, she ran back down to grab his arm and help him the rest of the way, as if he were Granny Shan.
They passed a pool stocked with fish. Childe, blind with confidence, challenged her to see which one of them could catch the most.
The final score? Four to ten. The winner? Lumine.
It was not until after the competition that she had shown him her fishing license, complete with the coveted blue Nails cover— his stomach had dropped when he saw it; the fishing association awarded only the best fishermen with that cover, and he was only halfway through the dumb two-thousand fish requirement.
After the fishing incident, Childe foolishly continued to engage in competitions with the Traveler. Gliding from the peak of Dragonspine, finding quality artifacts, powerlifting frozen snowboars— he emerged defeated in all of them. By the time it was dark and they were headed down the mountain towards Liyue, his pride was well and truly tattered.
Normally he would take defeat as an invitation to grow stronger, but experiencing multiple losses in a row, across so many disciplines, made him feel weak.
The fact that it all was in front of Lumine made it so much worse.
He sighed and ran a hand over his face. Should he call it a night and go lick his wounds in Liyue Harbor? Or should he find one last foolproof way to impress the Traveler?
A flicker of light caught his eye, and he turned to see a Fatui encampment at the foot of the mountain. Soldiers were sitting around a campfire, drinking and laughing. An idea formed, and, not spending too much time to think it over, Childe moved to block the Traveler’s way to announce, without preamble, “I challenge you to a drinking competition!”
Lumine stopped, startled. “Excuse me?”
“A drinking competition! It will be our last contest of the day.”
The Traveler rolled her eyes and brushed past him. “That’s not a good idea, Ajax. It wouldn’t be fair.”
Childe ran after her. “Oh, come on, solnyshko! I’m sure you’ll do fine.”
She turned to him with one eyebrow raised. “No, I meant that it wouldn’t be fair to you.” A smirk tugged at her lips.
How could he not take that as a challenge? The Harbinger summoned a bottle of firewater from his inventory and presented it to her with a flourish.
Lumine glanced at the bottle. “We’re going to need more than that.”
Childe’s knees went weak at the statement, but he managed to stay standing. “Of course,” he said somewhat breathlessly. He nodded towards some ruins in the distance. “Why don’t you get a fire started while I go find some more?”
Lumine nodded, looking amused. She headed towards the ruins, collecting branches along the way. He watched her for a moment, starstruck, before shaking himself and running for the encampment he had seen earlier.
He crashed through the brush and into the camp, chest heaving. The stunned soldiers stared at the Harbinger for a second before jumping to attention. One of them –a sergeant— shouted, “Lord Tartaglia, sir! We await your orders.”
Childe headed straight for their storage. “I need all of your firewater.”
“…Sir?”
He started to rummage around. “I am confiscating your firewater rations.” There was another moment of hesitation. Childe slowly turned towards the soldiers. “Now.”
The men hopped to their feet; within seconds, they had a small crate of bottles at his feet. He nodded in satisfaction and placed the box on his shoulder. Feeling the tiniest bit guilty for taking what was probably one of the few luxuries the soldiers had, he gave them a short speech about how their sacrifices did not go unnoticed by the Tsaritsa— one of them discreetly wiped away tears. Satisfied, he left and hurried back to Lumine.
“Liar.”
Childe grinned. “Sorry, printsessa. Drink.”
Lumine sighed and took a swig of firewater. It was smooth and medicinal, and she made a face at the taste.
Her companion chuckled. She stuck her tongue out at him in response.
The Harbinger had insisted that they make the competition into a game. When he first presented the idea to Lumine, she had tried to talk him out of it, telling him it was not wise, but he had insisted, stating that the God of Wisdom was not his Archon for a reason— and how could she argue with that? Over the years, the idiot had given her much evidence that he eschewed any guidance from the Lord of Dendro.
So here they were, sitting on the snow and playing a drinking game in the frigid cold of Dragonspine.
The rules were simple: They take turns answering questions, which they can answer however they wish. If they get caught in a lie, they drink; if they get accused of telling a lie when it is in fact the truth, the other person drinks.
Childe is a very good liar and an even bigger fool. So far she’s had to take quite a few drinks while he’s only had to do so twice, but she has an ace up her sleeve: she can’t get drunk.
At least, not on Teyvat.
She tried, once, after she was left bereft in that Liyuean cave with that cursed statue of Barbatos. First, she had consumed the bottles of dandelion wine that the Knights had given to her as a parting gift, drinking until the moon was high in the sky. When that wasn’t enough to give her even a buzz –much less the fog she was seeking— she trudged down to Liyue Harbor, where she found the nearest tavern. Once that bartender had turned her out, she went to the next, and the next, and the next, trying desperately to find something that would numb her heartache.
Nothing worked— it all was like water to her.
Frustrated, she wandered the streets, listless, eventually collapsing on the stairs leading to Yujing Terrace.
That was where Ajax found her. His hand, warm and grounding, pressed against her back, just under the clasp of her scarf. She jerked up at the contact. He removed his hand and studied her face, his eyes soft, his eyebrows drawn together in a silent question.
She swallowed. Why was he there, when her own brother wasn’t? The thought broke the last semblance of control she had, and her shoulders shook as soundless cries ripped from her chest.
“Oh, kochana.”
Firmly, yet oh so gently, she was gathered up into strong arms and held against his solid chest. He was warm and comforting and present, and she clung to him until exhaustion took her.
She had woken up in Northland Bank, wrapped in a blanket on the couch in his office. Childe wasn’t there, but a Fatuus had been stationed as her guard. Ekaterina brought her breakfast, which included some treats made by the Harbinger’s family.
It had marked another change in their relationship; they spent more time together after that, and Lumine got to know the impulsive yet thoughtful man that was Ajax.
A horrifying ordeal, really, because she discovered that she actually liked him.
It was on account of this secret fondness she had for Childe that she had tried to prevent him from embarrassing himself with this whole drinking competition.
It was on account of her fondness for winning that she hadn’t tried too hard.
“My turn, yeah?”
The sound of his voice drew Lumine from her thoughts. She shook herself lightly and nodded.
Childe rested his arm on his bent knee and rubbed his chin in an overly thoughtful manner. “Do you snore?”
Lumine scrunched her face. “No.”
“Liar.” He was smirking.
She grabbed a handful of snow and chucked it at his face. “No! I do not snore! Drink double as penalty for your audacity.”
He shrugged the snow off of his clothes and took two gulps of firewater, leaning back against the ruin wall. “You seem really defensive for someone who doesn’t, ljubimaja.”
Lumine folded her arms and stuck her nose in the air. “Hmph. I bet you snore. I bet you can wake the dead with how loud you are.”
“Would you like to find out?” He waggled his eyebrows.
She fought back a blush, grateful that it was not a question she had to answer. Not wanting to dwell on thoughts of finding out, she asked, “Who’s your favorite coworker?”
His answer was immediate. “Arlecchino.”
Lumine shoved his shoulder, laughing. “Liar.” As he drank, she chastised, “You’ll regret going easy on me, you know.”
He placed a hand over his heart, expression serious. “I would never disrespect you by giving you anything less than my all. Now,” he grinned, “who is your favorite Harbinger?”
Her answer was immediate. “Arlecchino.”
Childe laughed; it caught in his throat when she didn’t join in with him. “You— you’re lying, right, comrade?”
She was joking, for sure, but was she lying? The Knave was in a unique position in the Traveler’s eyes: out of the eleven Harbingers, she was the only one that Lumine hasn’t wanted to destroy by ripping out their jugular.
She looked at Tartaglia (who jumped on and off her hit list) with a flat stare. She let him sweat for a bit before taking pity on his ego and drinking from her bottle of firewater.
Childe looked relieved.
The fire crackled and popped as Lumine considered what to ask next. While he waited, Childe summoned a small narwhal mimic and let it fly around his gloved hand; the fire was not enough to keep the poor thing from freezing, and it fell. He caught and studied it in the flickering light, a small, dopey smile tugging at his lips. He murmured something about showing the trick to his siblings, and in hearing that she found her question.
“What would you do, if you didn’t work for the Tsaritsa?”
He let out a sharp laugh and tossed the narwal-shaped ice to the side. “I would probably be in prison. But for real, this time.”
“Ajax.”
“Or dead in a Snezhnayan gutter.”
Lumine frowned. “I don’t think so. I think there’s a great many things you could do.”
The man bowled right over her soft tone. “Are you saying I’m not tough enough to be incarcerated? Or dead?” He sounded upset.
“What?” She sat up straight. “No, I’m saying—”
“Let’s go right now! Let’s go fight a lawachurl!” Childe scrambled to stand; once he was on his feet he began to sway and wobble— until that point, Lumine had thought Childe was handling his alcohol well. The inebriated Harbinger started to tip forward; before he could fall flat on his face, Lumine reached up and grabbed the end of his scarf, yanking on it to pull him back down onto the snow. He landed with an oof, closer to her than he had been. Looking a little disoriented, he blinked slowly, his gaze fixed on her.
His question came suddenly. “What are you afraid of?”
Lumine’s grip on her bottle tightened. She turned away from Ajax to look up at the night sky, searching for wherever Celestia loomed. When she found it, she let out a big sigh, the breath condensing and obscuring her view. She wrapped her arms around herself. “Falling.”
“Heh, too easy— lies.”
The Traveler shook her head. “Drink.” In the periphery of her vision she could see him jerk in surprise. He lifted the firewater to his mouth; after drinking, he stared at her, eyebrows furrowed.
Not wanting to give him the opportunity to ask anything further, she faced him and asked, “What is your biggest regret?”
“Osial.” He paused, fidgeting with the near-empty bottle in his hands. “But… if our fight had ruined my chance at a relationship with you, that would be my biggest regret.”
Lumine stiffened.
Childe tapped her thigh with the back of his hand. “Alright, kochana, it’s your turn.”
She tilted her head. “My turn?”
He raised both eyebrows, seemed to realize that it wasn’t the expression he was shooting for, and slowly lowered one. “To ask a question.”
Oh. He was wasted.
Lumine worried her bottom lip with her teeth. On any given day, it seemed like Tartaglia was willing to do most anything she asked him to do, but now… now she had him in the palm of her hand. Should she ask him to reveal state secrets, or the weaknesses of the other Harbingers? Should she extract a promise from him?
Absent-mindedly picking at the label on her bottle, she regarded her companion. The dancing firelight made his ginger hair gleam copper, his cheeks and nose were flushed (from the cold or the alcohol, she couldn’t tell), his lips were quirked up in an easy smile— similar to the fearsome Eleventh Harbinger that prowled Teyvat. She squinted. Similar, yet very different. Childe was normally wound as tight as a spring, but as he sat next to her he was as relaxed as she had ever seen him. His hand was open and sitting palm-up on his lap, his breaths were long and even, and his gaze was without guile.
Ajax was in the palm of her hand.
She dismissed the temptation to betray his trust and asked something simple: “What is your favorite weapon?”
“The bow.” He grinned, looking delighted with himself. Not giving Lumine the chance to call him on his bluff, he laughed loudly and took a drink.
Well, he tried to, anyway. Three sheets to the wind, he missed the bottle a few times, and was only successful when he used both hands and every ounce of his concentration.
He laughed again, and Lumine sighed. Perhaps she should take the firewater away from him? Surely this was not good for his liver. She leaned over to grab it from him, but he held it up and out of reach. “I’m fine, printsessa. A little bit of alcohol will not be the death of me.”
He seemed to sober a bit at the statement and lowered the bottle back to his side. With his free hand he grabbed hers and pulled it over to rest on his lap, gently running his thumb over the exposed skin.
Lumine fought back a shiver.
Childe’s voice was soft. “How do you think you will die?”
“By burning out of existence.”
His hold on her hand tightened.
She shifted closer to him, their shoulders brushing. “Do you seek immortality?” she asked, flipping their hands over. She traced the outline of a scar on his wrist.
His breath caught. “Sometimes.”
She slipped her hand from his with a growl. “That’s a cheap answer, Ajax.”
The leather of his glove squeaked as his hand clenched into a fist. “But it’s the truth.”
“Hmph.”
Childe flexed his fist a couple of times. When he finally spoke, it was rushed. “Would you accept an offer from the Conqueror of Demons?”
Lumine looked up at him. “What does that mean? An ‘offer’?”
He leveled a stare at her. “An offer of courtship. Love.” He hesitated. “Physical pleasure.”
A fiery blush quickly crawled up her neck and covered her face. “O-oh.” She rolled the bottle of firewater between her hands. “No?”
His expression was flat. “That sounded more like a question than an answer, girlie.”
She looked down at the ground. “Well, that would be… something.” Hard, indomitable Adeptus Xiao— she had tried. Once after her first Lantern right, and again after the incident in the Chasm; both times she was rejected. It had hurt (and been frustrating beyond all belief— my karma this and my burden that— as if she could not handle it! Gah! Just thinking about it got her all riled up), but she had moved on.
“Lumine.”
She turned to Ajax.
“You haven’t answered yet.”
His memory sure was conveniently spotty.
Her eyes flicked up to his hair. A twig sat nestled at the crown of his head; it had been there since he returned with the extra firewater. She placed a hand on his chest and leaned in. Instead of plucking the twig out (the sane and safe option), she ran her hand through his hair, brushing it out. Ajax choked. She pushed her hand through his soft hair a couple more times before leaning away and looking into his eyes. “I don’t think I would. Not if I had a better offer.”
Blue eyes wide, Childe opened his mouth, and suddenly the Traveler was terrified that he would ask what a better offer looked like.
Instead, it was a simple and surprising statement: “I am afraid of you.”
She sat back. “What are you talking about?”
He reached up and stroked the rough scar on her shoulder.
Lumine found it difficult to breathe.
He smiled. “Isn’t that the question you asked? What I’m afraid of?” His touch trailed down her arm. “Well, I’m afraid of you knowing.”
Heart was in her throat, she asked, “Knowing what?”
“My secret.”
She felt like a hundred butterflies were fluttering in her stomach. “Those things you call me. Printsessa. Kochana. Ljubimaja. Solnyshko.” She placed her hand over his heart, which she could feel beating from his chest. “What do they mean?”
“Everything.” The word slipped from Ajax like a devotion. He reached up to toy with the longer strands of her hair. “They are my way to hide; my way to tell you how I feel without burdening you. They are what you are.” He used her hair to gently coax her forward. Their noses brushed. “They mean that you are my beloved and favorite light— that you are precious— that you are everything.” He swallowed. “And that I deeply wish I was yours.”
Lumine felt her breath leave her. “Liar.”
Ajax held up his bottle of firewater. “Drink.” He held her gaze. “Solnyshko.”
She batted the bottle away.
He chuckled. “It was so important, this secret of mine, but now, being here with you, keeping it secret seems stupid. Stupid because it scares me, and stupid because it also makes me so, so happy.” His eyebrows drew together. His breath ghosted across her lips. “I want you to be happy too, Lumine, so if my secret doesn’t make you happy, will you pretend to not remember?”
She touched her forehead to his.
“I love you, Lumine. I’ve loved you for years. I’ve loved you even when I knew it was wrong.”
Finally feeling a little drunk, Lumine pressed her lips against his cheek. “Ajax.”
He hummed.
“It’s your turn again.” She kissed his other cheek. “Ask me if I love you too.”
His pupils were blown wide, his hands grasping at her waist and hair. “Do you?”
She bent down, her answer spoken against his lips. “Yes.”
When Childe woke up, it was against his will and with a pounding headache.
“Let the record show: You do snore.”
He groaned and sat up, holding his head in his hands.
“Drink this.” Her voice was quieter now.
He took the proffered glass of water and guzzled it down. Lumine rubbed circles on his back, and he leaned into her touch. “Thank you.” His voice was raspy. He cleared his throat. “Can I have some more?”
“Yes.” She retrieved a pitcher from the end table and filled his cup. As he drank, she pulled a chair to the side of the overstuffed sofa he was reclining on. When he was done, she wordlessly switched out the glass for a plate full of grainy toast, which was topped with some minty-smelling smashed peas.
Childe took stock of the situation as he ate. He must’ve spent the night (and most of the morning, based on the amount of light outside) on the Traveler’s couch. His jacket sat, neatly folded, on the arm opposite of the one he was propped up against; his boots and harness were on the floor. Chewing on his brunch, he tried to take a covert sniff of himself— he nearly gagged. Okay, so he was in serious need of a bath—
Lumine laughed brightly.
Oh. He must not have been as discreet as he had hoped.
Having finished one slice of toast, he picked up the other and took a big bite, looking at Lumine with a thoughtful expression. Yesterday was… blurry, and he couldn’t remember anything past joking that the Knave was his favorite colleague (ha! she wishes she was so lucky), but even with his fragmented memory, he was fairly certain that Lumine had taken many generous swigs of firewater.
His face scrunched.
His kochana was as beautiful as ever, shining so bright that he could hardly stand to look at her. She looked the exact opposite of how he felt, which was rumpled and dizzy.
“How?” The question came out garbled, spoken around a mouthful of food.
Lumine raised an eyebrow. “Manners, Childe.”
He rolled his eyes at the emphasis on his code name and promptly regretted it. Once he recovered from the sharp pain the action had caused, he waved his arm at her. “How do you look so good?”
She smiled. “Genetics.”
He resisted the urge to roll his eyes again. “No, seriously— you don’t look like you drank an entire bottle of firewater last night. It’s almost as if it had no effect on you—” He cut himself off, eyes wide as he realized that he had challenged an immortal being from another world to a drinking competition.
The immortal being in question just smiled and crossed her legs.
With great trepidation, Childe asked, “Did you con me?”
“No.” Lumine’s smile widened into a grin. With a flourish of her hand, she summoned a bottle of firewater and drank.