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“What remains after the end of the world?” wrote the Steambird days after the calamities came and went from Fontainian soil. Provocative words, illustrated and printed in big, bold letters across the front page of the paper. Photos of destroyed homes and ravaged coastlines littered the articles following, each more dire than the last — and the visualized pleas for help weighed heavily for all those who saw them. Neuvillette kept them all. And so, too, did he keep the most recent issue with pictures of Poisson and parts of the fortress, sorted neatly onto the ever-growing tower of print on the tables of his office. The petty presses were, proverbially, eating up the drama and intrigue of the tragedy that had befallen them, and yet the answer to the dramatic question on the front page was rather simple.
What remained, now that the flood had come and gone, now that the archon had abdicated and news of the happenings up on the Fontainian plateau reached far and wide across Teyvat? What remained after the ocean swallowed up what it had wrought and the world had turned on its head?
As it turned out, for the Iudex, a lot of what remained was work. Thankless, neverending paperwork. Approvals and inquiries and paper trails longer than the water had stood high, arriving every day in letters upon letters that left him feeling drowned and beached all at once. A high tide of bureaucracy in the nation of law, and with all the necessity it brought, it seemed the tide would never go out.
Thus, what was a man left to do but tighten his jabot and work until the tower became a pile and the pile became a mound, and when the mound was gone, to build the next tower up and away to the very next day. This unrelenting rhythm, even more so than in his work before, had become a duty bound routine for the Iudex he rarely dared to seek refuge from. And even if he did, it would never be for long — Neuvillette returned to his desk with a sigh. — he had a debt to pay; no, a sentence to serve. Somehow he had to make amends to the people, and if this was the only way he could, then he would endure. Silently, his eyes fell upon an unopened letter, apart from the rest resting on the corner of the table. For them and for him.
On the surface, the letter seemed no different than many of the others he received day to day, but by seal alone the sender could not have been more obvious to Neuvillette. Deep red wax, stamped with the familiar emblem of the three headed dog meant to guard the fortress deep below, and his name written in carefully lettered cursive on the front. “ To the Iudex,” it read, cold and official, but still he couldn’t help gently running his ungloved finger along the ridges in the paper with a wistful warmth in his heart.
Wriothe- The Duke wrote to him frequently, to report on rebuilding efforts in Meropide, the well-being of the prisoners and questions about infrastructure — Especially now that trials had slowly but surely begun backing up.
Between the lines and endless legalese, there was something else he longed and feared to put a name to. Commas and metaphors in-between the official jargon captured his imagination, pulled him away from the dreary realities he was experiencing day to day. Though he would never admit it to himself, there was a thrill to the Duke’s letters: each day, a part of himself was secretly impatiently waiting for the next arrival, while another was walking up and down the office wondering how to even reply when the Duke had ended his last letter with a scandalous Yours . That, on the off chance it affected him at all, had certainly not nearly made him choke on the water he had been drinking. Imprints of prior attempts to formulate on the paper, smudged ink and wear where his title was written, commas and formulations so ambiguously inserted they made a warm redness sneak up his neck. Just the thought made Neuvillette feel lightheaded. But still, that was all that he would allow himself to have.
He did not dare to put a name to his feelings, not now and not before. At the thought, the Iudex pursed his lips slightly. Yes, that was precisely it . He had no name for them and he ought not let himself be distracted; especially not when the rebuilding efforts below needed his attention, when the people needed his attention. They all needed him, the Iudex. The letter on his desk, though read countless times over, hadn’t been replied to for days for that reason and that reason alone. There was no reason for the pang of guilt in his chest at all.
A silence hung like damp mist in the office as Neuvillette sat alone at his desk picking at the scales on his fingers. A suffocating, lonely silence. Judging by the shuffling outside his door, the last remaining Gestionnaires, too, were getting ready to leave for the night.
He could lie to himself all he desired, but that loneliness he hadn’t let himself be affected by before crept deeper and deeper into his heart by the day. Fontaine was moving on from the tragedies and rebuilding itself, the people were healing and growing and changing step by step like he had hoped — so why was he so afraid to be a part of that change? The world was a different place now, even Furina herself who had suffered most of all was beginning to break out of her shell more by the hour… and here was he — mighty, imposing hydro sovereign, afraid to leave the silence of his office. Afraid to answer a letter by the man he wanted to be with the most because he was afraid to see him again.
He’d kept Wriothesley in the dark, like he’d kept everyone else in the dark for years — not even the Melusines had been allowed to know, as much as it had broken his heart. He’d lied to him about who and what he was, when the Duke had always faced him with an openness and honesty most others didn’t dare to imply with the Iudex . Regardless of status, he’d felt a warmth in his heart when he saw him smile he hadn’t since what had happened to Vautrin all those years ago. The thought of his ice blue eyes sent shivers down his spine still, and the gentleness he kept hidden in those calloused, beaten hands for those in need made Neuvillette think wistfully about fairy tales about knights of old. And for that familiarity, for that kind heart, for trust and… affection, he repaid him with half-truths and lies. As much as it pained him, he couldn’t face the Duke like that.
He had hoped back then to be able to tell him what he truly felt, what he truly wanted, how much he meant to him, but now it felt as though the weight of every ocean was pressing its hammer of judgement down on his shameful heart.
Who knew what he’d truly feel now that he’d become aware of his true nature? Of the risk he posed to the whole of Fontaine? Of the role he’d had in the flood the Duke had worked so tirelessly to save others from? Neuvillette didn’t have the conscience to find out, not now.
Was it presumptuous of him to think so? Most definitely. Was he willing to let the thought go entirely? That was a different ordeal entirely. His thoughts drifted, back to the paper still sitting on the pile at the edge of the desk.
“What remains after the end of the world?” he muttered quietly under his breath. What remains but the fear that he’d lost the one he’d never dared to grasp for.
A heavy sigh sat deep in his chest, pulling down on his heart. It would be alright. Isolation was an old friend, and he was a creature of habit, after all. This was nothing new to him, and not even the pangs of what could have been would change that. In the end, he was better off without him.
Resigned, he dipped his writing quill in ink and continued penning a next reply — until a staggered knock broke the silence.
Neuvillette startled. It was too late for visitors, that he was sure of, and as far as he had been aware of, the Palais should have emptied a while ago now. Instinctively he reached for his gloves.
“Pardon? Sedene, is that you?”
A familiar chuckle, though muffled through the door, sent Neuvillette’s heart racing.
“If Sedene’s suddenly a good bit taller and she’s grown a beard, then sure, my esteemed Iudex, I’m at your service.”
“Wriothesley—!”
With a barely audible creak, the heavy door swung open, and the Duke’s familiar heavy footsteps led him inside.
“I assume I’m not interrupting anything? The Palais looked like a ghost town from out there. If your lights hadn’t been on I’d have thought the whole place was empty —”
At the sight of Wriothesley’s usual tousled dark hair, dampened by the drizzle outside and the easy smile on those lips of his, Neuvillette clasped his hands tightly. From head to toe, despite the stress he, too, must be undergoing, except for soft blue bags under his eyes, he hadn’t changed a bit. The man, meanwhile, closed the door behind himself and let out a cheeky, raspy laugh, “Would have been a shame to have made the trip here for nothing.”
That certainly didn’t make Neuvillette’s head spin. Quickly, he motioned the Duke over to one of the sofas that had not been made into a make-shift document hoard yet. In an instant, Neuvillette’s throat felt dry.
“Naturally, that’s a fortuitous circumstance— but, what are you doing here? It’s so late, and what of the Fortress?”
“They’ll have to handle my absence for a night, I’m sure they won’t tear the place apart any more than it already is.” Wriothesley joked as he sat down. “But I’m not here on official business tonight. I came to see you.”
“You came to see me ?”
“Well, I think I know you well enough to tell that something’s wrong once you haven’t left the office in a week — Sedene wrote to Sigewinne that you seemed out of sorts. And when you don’t even reply to my letters, it’s got to be serious. So, I made some space to check in — to talk, face to face.” He paused, sending Neuvillette a glance as he stood, clutching his cane tightly. “Or should I not have?”
Sedene, Sigewinne — What for a moment felt like a twinge in Neuvillette’s chest, suddenly stung, icy and cold like pinpricks of needles through his heart. Before he could think about Wriothesley’s earnest voice, he glanced away sheepishly, out the window into the damp night outside.
“There’s no need to take such measures for my sake. I assure you, I am fine. I am merely busy, that is all.”
“Neuvillette, please .”
The shake in his voice betrayed his true feelings. Behind his back, he could hear Wriothesley curtly rising from the sofa again. Tense eyes lingered on his back.
“We haven’t even seen each other properly since the flood, I barely hear from you, and neither does anyone else outside of Iudex business — and then there’s what happened with the Archon.” Though he could not bring himself to look at him, Neuvillette knew the steadfast look in Wriothesley’s eyes would make him tremble. “They’re worried about you— I’m worried about you .”Wriothesley took a half-step closer, determined, or maybe desperate.
“I’ve missed you, Neuvillette. I’ve read every letter you wrote me god knows how many times, waited every night and day for a reply, or a sign — some sort of explanation or an offer to talk, but they never came.” The chains on Wriothesley’s hands jingled, breaking the stiff silence as he clutched them closed. “I saw what happened during the flood. I saw your true form, I know what you are but that doesn’t scare me. You know how I feel for you, and if I’m right I know you feel the same. Just… Please, don’t hide away.”
More icy needles pierced Neuvillette’s whole being. All at once, the jabot around his neck felt too warm and too tight, the heavy ceremonial robes like heavy weights pinning him in place, unable to look back at the man he so desperately wanted to see. Thoughts raced in his head, whipping drops of shame and guilt against his heart that left him anchored, immobilized and stiff in the eye of the storm. Rain splashed against the window panes. His palm pressed painfully against his cane.
“I know you, Wriothesley. I know your dedication and care, I know the way you think, I know your wit and I know your justice. I know you’re righteous and kind and I know you’d rather be hurt yourself thrice over than to see harm come to an innocent. I admire you, so deeply and foolishly, at times I hardly know what to do with myself —”
“I know you care for me too.I know even now that you know what I am your feelings won’t waver, I know you would never do anything to harm me, but —”
Finally, he managed to turn back around.
“I lied to you, Wriothesley. I lied to everyone. I wronged you. You cannot possibly… how can I call myself worthy of you when all this time between us I withheld myself from you? How can you trust me when I could never entrust my true self to you the way you did to me? How can I call myself yours when I never gave myself fully to you?”
Neuvillette stared back at Wriothesley, eyes and voice quivering as he held on to whatever bit of composure he could muster.
“I am afraid… no, I am terrified of causing you more harm than I am worth. The heavenly principles are not known to care about personal effects — one day something could happen, one day soon even that neither you nor I can predict this time, and who knows what the people will think if they ever find out about my true nature, what they will do to me or you , I —”
Teetering on his feet, Neuvillette took a step backwards. His gloves wrinkled uncomfortably as he clutched his cane. Right then, it felt like it was all connecting him to the ground he stood on. He could not bring himself to look into the other’s eyes in earnest. Every word he spoke felt like foreign venom dripping from his lips.
“The rebuilding efforts must be draining on Meropide just as they are on the court. I do not wish to saddle you with unnecessary feelings in this high time of stress, Duke. Please, for your own good.”
The use of Wriothesley’s title pushed the last remaining bit of air out of Neuvillette’s chest. But even as he spoke these words he knew he did not truly mean, Neuvillette could tell that his heart betrayed him; that despite the shame pressing down in his chest he kept searching incessantly for the Duke’s gaze, searching for something he himself did not know — but his eyes, his Duke’s beautiful pale blue eyes, were not filled with the agreement, nor were they filled with hatred or pity or the usual jovial gleam that marked his every gaze. Instead, eyes wavering in doubt and uncertainty, flickering with the pangs of regret yet to manifest, met ones that stood strong like boulders in the surf.
“You’re a kind soul, Neuvillette. And always too harsh on yourself.”
Where Neuvillette had taken a step backwards, Wriothesley closed the distance.
“You had your reasons to hide away. You knew how risky it would have been to reveal your true nature to anyone, let alone the danger it might have posed. You could never convince me you did any of that as some twisted form of hurting anyone. As long as I’ve known you — known of you — I knew you were an honest man. I was certain of that even before I became part of your life, and I only became more certain of it when you changed mine. Nothing you could say or do could ever break that trust I have in you.”
Wriothesley moved in closer, softly pressing Neuvillettes hand closer to his chest. Gently he began to tug at each of the fingers of the other’s gloves, loosening them one by one with a quiet, tender care. A soft gaze was all it took to ask for permission. As Neuvillette’s scaled blue fingers revealed themselves, outside, the rain slowly began to break away.
Without the glove inhibiting his sense of touch, he could feel Wriothesley‘s heart beating fast and steady, the warmth radiating from his chest. He’d never had the chance to hold him this close before, not without the barrier his robes posed between them. If he’d ever felt a comfort overtake him fully, it must have been this warmth. When Wriothesley spoke again, quiet and soft with that rasp in his voice, he could feel the vibration against his palm.
“It must have been lonely all those years, not being known. Being forbidden from sharing your true self with anyone.” He let out a sigh, not of exasperation or defeat, but a softness and care that made heat rise up Neuvillette’s neck. “To know the prophecy and judge a whole nation, that’s a world of pressure I can’t even imagine.The people looked to you as a pillar. You needed to provide that stability when everything fell apart, hm?”The look in his eyes softened as Neuvillette closed the distance between them.
“But even if you had to keep all you knew close to your chest, your intentions were always true. I can’t imagine you ever acting out of malicious intent, not of your own free will. I promise you, the people were never wronged by you hiding who you are, or what you are — I was never wronged by you, Neuvillette.”
Slowly, their fingers interlaced. And though perhaps they had never been connected like this before, it was the feeling of Wriothesley’s gentle thumb running over Neuvillette’s cool, pale skin that told them that this was exactly where they were supposed to be.
If they were allowed to feel this way, if they were allowed to remain like this, then they must have done the right thing, mustn’t they?
“You may doubt yourself, you may think you’re not worthy of the trust we give you, but I admire you all the same now as I did all those years ago when your judgement changed my life. I trust you just as much as I did when you saved me from the primordial sea, even if then I did not understand how it was even possible. I trust you as much as I trusted your heart on that day I shared my umbrella with you; I feel no less love for you than I did before you showed your true self to me, Neuvillette. Even if it may be dangerous, I want to try.”
Softly, Wriothesley pulled the other into a hug, warm and full and comforting. Closing his eyes, Neuvillette couldn’t remember the last time he’d been hugged like this. With a soft pull, he rested his arms on Wriothesley’s back.
For a few moments they stayed like this, embracing each other in the tranquil quiet of the office. For just a moment, there were no crises or demands or fears. For just a moment, it was the two of them and nothing else.
“You know—” Wriothesley mumbled into the soft crevice by Neuvillette’s neck. “When I was out there, up on the Wingalet hauling people up from the ocean floor, searching for survivors — I think I was really searching for you.”
His grip on Neuvillette tightened ever so slightly.
“If something had happened to you, if I failed to find you, if the sea had taken you too… I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself. Until I saw you up in the sky, I thought I’d lost you for good.”
Ever so gently, Neuvillette shifted, looking deep into Wriothesley’s eyes and resting a soft, cool hand against his cheek. Looking at him, at his Wriothesley in front of him, it was like the world was standing still just for them.
“You won’t ever have to lose me again, Wriothesley.” Neuvillette whispered and pressed his forehead against the other’s. “Whatever may happen, I swear to you, I will always be right here by your side.”
They were as close as they had never been now, resting peacefully for a mere moment against the other. Even with his eyes closed, Neuvillette could feel Wriothesley’s steady breathing against him, his soft hair, the gentle pressure of his hands on his lower back.
“You’re my most precious treasure, Wriothesley,” Neuvillette whispered faintly.
“As you are mine,” muttered Wriothesley in return.
Neuvillette halted for just a moment, until he looked back in his lover’s eyes. “May I kiss you, my Duke?”
And softly, Neuvillette felt him lean closer with a smile.
“You may.”
And as if it were the simplest thing on earth, their lips met between them. Warm and cold, delicate and rough in perfect, equal measure, their bodies flowing together gently like the sea and land at shore, it was as though this was not the first, but one of thousands they’d shared for hundreds of years; familiar, comfortable, just right. Neuvillette pushed, carefully and slowly, lost in the feeling of Wriothesley’s slightly chapped lips, his metallic warm smell, his touch against his lower back, his sweet taste, the muffled sound he made giving in to the plush pressure he felt as Neuvillette pulled him impossibly closer and he did the same in return. They were so close. Close and wanting and breathless, like even the notion of separation was blasphemy in the ebb and flow of their kiss — In their hearts, the moment seemed to go on forever, and yet, once their lips parted it seemed for both of them that one kiss would never be enough.
When Neuvillette found his lover’s gaze again, Wriothesley’s pale eyes were half lidded, soft and impossibly blown. A beautiful flush had crept up from his neck to his cheeks, across his nose and ears. He was breathing ever so softly labouredly, and yet he didn’t relinquish a bit of the closeness he had to the other. The warmth in his breath felt addictive against Neuvillette’s cool skin — he couldn’t help a soft, pleased hum from escaping his lips.
“You’re beautiful like this, Wriothesley,” gently he tucked a stray lock behind the Duke’s ear. He could watch Wriothesley’s flush reddening further as he began to smile in a flustered way that Neuvillette would hold on to forever.
“Can’t say anyone’s called me beautiful before,” he chuckled with a fond look.
“Then let this be the first of many times, my beautiful Duke.” He sighed.
“I promise, I won’t ever run away again.”
And thus, as the weeks went by and slowly but surely, normalcy returned to the lives of the court, sunny days painted a clear sky over Fontaine. Only the fewest seemed to be able to tell that the warmest, gentlest skies always seemed to appear, when the Duke of Meropide made his way to the surface again, and that the ever-stoic Iudex now seemed to carry the subtlest smile on his lips even between mountains of paperwork.
And thus, though the Steambird never wrote a conclusion to that article explicitly, Neuvillette now knew his answer: what remained after the end of the world didn’t matter, what they built from the wreckage did.