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She sees Lady Furina, after it’s all over, in Erinnyes.
Arlecchino doesn’t actually think they’ve spoken face-to-face since before the trial. She knows the ex-Archon likely despises her, fears her, and it’s not like her feelings are… unfounded. The Knave did attack her, uninformed as she was of the location of the gnosis.
She cannot deny that her respect for Lady Furina had been near non-existent before and had only been raised after the truth was leaked, and perhaps that is not the greatest basis for an amicable relationship, but she hopes that Furina would at least be more open to a conversation.
It is quick work to make her way up the cliff to where she spotted Lady Furina sitting, although it is rather distant.
“Lady Furina,” Arlecchino greets.
The lady in question yelps, whipping herself around and nearly falling off of the ledge she had perched on. “Ah, Knave,” She answers, and does an admirable job of steadying her voice. “Is there something you need? I believe Monsieur Neuvillette will be more helpful in that regard.”
“No,” Arlecchino says, glancing at the rocks below them. “I was simply passing by and noticed you.”
The look Furina gives her makes it abundantly clear that she is not believed at all, but it really is the truth. “What are you doing here, then?”
“Enjoying the scenery,” Arlecchino responds, quirking a brow at Furina’s skeptical expression. “The court can get busy.”
“It is quite peaceful here,” Furina agrees – and that must be progress, right? Arlecchino does not understand quite why she has been so afraid, but if she is willingly conversing with her, that must mean something.
“There are not usually many people around,” Furina continues, eyeing Arlecchino’s reaction. “I enjoy the silence.”
Oh, that was absolutely targeted – and Arlecchino cannot help the delight that bubbles up in response. Lady Furina de Fontaine, the nation’s greatest performer, and the Knave has never once been subject to her mastery over words. Of course, Arlecchino has overheard Furina’s scathing remarks before, but the ex-Archon has never dared to speak to her in that matter. She has always thought it was due to fear, but Lady Furina seems to have completely moved past it!
The satisfaction that comes from the thought arises entirely unbidden. She tamps it down.
“My apologies for intruding, then,” Arlecchino replies, but she is hesitant to leave.
She has always thought of the Archon as rather impertinent, in all honesty, but she would be a fool herself to believe that someone with hundreds of years of experience would be completely unintelligent. And now, there are fewer secrets between the two of them than ever before – why shouldn’t she be fascinated by this human-god?
Furina gives her another look, but returns to watching Loch Urania bubbling calmly below them. “I trust that the House of the Hearth has recovered? There were no casualties in the flood?”
“No,” Arlecchino answers. It is a rather unexpected question for her to ask. “One of the children twisted his ankle, but we came out largely unscathed.”
“That’s good,” Lady Furina says solemnly, and the surprising thing is that she seems completely genuine. “More Fontainian deaths would have been a great tragedy, especially for those so young. Too many children have been lost to us already.”
Arlecchino has known of Furina’s devotion to the Fontainians since the trial, but she had not expected it to carry over to even those of the House of the Hearth. She knows that the House has always been considered to be slightly separate from the rest of Fontaine – it has never been hidden, how they are raised to one day join the Fatui – and Lady Furina has certainly never expressed an interest in the people there before.
Then again, she used to be the Archon of Fontaine, fake as it may have been. Over the years, she must have seen a great many people die, people that she was at least partially responsible for, in a way.
Poisson comes to mind, unbidden. She had been furious with the ex-Archon’s inaction at the time, but even then she could not deny that Lady Furina had been clearly devastated by the tragedy.
Arlecchino finds herself wondering for the first time what Furina means by too many children. For someone who is five hundred years of age, where does the cut-off end?
Perhaps Lyney and Lynette are simply infants to her. Arlecchino will always see them as young, but the way that Lady Furina treats many Fontainians would be far more logical if she saw most of them as barely toddlers.
The thought discomfits her, for some reason. Arlecchino knows, logically, Furina likely does not see her as a young child – it would be quite strange for her to be afraid of an infant – but she finds herself hoping for that not to be the case.
She realizes belatedly that she had never responded to Furina’s comment, but it did not seem like the lady had expected an answer, already turned back to her view.
Arlecchino has never been to Loch Urania often. Before the Traveler helped to calm it, it had always been a force of nature she never found the need to pit herself again, and afterwards there was very little of interest to the House of the Hearth to be found. Aside from some connections to the Bathysmal Vishaps and the assorted local wildlife, not much else resided here. She had meant it when she told Furina she had simply been passing through.
Lady Furina, however, seems not to hold the same neutrality. It had taken Arlecchino more time than she’d like to admit to find the Archon’s place high above the lake, and it certainly wouldn’t have been her first choice to relax above a water vortex, whether it was cleansed or not.
She really does seem quite familiarized with this place, with the way she has arrayed herself so calmly on the cliff’s edge. She must have gone in the water, earlier – she is barefoot, her socks and shoes placed neatly beside her, and the tips of her hair are dripping with water.
Actually, that’s almost a little concerning. It’s not too cold, and she does wield a Hydro Vision now, but it really isn’t summer. especially as the sun is about to set — it’s clear that Furina most certainly has been outside for quite some time already, and Neuvillette might actually attempt to murder her if she allows his precious Archon to get sick of something so mundane as cold weather.
“Lady Furina,” she says diplomatically, “I cannot help but notice that it is getting late, and your hair is wet. Allow me to accompany you back to the court.”
Furina starts, hands reaching up to feel her white locks as if she had completely forgotten about it. “Oh! It’s quite far, really, and I’m sure you must have business to attend to.”
Arlecchino frowns. She had learned more about Furina in this conversation than any time she’d spoken to her in the past twenty years, and she was loath to allow the opportunity to pass so quickly. and really - Neuvillette would be quite upset.
“I must insist,” she says again. “At least allow me to walk with you back to Marcotte Station.”
Furina flinches again, which means she must have sounded too harsh, but it is not as if she will take back her words now. It is rather a shame, however. She had assumed, foolishly, they had been making progress.
“Alright,” Lady Furina inhales, squaring her shoulders and gathering her belongings with hands that are only barely trembling. Arlecchino would be offended if it made any sense to her – how is it that offering to walk her back to the station is what upsets her? Truly, she thought she had finally begun to understand the ex-Archon, but it appears that elusiveness is simply in her nature.
“My apologies for troubling you with this,” Furina adds, once she has redressed herself fully. “It must be frustrating to accompany someone who cannot do something as simple as this.”
Her words are pointed, carefully chosen, and it takes Arlecchino longer than she’d like to recognize the echo of her own words in Lady Furina’s voice.
Is she upset because of their meetings prior to the conclusion of the prophecy as well? She had believed the animosity between them to remain solely because of her attack that night, but she is not so unaware that she cannot recognize that her words had been quite harsh.
Is Furina expecting an apology? Is that what this is? She dares to glance over at the ex-Archon walking beside her, head held high and steps purposeful, and frowns. No, that’s not quite it. They both know fully well that Arlecchino will not offer empty, meaningless platitudes. She is no way regretful for the actions that she took – only that they serve to alienate her from Furina now.
“Most certainly not,” she responds. “I simply wish to ensure that you are well.”
There is a sharp movement beside her, and what sounds like a ruffle of fabric, but Arlecchino does not look over. Furina straightens herself momentarily and continues on, and neither of them speak another word for the rest of the journey.
“Ah, Lyney,” Arlecchino calls out from her seat at her desk, the one in question passing through the hallway. “One moment.”
He has really grown quite a lot from the boy she had rescued from that noble’s house all those years ago. It’s heartening to see. The House of the Hearth will be in good hands.
“Yes, Father?”
She looks up from her notes. “Would you mind delivering the cakes to Lady Furina’s theatre troupe?”
Lyney blinks in obvious confusion, paused in the doorway. “The… cakes, Father?”
“Yes, the desserts that the younger children baked,” Arlecchino says, amused, even as she continues scanning through her paperwork. “Have you forgotten? They went to watch one of her troupe’s performances and wanted to offer her something as support.”
“Oh, right, I remember,” Lyney says in acknowledgement, although his tone indicates quite the opposite. “I simply did not expect them to actually go through with it, nor that you would allow it.”
“Why wouldn’t i? The House holds no ill-will towards Lady Furina, and I see no harm in sending her a few baked goods. I believe that people do so all the time. At the very least, it's a good activity for the children.”
“I suppose,” He says agreeably, shrugging. “Alright. I’ll stop by the theatre today, then. Have a good day, Father.”
“Enjoy your afternoon, Lyney,” Arlecchino responds, attention already returned to the papers on her desk. People must learn to organize their information properly, because dealing with these absurd reports is, quite frankly, exhausting.
She does spare a thought to Lady Furina, however. Hopefully, the lady will enjoy the desserts, and will finally understand that the Harbinger holds nothing against her. It is quite inconvenient that an ex-Archon would be so afraid of her, Arlecchino tells herself, and it is in the House’s best interest to maintain a more amicable relationship with her.
That is all there is to it.
“What is going on here?”
Arlecchino wonders if Lady Furina realizes that her tone of voice is near-identical to how she had carried herself during her time as an Archon. It isn’t exactly the same – before, the strength in her voice came from arrogance, and now it is mostly frustration. It is likely better for her, however, knowing now how much of it had been fake.
Even the few threads of confidence Arlecchino can hear woven into her voice suit her quite well.
“Lady Furina!” the man squawks, snapping to attention. “I'm terribly sorry that these rats have disturbed you!”
“Rude,” Lynette mutters quietly, although Arlecchino is mostly sure that the man did not hear.
“Then explain,” Furina says, crossing her arms. “This ungodly shouting could be heard from my apartment, and I do not live on this street.”
“Of course, Lady Furina,” the man hurries, and Arlecchino watches the way Furina’s face twitches almost imperceptibly. Is it from the title, a reminder of her five hundred years as Archon? Or is it just because the man is a fucking idiot?
Honestly, it's probably the latter. He really is ridiculous. It’s almost impressive.
“These two Fatui scum were distracting everyone,” he blabbers, seemingly blind to how strained Lyney’s grin has become, or Lynette's hand dropping out of sight, or how Arlecchino has not smiled once. Really, as she said, an idiot. “And they kept doing their ridiculous, terrible magic, so I was trying to get them to leave. It’s against the law, as I’m sure you know, Lady Furina, to steal a person’s belongings!”
“Of course,” she says, nodding agreeably. “Were the belongings returned?”
The man’s jaw clicks shut audibly, and suddenly he seems far less willing to answer. Lynette scoffs under her breath. Lady Furina rolls her eyes, raising an elegant brow and turning to Lyney, who responds with a nod and faint amusement glittering in his eyes.
“I see,” she continues. “so I'm assuming it was part of their magic show. As i’m sure you know, Lyney and Lynette are magicians. I trust that you are not shaming anyone for their careers, are you? That certainly is not what justice is meant to be.”
Oh, this is part of why Lady Furina is so interesting! Away from the dangers of the prophecy, Arlecchino can appreciate these rare moments much more when they are not distracting from imminent doom. A double-edged blade – there are only so many ways the man can answer without admitting that was exactly what he was doing.
He had quite literally already given it away by shouting about Fatui scum, but by now it is mostly about whether or not he can save face and turn it into something in his favor. He really can’t – not when faced with the four of them – but Arlecchino knows he will try.
“No, of course not, Lady Furina,” the man agrees immediately, as predicted. “But it is still against the law nonetheless. They are causing a public spectacle, which is against the general peace.”
“Right,” Furina says dryly, and then her voice drops to a level of coldness Arlecchino has almost never seen from her. She wants to hear more of it. “Unfortunately for you, I know exactly what is against the general peace, and nowhere in all of Fontaine’s history has it ever been illegal for people to perform magic tricks for children. Perhaps you ought to think about preaching the laws to the one who created them.”
Lynette snorts, ears flicking in barely-visible delight. It’s barely audible, but Arlecchino’s lips curl into a smile regardless. She’s never had much chance to see Lady Furina like this – she thinks that the ex-Archon has forgotten about her presence entirely, and that is the only reason she is so composed – and it is really all too amusing. And sweet, if she’s being honest, to see her defend the twins so ardently.
“I can’t do much about this, truly,” Furina sighs, stepping closer, “seeing as I am no longer Archon. But it really would be a shame if one of my dear friends would hear about this. I do know that Monsieur Neuvillette would be most certainly quite upset if there was someone harassing innocents in the streets.”
The man is literally shaking, now, eyes flicking between the four of them in obvious fear. Satisfaction curls in Arlecchino’s gut. She can’t deny that she would’ve loved the opportunity to tear into him herself, but it’s just as appealing to watch Lady Furina do it for her. Especially when Furina would’ve been too terrified to even speak in her presence several months ago.
“Remind me, what was your name again?” the ex-Archon looms towards the man, Hydro Vision suddenly illuminating itself. It is rather impressive, especially seeing as Furina is far shorter between the two.
The man shrieks and turns around, crying out something ridiculous about it not mattering, and then he bolts. Furina watches him go for a moment, hands on her hips, before she sniffs and turns around, seemingly done with the situation.
“Thank you, Lady Furina,” Lyney says, gesturing for the children to come out of where they’d hid after the man started yelling.
“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Furina responds, waving a hand carelessly. For a moment, she seems to have completely returned to her Archon persona, and the familiarity is almost dizzying. “Honestly, I tried to convince Neuvillette to make things like that illegal a couple of centuries ago, but he told me it was too extreme.”
Lyney laughs, and offers Furina a nod. “Probably. It happens quite a lot, honestly. We’re used to it.”
“Yes, I’m sure it does,” she echoes, her face going blank for the barest moment. “I don’t have much political power anymore, but let me know if it ever goes too far.”
Not much political power? Arlecchino knows that Neuvillette respects Furina a great deal and cares for her very deeply. Navia feels terribly guilty about her role in the trial, and Clorinde still sees furina as her superior. She has three of some of the most powerful people in Fontaine in her pocket – and she does not even realize.
Even Arlecchino herself would not mind helping Lady Furina, if that would be what she wished. She is not foolish enough to believe, however, that their relationship has changed so much.
Archons. Not much power is simply absurd.
“Are you going somewhere, Lady Furina?” Lynette interrupts, and Arlecchino blinks back out of her musings to note that yes, she does carry a bag on her shoulder.
“Ah, I was just going to take a walk in Erinnyes,” Furina says, shifting the bag on her shoulder. “I figured I could drop off some letters before I went.”
“If you would like, Lady Furina, I may aid you in sending them,” Arlecchino cuts in. She wants to know more about her, wants to know why she would accuse Lyney and Lynette one day and defend them so passionately the next.
She’s truly so fascinating. Arlecchino has heard her when she was upset or fearful. She has heard her when she was furious or offended. She has heard her at her most passionate. And yet she has never seen Furina so cold as she was to the man, and she finds herself most terribly intrigued.
She made the mistake of assuming she knew about Lady Furina before the trial, and she knows now she will not do so again.
“Ehhhh?” Furina yelps, hands flying up to cover her mouth. Performative as always, although it is as expected: she really did try to forget that Arlecchino was standing there. “No, no! That’s not necessary at all!”
“Are you sure? That does seem like a large bag,” she points out. It cannot possibly be meant for just some papers.
“No, really!” Furina says, waving her hands in front of her frantically and shaking her head. Arlecchino is almost insulted. She’d really thought they had made some progress. "That’s alright, I'll just go straight to Erinnyes!”
And then she’s gone, quickly enough that Arlecchino would’ve thought that she shared the Traveler’s penchant for teleporting out of thin air. She tries to ignore the sense of disappointment slowly creeping through her chest, and sighs, turning to the siblings beside her.
“Well, I suppose Lady Furina will always be Lady Furina,” Lyney says casually, shrugging.
“She really did seem upset, though,” Lynette murmurs, still looking in the direction that Furina had disappeared in. “I feel a little bad.”
“I don’t think it was your fault,” he points out. “Maybe she was just stressed.”
“Do not worry about it,” Arlecchino says, laying a hand on Lynette’s shoulder. “Besides, I do believe the two of you have a performance to finish.”
“Oh, right! and I’m sure you must have work to get to, Father!” Lyney gasps, and immediately turns back to the children still watching them with wide eyes.
He’s not wrong, really. Arlecchino had only been out because she was on her way to speak with Neuvillette and had paused when she’d seen the commotion. While she was still quite early and had some time before the meeting began, she had always preferred to wait than to rush and ought to make her way over to the Palais Mermonia.
“Take care, children,” she says, and turns to leave.
Lynette was right. Lady Furina had truly seemed upset, and it didn’t make sense for it all to be because of Arlecchino, specifically. Could it?
The first time she meets Lady Furina, years ago when she was still pretending to be Focalors, Arlecchino had only been around four years of age.
It had been one of her earliest outings in the Court of Fontaine, brought along by Crucabena to maintain the image of an orphanage not entirely heartless, and among all of the shops and boutiques and cafes they walked past – a world that the "Mother" had made very clear was to never be for Arlecchino – had been the Opera Epiclese.
It had been her first encounter with Fontaine’s justice, and to this day she remains unable to decide her feelings upon the matter. It is certainly irrelevant now, a trial twenty years past and long forgotten by the people, but she will always remember herself among the audience, looking up at the Chief Iudex and the Hydro Archon with wide eyes.
Clervie had sat beside her, but at the age of four Arlecchino had not quite learned the agony that the House of the Hearth was built upon and had scorned the girl for being Crucabena’s daughter. It had been some foolish, spiteful accusation of favoritism – one quickly unlearned – but enough that Clervie had not dared approach her yet.
Would it have changed anything, if she did? Likely not.
Regardless, t was difficult to remember either of them only a few feet away, Clervie or her mother, when faced with immenseness of the opera.
To a young child, no matter how wise or mature, the vastness and structure of the theater will always make it imposing. The Iudex reigned above them all, sat upon his chair like a king on a throne, and in the alcove beside him lounged Fontaine’s Archon.
Before she had learned anything about either Neuvillette or Furina, before she had been given the power to speak with them, she had looked upon these gods given flesh and thought them ethereal.
The specifics of the trial blur in her mind. She cannot remember the man’s exact sentencing nor his exact crime – her memory only recalls her anger towards him, a deep-seated rage she now considers amusing to have been found in the young body of a mere toddler. She knows only of his depravity and none else.
The evidence was stacked against him, and none in the audience expected anything less than the Iudex’s declaration of his guilt.
And it was then that Lady Furina had intervened, from her seat high above them all, and suggested his complete separation and prohibition from his victims and any other women he may ever encounter for the rest of his (admittedly, short) life.
Arlecchino had looked up at her, seen her easy confidence and the authority with which she spoke, and thought, could she do that for me, as well?
The following years had quickly dissuaded her of this notion. Any devotion Arlecchino could have possibly held burned away in the face of Crucabena’s cruelty – or was it amusement? One could never know with her – and sacrilege became her native tongue.
Neither Focalors nor the Tsaritsa had ever managed to gain her prayers. A sinner would never learn to love the gods, much less those that turned a blind eye to suffering. By the age of eight, Arlecchino had long learned to steel her face and harden her eyes, hands always clenched into fists or gripped around a blade. The gods, so high above them, did nothing for her as she fought her way through her own hell. Why should she offer them anything of her own?
Focalors had never once seen fit to look upon the House of the Hearth – look deeper into the House of the Hearth – and then Clervie had died. And the blood-debt only Crucabena could repay was responded to with a year imprisoned while the Tsaritsa allowed her to wonder as to her execution.
There was nothing to be grateful for, there.
Crucabena had always seen her derision as a theatre of her own. Perhaps that was her own Fontainian heritage making itself known, to find the joy in watching the lives of others. All of Arlecchino’s careless remarks or scathing insults did nothing to her, resulting only in hands ruffling her hair in a terrible facsimile of a mother or a sharp laugh.
She’d warned her only once, told her not to get too comfortable with the gods’ ignorance. Had said that one day, if they ever decided to look Arlecchino’s way, it would not be pleasant.
What an odd thing for a Harbinger to say. Were they not meant to be the favored of the Tsaritsa?
And yet, twenty years later, and she can understand Crucabena’s words intimately. What a terrible, terrible feeling.
And yet, twenty years later, and she still remembers being four years old, looking up at the god so high above her and thinking, beautiful.
“Lady Furina.”
“Oh,” Furina says quietly, turning her head to look up at Arlecchino. “Of course it’s you.”
“Yes,” Arlecchino agrees, not quite sure how to interpret that sentence. It likely was because of their past animosity, but she didn’t know how to convey that she no longer held any enmity towards the ex-Archon. What must she do that she has not already tried? “Are you… well?”
“Yes, of course! Why wouldn’t I be? Ah, the Knave really ought not to worry about that!”
Arlecchino opts not to comment on how dull Lady Furina’s eyes clearly are, or how shrill her voice is, and instead explains why she’d gone all the way to Erinnyes to track her down. “Fontaine is hosting a celebration and no one could find you.”
It’s odd. She knows that Lady Furina has been spending far less time with Monsieur Neuvillette and Clorinde than she did before the trial, but at the very least, Arlecchino would’ve thought that they would be aware of her usual haunts.
“Right,” Furina says, her voice making it very clear she has no idea what the Knave is talking about. “The celebration.”
“About the prophecy,” Arlecchino informs her. “It’s meant to honor you, Monsieur Neuvillette, and the Lady Focalors. Because the rebuilding has finally concluded.”
Lady Furina stiffens, hands clenching where they are placed in her lap. She has yet to move from her perch on the cliff, and Arlecchino suspects it is exactly the same spot as last time. She does not have wet hair now, however, and her shoes are not beside her – Arlecchino would have thought she had been meditating if she didn’t know how uncharacteristic that would be of her.
“You truly did not know?” she marvels. She knew Furina had been understandably trying to distance herself from most of Fontaine’s grandest… scenes, but she must have barely left the house at all, to not have noticed at all!
Or perhaps not been at home very often, instead, she rephrases, glancing across the landscape.
“No,” Lady Furina says, voice clipped. “It is… now?”
“Yes,” Arlecchino answers, eyes narrowing. “I hear that Monsieur Neuvillette has been looking for you.”
“Ah, right,” she says, voice distant for a long moment. She looks down at Loch Urania, bubbling brightly below them as always, and Arlecchino tamps down the urge to question her further. It would not be taken as the mere curiosity that it is. “I’ll be right there.”
“...Right. Monsieur Neuvillette really is quite worried for you. I do hope you won’t disappoint him further.”
Lady Furina flinches again, and then laughs. It’s a terrible sound. It’s exactly how she would speak as the Hydro Archon, and Arlecchino despises that it seems to resurface so often around her. “You really don’t need to worry about that! I’m sure the Knave has better things to do with her time.”
She’s not wrong. Arlecchino really has no reason to be here any longer. She does not even know why she had come at all. It seems that Furina’s retirement still has not changed her predisposition towards being absolutely, infuriatingly, stubborn, and she has no wish to subject herself to whatever situation the ex-Archon has placed herself in now.
“I will see you at the festival, then,” Arlecchino responds, and turns to leave.
Really, she does not understand Furina’s newfound obsession with Erinnyes. It’s far from the court, and aside from a pretty view, what else is there?
One of the children falls to injury near the Weeping Willow of the Lake, and so Arlecchino brings Lynette with her to find him and then complete his mission.
It is only by pure luck that he had not yet gone to make a move, still in the process of reconnaissance, and so their target remains completely unaware. It is quick work to send Lynette off to retrieve him and return to the House of the Hearth to heal him, and it is just as simple to find the man that the boy was meant to monitor and dispose of him.
It is, all in all, one of the less stressful missions she has undertaken in quite a while.
And so she is left with the few hours of margin she had allotted herself, and walking back past the trails surrounding the Weeping Willow, she remembers abruptly that she is very near to Loch Urania.
Truly, Arlecchino does not know what foolishness possesses her to move away from the aquabus line, still visible above her, and return deeper into Erinnyes, but she finds the sounds of the now-familiar bubbling of the vortex greeting her mere minutes later.
The path up to Lady Furina’s usual vantage point remains hidden and untread, but Arlecchino continues on, already used to it by now.
And yet, when she reaches the crest of the hill and spots the ex-Archon sitting exactly as predicted, there is one factor that she had not at all expected.
Furina is crying.
Arlecchino has never seen this type of grief from her – silent, hopeless, with the dullness of one long used to it and yet unable to prevent it. It is a grief that she knows intimately, but never one she would have thought would be found upon Lady Furina’s face.
But what else could it be? There is not a spark of light in her eyes, nor is there a sliver a sound escaping her, despite the tears running down her face.
She can only barely make out Furina’s lips mouthing five hundred years, and yet the weight of those words press upon their shoulders nonetheless.
Lady Furina has not yet noticed her, and Arlecchino decides to keep it that way. She has never given much consideration to the ex-Archon’s previous melodramatic cries or yells, but to intrude upon this feels like heresy that she does not quite wish to commit.
She remembers being crowned Harbinger, at the terribly young age of seventeen, and desperate to carve out a place for herself. She had never expected to make it this far – truly, she would have been glad to speak with Clervie once more – but Arlecchino has never ignored the blessings she is bestowed, few as they may be.
Is her title as Harbinger a blessing? She will never know, and likely will never find out. It’s quite alright – she prefers it that way – but she cannot deny that curiosity, harmless or not, is a substantial part of her.
It is that very curiosity that lead her to demand answers from Pierro, and it is that very curiosity that leaves her unsatisfied with his response pertaining to her past.
It had been quite easy to track down the books that he mentioned to her and read them, and even now she keeps them locked away in her study and finds herself occasionally gazing upon their words during the quiet evenings.
And yet – Arlecchino was once a child herself, looking out at the fields of Fontaine and wondering why she was alone in the House. There are no others who wield the blood-dark flames, none other that have corrosion and charcoal creeping slowly up their arms.
It is better in that way, she knows. She would not wish mere children to be cursed so terribly as well. And yet, she finds herself wondering of the Balemoon.
She is Fontainian, and she is Snezhnayan, and yet her blood is Khaenri’ahn. Not only that, but of a dynasty long gone. She asks the Captain about the Crimson Moon dynasty once, when she is still young and naive, but even for all of his courtesy and honor he cannot tell her of what happened long before he was born.
There are no others like her.
And watching the last remnant of the reign of the Hydro Archons grieve, Arlecchino realizes quietly that there is nothing in this world quite like Lady Furina, either.
“Are you here again?” She fails to keep the disbelief out of her voice, but it is not like there is anyone aside from Furina herself around to judge her.
“Ah, Knave,” the lady in question says, and it feels like a mockery of their first meeting here. Her voice is off, more so than usual, in a way that Arlecchino cannot quite pinpoint. It’s frustrating. “Is there another festival i have missed?”
Even Lady Furina’s sarcasm, usually hidden from Arlecchino, is not enough to deter her. There is something wrong, she can tell, even if she doesn’t quite know what it is.
“Lady Furina,” she says, voice stern, “It is quite late. I do not wish to continuously have to escort you back to Marcotte Station.”
“Then don’t,” Furina replies sharply. It is most out of character of her, and it only serves to concern Arlecchino further. “Knave, you do not need to be here. I am fully aware of how you dislike me.”
“I do not dislike you,” Arlecchino says instinctively – and it’s true, isn’t it? She’d thought Furina to be fascinating, the person behind the Archon infinitely more interesting than the mask itself. She supposes she simply never actively realized that it meant she no longer despised Furina so. An oversight on her part.
“I am not a fool, no matter how you have considered me for the past years,” the ex-Archon frowns. “You attacked me, and consistently have scorned me. Do you expect me to believe that is due to your liking me?”
“I respect the work you have done for Fontaine,” Arlecchino says, straightening. It will not do to allow false impressions between them. It is most unbecoming of a harbinger to have let these misunderstandings fester to this point. “You helped to save this nation. For that I will always respect you. I have done my best to make this clear, but it seems you did not understand.”
Lady Furina stares at her, incredulity written on every line in her face. “How am I meant to take the words of the woman who attempted to kill me?”
Arlecchino opens her mouth to say something in response, and then snaps it shut. Furina is… not wrong. She will not apologize, because to her it was the appropriate course of action at the time, but she supposes that it would have been quite worrying. Especially as Furina is only human, and at the time did not even have a Vision.
Hm.
“I hold no negative intention towards you, Lady Furina,” she chooses to respond. What else is there to say? What can she say?
Furina looks at her, eyes piercing, scanning every inch of her face for the slightest hint of a lie. She will not find one, for Arlecchino is more honest than she has ever been in her life. It’s rather horrifying, actually.
“Archons,” Furina breathes out finally. “You’re actually serious.”
Arlecchino opens her mouth to respond, but Lady Furina continues on, voice tinged with hysteria as she stands up from her seat on the ground, beginning to pace. “Archons,” she repeats. “Why must you always find me here?”
“Lady Furina!” Arlecchino says sharply. She does not know what has gotten into her, but it seems as if the strangeness that she has sensed this entire conversation has finally reached its tipping point. “What on Teyvat is happening with you?”
Furina looks up at her, eyes wide, and she begins to doubt that Furina is seeing her at all. “No, that’s fine,” the ex-Archon says, letting a sharp laugh. “If you truly no longer dislike me, you will at least do me the honor of bringing my letters back to Neuvillette, right?”
Letters? What? Arlecchino risks looking away from her, eyes catching onto Furina’s bag, laid haphazardly on the grass beside the two of them. It has fallen slightly open, allowing her to catch a glimpse of the papers inside.
I figured I could drop off some letters before I went, she had said several weeks ago, when they had run into each other before Lady Furina returned to Erinnyes.
But it always comes back to that, doesn’t it? What is there about Erinnyes that brings Furina back, time and time again?
She is hundreds of years old. There is nothing in Erinnyes that she couldn’t have already seen in all of her time in Fontaine. Even with the Traveler only recently calming the vortex, Arlecchino knows that Furina must have beheld it before the corruption had grown so strong.
There really is nothing that could be of interest to her – only the waters below them, which she has never looked at, some trees, grass, and the cliff that they both stand upon now.
The cliff.
Arlecchino’s eyes snap back to Lady Furina, widening. Something drops into her stomach, heavy as stone, and she realizes somewhere in the back of her mind that it is her heart. Her pulse thuds in her ears, loud and far too quickly, and there’s something about this entire situation that feels awfully, bitterly familiar.
Furina is still pacing and muttering frantically to herself, hands twisted in her hair, her barefoot steps far, far too close to the edge.
Of course. Of course. Archons, Arlecchino is such a fool. She is no stranger to this behavior, to days spent in a cold cell waiting patiently – almost eagerly – for her execution, but she had been utterly blind when it had come to Furina.
She cannot think about the why, at least not now, not when Furina’s shoes are in a bag with letters that Arlecchino wants to never be opened, and their owner is dancing along a choice that she can never come back from. Something in her chest twists, something strangled making its way through her lungs and up her throat.
Has Lady Furina simply been waiting for Arlecchino to kill her? Is that why she has allowed their conversations to continue? That terrible sense of familiarity only grows, rising like bile in her throat, and she chokes on it.
“Lady Furina,” she starts, unable to keep the desperation from leaking into her voice, and the lady looks up, locking eyes with her.
“You will at least do me that honor, right?” Furina repeats calmly, smile widening. It’s horrific, and of course it’s the smile that finally forces recognition into her mind. It looks like Clervie, ten years ago, throwing herself onto Arlecchino’s sword, and for a moment the Harbinger feels as if she had been the one impaled.
And before she can say a single word, Lady Furina tips over the edge.