Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

#1: 

Barbara is going to meet her god for the first time today. 

She’s so excited. Mama dressed her up in her prettiest clothes and did her hair in two curly pigtails, just like she always likes to wear, and even tied white ribbons around them to make bows. Her big sister is wearing her nicest church dress and a hairbow, too, but Jean only has one pigtail on the back of her head instead of two. They look like a perfect matching set. Barbara has her fluffy white and blue pinafore with all the frills and gold trim, and Jean has a matching dress with a longer, flatter skirt, because she says that it makes her look grown-up. Barbara’s going to look grown-up one day, too, but until then, Jean can be grown-up enough for the both of them. 

“Now, we’ve got to be very quiet in here, alright?” Mama tells them, putting a finger to her lips. The white paint on her nails sparkles in the torchlight from the sconce on the wall. “Can you two do that for me?” 

Barbara nods excitedly, and Jean nods as well, answering aloud as she pulls Barbara closer. “We’ll be super quiet, Mama, I promise!” 

“That’s my girls.” Mama smiles and reaches for a flat part of the wall, pressing down on it and causing it to pop open. The hidden door swings outward and Barbara gasps as Mama ushers them into the sunlit room, gently pulling the door shut behind them without so much as a creak. Barbara holds on tightly to the box she was given with the gifts for Lord Barbatos inside – she already had to do so much convincing to get Mama to let her carry it, and she’s not going to drop it now. 

The room is light and airy, full of little downy feathers and various offerings, for in the middle of the room, Lord Barbatos is resting on a large white cushion beneath the open window with his wings spread out over him like a blanket. Barbara watches with wide-open eyes, not even daring to blink lest she miss a glimpse, as Lord Barbatos sleeps on the cushion, graceful and beautiful despite his dormant state. 

This is the face of a god – her god. Barbara was named for him, for his gentleness and kindness, for his devotion to his people, and in that instant, Barbara knows she’s going to give all of her devotion right back to him. 

“Mama, I wanna be a nun when I grow up,” Barbara whispers. Despite her attempts to keep her tone low, the sound seems to echo in this open room. 

Mama looks down at her and chuckles quietly. “We’ll see what we can do, darling.” 

Jean inches closer, glancing back at Barbara as she approaches the bed. In her hand, she has an apple and a folded letter – her class had been writing letters like that, to be given to Lord Barbatos on their next visit. Jean had taken hers home with the knowledge that she’d be visiting before the rest of her schoolmates, and now, she gets to gift him her letter ahead of time. Jean had read the whole thing out to Barbara before they’d left the house, and it’s full of stories about all the things Jean likes to do. Barbara thinks that Lord Barbatos would like it – the legends always say that he really likes songs and stories, after all. 

Barbara watches as her sister takes a respectful step back, folding her hands and closing her eyes to take the same pose that the big kids and the adults take when they pray. After a moment, Mama does so as well, and Barbara takes this opportunity to step closer to Lord Barbatos’ resting place. 

He looks ethereal. Unreal, almost. His face reminds Barbara of one of the porcelain dolls on the highest shelves in Jean’s room – shaped to be perfect and pristine for all eternity. Almost unconsciously, she reaches out to brush a finger against his cheek, wondering if it’s as smooth as the dolls she’s thinking of. As soon as her hand meets his face, his eyelids flutter, and slowly, ever so slowly, he opens his eyes. 

They’re so bright. Like liquid Anemo, condensed into a perfect glowing orb as he looks at her with a sleepy, half-dazed expression. 

“Lord Barbatos,” Barbara whispers reverently, and his eyes open further, sparking with recognition. 

He shifts, pulling himself a little more upright as he looks down at her with a fond expression. “Hello, there. Who might you be?” 

His voice is quiet, but in the hush of the room, it’s audible to everyone. Barbara glances back at the sound of her mother and Jean gasping, only to be yanked away a moment later as Mama begins to apologise. 

“Lord Barbatos, you’re– you’re awake!” Mama exclaims. “I’m so sorry, my lord, please forgive my daughter’s disrespect, she really meant no harm–” 

“Disrespect…?” Lord Barbatos’ brow furrows in confusion as he sits up straighter, looking around. “She’s just a baby, she can only really be but so disrespectful.” 

Jean glances up at Mama (who is now holding Barbara aloft and will not put her down, no matter how much she squirms) hesitantly before stepping forwards, hands clasped nervously in front of her. “Lord Barbatos?” 

“Hm?” He looks away from Mama to focus on Jean, letting out a soft gasp as he leans forward to put both hands on her cheeks. “Oh, you’re adorable. What’s your name?” 

“J-Jean Gunnhildr, Lord Barbatos.” 

Lord Barbatos smiles, wide and bright, as he pulls Jean closer. “That’s so cute! And what about your little sister?” 

“I’m Barbara,” says Barbara, who is still struggling to free herself from Mama’s insistent hold. She wants Lord Barbatos to pinch her cheeks, too! “Lord Barbatos, I got a gift for you!” 

Barbara holds up her box, and Lord Barbatos gasps in delight, wings fluttering. “A gift? How unexpected!” 

“Barbara–” Mama starts, but just as she speaks, Barbara finally manages to wriggle enough to get out of her mother’s hands, falling to the floor rather ungracefully – only to be caught by a soft swirl of winds right before she hits the ground. Barbara comes up standing, and she tucks the box under one arm for a moment so she can dust her skirt off before she skips over to Lord Barbatos’ bedside to plop the box down in front of him. 

“It’s for you!” Barbara announces, nudging it closer before climbing up onto the bed to kneel beside him. Jean, after a moment of hesitation, joins her on Lord Barbatos’ other side, and only a second later the pair find themselves encircled by an enormous set of white-feathered wings. 

“Well, let’s open this then, shall we?” Lord Barbatos says, pulling the box into his lap and taking off the lid with slim, nimble fingers. Inside lies a finely crafted music box made of silver metal, engraved with the Gunnhildr crest and the symbol of Anemo. It plays one of Barbara’s favourite songs when the handle is turned, so she really hopes that Lord Barbatos likes it. 

Barbara watches excitedly as he lifts the music box out of its case, holding it aloft with an almost reverent expression – not far off from how Barbara had been watching him earlier. He must really like music, to have such a look on his face. Lord Barbatos sets the box in his lap and turns the handle, smiling in delight as the tune begins to play. 

“What a beautiful song!” He proclaims, looking at Barbara. “Did you pick this out, Barbara?” 

She nods. “Mhm! Jean and Mama helped!” 

“I quite like it. Thank you very much, little one.” 

He draws her closer with his wing and pulls both her and Jean into a hug, and Barbara squeezes back with all her might. Now she’s definitely going to be a nun when she grows up, just so she can come back in here and get a hug from Lord Barbatos whenever she wants. 

#2:  

Today will be the first day that Barbara has used her new Hydro Vision to clean the room in which Lord Barbatos slumbers. 

She’s practiced so much already, and she really wants to be able to do it as soon as possible. If Barbara’s Vision can come in handy for getting dirt and dust out of the topmost corners of the room, then the church won’t have to call an Anemo user or try and tie a duster to a stick just to clean their own god’s chamber. Barbara wants to contribute to the church, wants to help care for the god she worships, and this will be the first step. 

So far, she’s been doing pretty well. The walls near the doorway are sparkling clean, and she’s been able to wipe off some particularly nasty candle smudges above the sconces that no one else has been able to budge. Now, all that’s left to do are the ceiling and the window frame, and Barbara will be completely done. 

She summons a ball of water and raises it up to the ceiling, running it along the stone and allowing it to pick up all the dust and debris that’s accumulated in the little cracks and crevices over the years. Once the water starts to become murky, she deposits the dirt into the bucket she’d brought up with her, and summons another ball to begin the process anew. 

As she goes on, though, it starts to become harder and harder to get the water up as high as she needs it to be. Barbara had been practising in her own room, but the ceilings are much lower, and she’d only been doing little bits at a time. Maybe she should have waited to try this– but no, because then the church would have had to bring an Anemo allogene in here, and it would have been such a hassle to make sure nothing got blown out the window again. No, Barbara can do it. She just needs to focus, and– 

Barbara summons a new sphere of Hydro, bringing it up to the ceiling right over Lord Barbatos, but her control was already wavering, and she loses her grip on the water at just the wrong moment. The bubble breaks apart, falling through the air, and… splashing down all over Lord Barbatos. 

Lord Barbatos, who is now soaking wet. 

Lord Barbatos, who sits up with a jolt and a cough, bringing a hand up to wipe his face as he shakes the excess water droplets out of his wings. 

Barbara is going to keel over and die on the spot. She dumped water all over Lord Barbatos. He’s awake, and it’s all because she dropped water all over him! How is she ever meant to live this down? 

“Lord Barbatos!” Barbara yelps, covering her face in shame and shock. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to, I really didn’t– I’m– I’m so sorry, Lord Barbatos, please!” 

Lord Barbatos splutters and coughs a bit more, looking around with an incredulous expression. “What happened? Whe–where am I?” 

“Y-you’re, um… you’re in the church, Lord Barbatos,” Barbara mumbles, and in a whisper, she adds, “I was trying to clean, and. And I dropped water on you. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” 

“The church?” Lord Barbatos sits up, shaking out his wings further and… bringing a hand up to wring the water out of his braids, like he’s wringing out a towel. Should she offer him a towel? “Since when?!”  

“Um…” 

Lord Barbatos looks down at his now-soggy hands and sighs. “No, this is taking too long. Hang on a moment.” 

He summons up a whirlwind in his palm, swirling the Hydro and blowing it away to effectively dry himself off in mere moments. Then, he sighs in relief, smoothing down the rumpled feathers as he turns back to Barbara with a polite expression. 

“Alright, now what were you saying?” Lord Barbatos, no longer soggy, asks. 

This is the strangest day of her life. Barbara just might faint. 

#3:  

It’s Barbara’s first day as Deaconess of the Church of Favonius, and she is determined to do the best possible job she can. 

Of her new duties, the most important is being the primary caretaker of Lord Barbatos during his slumber. She has to handle the offerings, the maintenance of the room, the visits, and everything else that goes along with making sure that their sleeping god is safe and comfortable while he rests. 

She’s already made sure that the room is clean, and the next visit isn’t scheduled until late tomorrow afternoon, so Barbara is currently making sure that the offerings laid out are neatly arranged. There are a few letters stacked up that will be left by Lord Barbatos’ bedside for another week or so before they’re placed in the archive, some fresh apples on a fancy little tray, and a doll and a bracelet made by some of the schoolchildren and left behind on Monday when their class came for a visit – all of which, Barbara will take the utmost care to ensure are arranged neatly and carefully on the altar in front of the bed. 

The stack of letters is slightly askew still, and Barbara scoots over to readjust them, making sure they’re as straight as possible. She’s so preoccupied with her task, in fact, that she doesn’t notice the downy feather from Lord Barbatos’ wings as it floats through the air and lands right on his face. Even in his sleep, his nose still wrinkles, and after a moment of unconscious sniffling, Lord Barbatos lets out a loud sneeze. 

Barbara shrieks in alarm at the sudden sound, knocking over the letters and whipping around to find the source of the noise. Not even a moment later, her scream startles Lord Barbatos and he jolts upright, letting out a small shriek of his own as his wings flare in surprise. 

For a moment, they simply stare at each other in shell-shocked harmony, each waiting for the other to make a move. Then, ever so slowly, the offending downy feather drifts down from the air once more from where it had been blown aloft by the sneeze, and settles on Lord Barbatos’ nose yet again. 

He lets out another sneeze, bringing up a hand to rub at his nose with an ungainly sniff. “Ugh, why does this always happen to me?” 

“You do have feathered wings,” Barbara says reflexively, then slaps both hands over her mouth. “Sorry! I’m sorry, that was so disrespectful, I didn’t mean it like that!” 

Lord Barbatos squints at her, still looking remarkably sleepy and confused, but before he can say anything else, the door to the room slams open and Rosaria rushes in, spear in hand and ready to fight. “I heard screaming, what the hell’s going on?” 

Then, she stops short. 

She stares at Barbara, then at Lord Barbatos. Her spear disappears from her hand as she openly gapes at the now very much awake god kneeling on the bed-cushion in front of her. 

“What the fuck, ” says Rosaria. 

“My thoughts exactly,” Lord Barbatos echoes. 

#4:  

It’s a normal morning for Barbara as she walks up the stairs to Lord Barbatos’ room. 

She’s got a few chores to attend to before she gets on with the rest of her day – namely, looking after her god. Barbara collects the offerings every morning, either storing them in one of the basement rooms or disposing of the perishable items like flowers, and she tidies up the room as well. Her god’s wings have a tendency to spread downy feathers everywhere, necessitating a regular sweep of the room to ensure that it doesn’t become too much of a mess in there. 

The Holy Lyre is technically kept in his room as well, on a small stand by the door, but Barbara shouldn’t need to do anything with it – she checked that it was tuned and polished only yesterday, so it ought to be good for another week. Perhaps she’ll see if his hair needs to be rebraided while she’s– 

The door slides open like usual, but Lord Barbatos isn’t curled up on the cushion like he always is. There’s a figure in green standing on it, with one leg out the window, an apple in his mouth, and a lyre in his hand, surrounded by chittering wind sprites as he stares at Barbara, frozen in shock. There are two braids on either side of his face, framing a set of wide, bright eyes the same colour as pure Anemo. 

“Lord Barbatos?” Barbara exclaims. 

He grimaces, and a moment later, he’s gone. Only a swirl of wind is left behind, dissipating quickly in the morning breeze. 

…Barbara just scared him away. God is awake, and Barbara scared him off.  

There’s nothing else to do but start crying, then. 

#5:

Barbara stands beside the bed of Lord Barbatos, straightening up the offerings on his altar as she hums a quiet tune to herself. The sun is shining, the wind sprites seems exceptionally happy today, and Barbara has a feeling that it will be a very good day, indeed. 

She usually puts the apples on the left… but maybe they should go on the right? But would that go against tradition? Then again, Lord Barbatos never really cared much for that… she’ll just move them to the middle, then. They are one of the most popular offerings, and Lord Barbatos’ favourite, so that seems like a good place for them to be. 

Barbara busies herself with moving the apples one by one, stacking them neatly in a pretty little pyramid, when something large and soft hits her in the back of the head and nearly knocks her over. She brings a hand up to touch where she’d been bumped, turning to see what just happened, only to come face to face with a wall of pristine white feathers as a hand touches her shoulder as if to steady her. 

The wing and hand both withdraw not even a second later, and now, Barbara is face to face with the apologetic, and very awake , expression of her god. 

“Oh, Archons, I’m so sorry!” He exclaims, hands up in what almost looks like a gesture of surrender. “I didn’t mean to hit you, I was only stretching!” 

Barbara gapes, one hand still touching the back of her head where the wing (the wing, that was her god’s wing) had bumped her. 

Lord Barbatos’ apologies trail off as he glances past her, standing to take a look at the back of her head. “I didn’t… actually hurt you, did I?” 

At this, Barbara finally manages to find her words, jumping back and shaking her head instantly. “No! No, no no, I’m just surprised, I swear! Lord Barbatos, you’re– you’re awake!”  

He pauses, looking down at himself and then back to her. “Uh… yes?” 

Barbara clasps her hands together and beams. She was right – it is going to be a very good day today. 

#6:  

Barbara is going to be rebraiding her god’s hair today. It has to be done fairly often, given how Lord Barbatos sometimes shifts in his sleep and it tends to mess up his favoured style. They could leave it loose, but even then it would still need to be brushed, and besides, Lord Barbatos has never once been seen without those two braids. Who are they to make the decision to change that? 

After all the practice she’s done, Barbara has gotten quite good at doing this style. She’s got a comb and a pair of new hair ties, and now, all she has to do is take out the old, mussed braids to replace them with fresh ones. 

She sits down on the cushion beside Lord Barbatos’ head, tucking her skirt underneath herself before she reaches over and carefully begins to unweave the old braids one at a time. The hair ties go into the pockets of her dress, and she pulls out her comb, taking one long lock of hair and running the comb through it to get out any residual knots or tangles. Then, she separates the lock into three thin strands, and begins to twist them together into a nice, neat braid. 

The action is methodic, calming, and Barbara has nearly lost herself in the rhythm of it when a hand comes up to bat her away, accompanied by an annoyed little mumble as Lord Barbatos turns his face away from her and curls up tighter under the makeshift blanket of his wings. 

That… has never happened before. She’s heard that he shifts around sometimes, but she doesn’t think he usually does that. Perhaps she simply hasn’t heard about it before. 

Taking this as a fluke, Barbara shifts closer, taking the half-done braid in hand again and continuing her progress. A moment later, though, he tries to bat her away again, and this time, she can see just the tiniest crack in his eyelids as he murmurs another complaint. 

“‘S too early f’r this,” Lord Barbatos mumbles, turning over and burying his face in the cushion. 

“Are you awake? ” Barbara gasps. What does he mean that it’s ‘too early’ for this? Is he not meant to be awake yet? Is she– is she interfering in some sort of divine plan? 

At the sound of her voice, Lord Barbatos’ eyes open fully, giving way to a baffled expression as he looks up at her, and it’s then that Barbara realises that she’s still holding one of his braids. “...Hello? What’s– what are you doing?” 

“Fixing… your hair?” Barbara offers weakly, and Lord Barbatos squints. 

“How did you get up here?” He mumbles to himself. “Where am I?” 

That, at least, Barbara can answer. “This is the highest room in the Church of Favonius, Lord Barbatos. It’s, um… where you sleep?” 

“Since when?!”  

“Since five hundred years ago…?” 

“Huh?!”  

Chapter Text

Someone nearby is crying. 

It’s the first thing Venti thinks as he slowly begins to return to the waking world. Even now, he can tell he must have been sleeping for ages – he’s never this dazed after only a short nap. 

Someone is crying, and it sounds like it’s a kid. A young one, too. Why can he hear a small child crying? 

Venti cracks his eyes open, just a sliver of light reaching his pupils before he shuts them again, waiting a few moments before blinking blearily and squinting out into the bright… room? He’s in a room? How odd. Venti doesn’t think he’s ever had one of his slumbers indoors before, and he doesn’t really remember how or where he fell asleep this time… 

He lifts his head up, wings shifting with the movement as he slowly, carefully starts to ease himself into a sitting position. As his vision clears from the blur of slumber, the details of the room begin to sharpen, and Venti finds himself looking at a trio of humans, none of whom seem to have noticed him yet. 

There are two with pale skin and fluffy red hair that look almost identical, a man and a little boy who can’t be more than seven, and the third is another even younger boy with a darker tone and silky-straight hair in a deep shade of navy. The blue-haired boy, the littlest one, seems to be the source of the crying. He’s scrunched up into a sad little ball against one of the walls with his face twisted up in a sob, rubbing his eyes with such vigor that, between his own hands and the thick layer of tears, Venti doubts he can see anything at all. The man and the red-haired boy (who are likely his father and brother, despite the difference in appearance – the blue-haired boy must have taken after his mother) are hovering around him with their backs to Venti, looking utterly lost over how to calm the little one down. 

Well. Venti may have only woken up two minutes ago, but he’s always been good with children, and he really can’t stand to see a child crying. His own siblings are surrounding him, but he leaves them behind on the bed as he slips down to the floor, bare feet chilling as they touch cold stone. Venti can feel his wings pulling behind him, sliding against the soft cushion of the circular bed before he draws them in to fold up against his back. 

He moves closer to the crying boy, past the father and the redheaded brother, the former of whom lets out a choked gasp as Venti’s wings nudge him aside. Venti kneels beside the little child, ignoring the chill of the stone floor in favour of focusing on the boy instead. 

“What’s wrong?” Venti murmurs, offering a tentative hand for whatever the boy may need. A comforting hand on his shoulder, a hug beneath large feathered wings… small children tend to like physical comfort, in his experience. “Why are you crying, little one?” 

The boy jolts, looking up at Venti with wide, scared eyes. For a moment, he simply stares uncomprehendingly, before he lets out a muffled shriek and flinches violently, nearly banging his head against the wall behind him if not for how Venti manages to catch it with his wing just in time. He’s never had a child scream before when he tried to comfort them. What’s going on here? 

He draws back his wing as the boy shrinks in on himself, tucking it against his back in the hopes of making himself look a little less intimidating. He usually looks more human than this, so perhaps that’s what startled him? 

“Kaeya, can you tell us what’s wrong?” Comes another voice, and Venti shifts slightly to allow the father to crouch down beside his younger son as well, noting that the older child is peeking over his shoulder with a look of concern. The boy must be named Kaeya, then – it sounds more Sumerian than Mondstadtan, but Mondstadt has always had a rather high population of immigrants. It isn’t surprising to find that foreign names have become more popular over the years. 

Kaeya shakes his head, eyes– no, eye, one of them is covered by a soft black patch – flicking from his father to Venti and back again. He still looks terrified, and Venti has no idea why.  

The father hesitates, looking unsure of how to proceed, and Venti turns back to Kaeya, trying to find anything that could be wrong. He doesn’t seem to be injured – in fact, the missing eye is the only thing that’s visibly wrong. Still, he doesn’t seem to be hurting aside from that, and his other eye is– 

Oh. Star-shaped pupils – that’s a Khaenri’ahn trait, isn’t it? Kaeya’s family must have immigrated from there. It must have been on his mother’s side, since his father and brother don’t seem to be visibly Khaenri’ahn at all. 

Venti glances over at the other son, just to check, and sure enough, his pupils are perfectly circular. No points there, nor in the eyes of the father. 

“Are you going to kill me?” Kaeya whispers suddenly, still pressed up against the wall and trembling in fear. 

Is he going to what?!  

“What?!” Venti yelps, utterly horrified. “No, of course not! But why would you… did someone tell you that I would…?” 

Kaeya shakes his head quickly, but then pauses, hesitating. “But… I’m f-from Khaenri’ah. Aren’t you going to…?” 

“You’re a baby,” says Venti, who’s suddenly feeling like he’s looking at a much bigger picture now, one that he would have preferred not to see. This boy… he must know of the Cataclysm, and of the Archons’ role in it. Venti hadn’t thought of that, not when he was barely awake to begin with. 

At this accusation, Kaeya’s look of fear twists into a pout. “M’not a baby.”  

“Yes, you are. Look at you. You’ve got squishy little cheeks and a cute little face, and you’re tiny. ” Venti reaches out, almost on instinct, to poke one of the aforementioned squishy cheeks. This time, Kaeya doesn’t flinch away – though, he does pout even harder. “See? Baby.” 

“I’m six!”  

Venti pauses. “...And?” 

“Six isn’t a baby!” 

“I’m over two thousand,” Venti informs him. “Six is a baby to me.” 

Kaeya’s pout does not go away. There’s a sound from behind, and without warning, the other boy pops into view, having managed to squeeze himself past their father in an effort to get to his little brother. If Venti thought Kaeya was cute, they’re even more adorable as a pair. The older boy plops himself down next to Kaeya, grabbing his face and turning it from side to side like he’s looking for wounds. 

“Are you okay, Kaeya?” The other boy asks, and Kaeya struggles to nod, given that his brother still hasn’t let go of his head. “I thought you got hurt or something! You were crying!”  

“I know that,” Kaeya mumbles. 

The father sighs, glancing at Venti with a slightly apprehensive expression before turning back to his sons. “Come on, now, behave yourselves. Diluc, don’t grab Kaeya’s face like that, alright?” 

The older boy, who is apparently called Diluc, unhands his brother and tucks his little hands behind his back, looking chastised, but only slightly. “...Sorry.” 

“Ah, there’s no harm done, is there?” Venti says, bringing one hand up to pat Diluc’s head. “No need to be all stiff and formal.” 

“...Lord Barbatos,” the father starts, and then cuts himself off, like he isn’t quite sure where to go after that. 

Venti stills. 

Well. He does have his wings out, and a closer look at his body reveals that he is, in fact, in his Archon outfit. He… probably should have realised that he would be recognised as Barbatos, but somehow, it just hadn’t crossed his mind until now. 

“Ah,” Venti says. “I don’t suppose you could tell me where I am, exactly? This seems to be inside, and I definitely didn’t fall asleep inside.” 

The red haired man gives him a scrutinizing look, and Venti can practically feel the bafflement and exasperation rolling off of him. At least the child isn’t crying anymore.