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He looks out at the woods that surround the back of the castle, wondering if there are any threats that might need to be taken care of. The rings on his fingers feel undeniably heavy, as do his robes and headpiece, decorations that mark his status.
Having allowed himself this temporary respite, Diluc knows convincing himself to return to his duties will be a harder task than appeasing his council. Though he is content for them to run things as they see fit most of the time, he prefers not to be entirely blindsided by their decisions.
And now, Diluc is facing a considerable threat: hosting a Snezhnayan warrior. Their fiercest yet, who will have to be entertained day and night, steered away from what he does not want him to see.
Such is the prize of their newfound alliance, having found an enemy in the Abyss. He will sorely miss Kaeya, his most trusted and most draining advisor, who has placed himself as a volunteer, but they have, at the very least, allowed him visitors to his heart’s content.
This development has prickled at his skin for the past week, but Diluc is forcing himself to remind himself that in order to be ready for war, he will need strength in numbers, and by then, Kaeya will be back at his side.
A soft knock at the door. “Hi, love,” smiles Lisa, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. So tied up in his thoughts, Diluc hadn’t noticed the turn in the wind. “He’ll be here soon.”
He straightens up, adjusts his headpiece. “Then, I suppose, we should head downstairs to receive him. The banquet is all set up, I assume?”
“Adelinde would be running around shouting if it wasn’t,” Lisa chuckles, taking him by the arm and slowly leading him down the corridor that is all dark wood and gilded gold.
“I don’t know which one out of the two of us is more stressed about this entire arrangement. It’s a situation none of us are ready for, entirely unprecedented and yet we are forced to know how to navigate it.”
“Yes, that’s why you have a council: to help you. Even with Kaeya away, you still have a support system here. We all want Mondstadt to survive this, and an alliance with Snezhnaya is a precious thing. Dangerous, sure, but still precious.”
Diluc knows just how true Lisa’s words are, and though there is still a pit in his stomach, there is no running away from this situation. He’ll face it with as much steel as he can muster, and he will remember the people he’s doing this for in the first place.
Everything is decorated as though they might be hosting a ball, when really it’ll be the same people it always is for dinner, give or take a few. Still, he supposes this is an occasion like any other, and it is nice to enjoy the buzzing energy that comes with expecting a guest.
He greets the staff with as big a smile as he can muster, his hands clasped together tightly in front of him so that he doesn’t start picking at the skin of his nails. He cannot be caught looking nervous tonight—a leader is strong for their people so that the rest of them are free to feel their anxieties.
Donna is waiting for him in the entry-room, dressed up in clothes Margaret no doubt forced her into. When she spies him, she breaks into her usual cheery smile, grabbing hold of his shaking hands.
“Now, if you ever need someone to distract this warrior they’re sending, I am more than happy to provide some useless tours of the land so you can go and do your whole ‘leader of the nation’ thing. Margaret has also agreed to assist when and where she can.”
He presses a gentle kiss to her cheek. “I appreciate it, but I’m sure I can handle one singular man. Besides, I’d rather not have him sending home any letters about mistreatment.”
Donna rolls her eyes. “You’re an incredibly boring king, you know that? You’re very lucky to have me as your best friend.”
“Kaeya is my best friend.”
“You can keep thinking that,” she shrugs off, smoothing down his clothes. “Now, remember, don’t be yourself.”
“Have you ever considered taking your own advice? I don’t think I’d still be King if I didn’t know how to act in public. You, on the other hand, have absolutely no respect.”
“And yet you’re the one that keeps me around.” Donna stands up straight. “Are you ready for this? It’s essentially welcoming a spy into your home, willingly or not, and that’s enough to make even a king uncomfortable.”
“It’s an alliance I’m excited to take forward. Besides, it’s not forever. One year so both sides can show our eagerness for this agreement to work. War is not the distant dream it once was.”
Not a word about his heart hammering in his chest, simply the sentence one would expect to hear from a ruler who is not allowed anything other than a façade.
With tight lips pressed together, Donna nods her head and steps back, sensing the time for jokes is over. Things in the palace are about to drastically change, and as lovely as it would be to keep things lighthearted, it just isn’t possible.
There’s movement to be heard from outside the grand oak doors and Diluc straightens up. I am welcoming a stranger for the good of Mondstadt, he reminds himself.
Lisa stands by the wall, observing the way Donna positions herself behind Diluc, eyes hardened with resolve. For a king, a fly on the wall is his greatest advantage—and those, he has plenty.
It has been a long time since someone has arrived with quite so much flair, but the swish of a white cape with red trimmings and golden embroidery draws the eye immediately, a flash of ginger hair easily seen even in the dying light of day.
Diluc steps forward, unwilling to entertain the fluttering feeling in his chest. “Glad to have you here. You are…” Diluc trails off, his mouth unfortunately hanging agape.
“Handsome?” Donna finishes for him, closing his mouth and relishing in the blush that rises to his cheeks. “Hi. I’m Donna.”
The man in front of him grins with sharpness. “Childe, Tartaglia, whatever you want to call me. Nice place, by the way—uh, Your Majesty. Definitely a lot less cold than Snezhnaya.”
Diluc is unsure of what to make of the warrior in front of him dressed much like a prince. He knows him to have no grand title, and yet.
“I hope your time here will be well-spent, Tartaglia. If there is anything you might need, Adelinde is the head housemaid. You may also come to me for more serious matters.”
While he is hesitant on making that final offer, he is well aware it will be expected of him to engage with his guest.
Tartaglia’s smile widens further. “Thank you, Your Majesty. Mostly, I’ll be wanting to explore the area, and I’ve brought my own horse—all I’ll need is a stable for her.”
“We have plenty of space in our stables, and she will be well taken care of.” He’ll have to assign someone to watch him. “For now, why don’t we start dinner? You must be hungry after your journey.”
Without waiting for an answer, Diluc begins to make his way to the dining room, nerves having increased his hunger. Donna stays beside their guest, the two of them chattering at a low volume, and he silently thanks her for picking up a task he is not quite ready for.
The rest of the guests that are normally invited to dinner are already waiting for them, and Albedo lays a scrutinising eye on their newest lodger. Tartaglia is the reason Kaeya has left Mondstadt, and it is unsurprising that his trust is nowhere to be found. A husband lost, for whatever reason, is still a husband lost.
Seats are taken as conversation sprouts, a delicate balance of gossip and information filling the atmosphere. It is a night much like any other for those in high society, though this time their spectacle is at the same table, simply begging to be confronted.
To Diluc, it does not matter what his patrons do. If anything, this is the behaviour he's come to expect from them, and still it is less brazen than in other nations. He's heard whispers in Fontaine burn faster than wildfires; if the most he has to deal with is drunken slips of the tongue, this night can still be considered a success.
He takes a seat at the head of the table. The food will be coming out soon, and after that he will not need to entertain anyone for much longer. All that will be required from him after dinner will be the simple signing of a few documents before he gains a night's sleep (though it will be a fitful one, he suspects).
Lisa sits on his left, Donna on his right. Their guest of honour is directly opposite the King, illuminated by candlelight and chandeliers. Diluc watches him, entranced by the man he has let enter his home. He knows he wants to study him, and yet it seems he cannot pinpoint the exact reason as to why, even though it should be obvious.
Further drinks are brought out quickly, and food follows, his staff well aware that Dilue never simply sits at the table for a conversation. He has never asked them to rush, but after so many years together, they've become accustomed to his preferences.
“Eat and drink to your heart's content,” Diluc says as the plates are placed, raising his cup. “To our good health, and to new alliances.”
He takes a quick sip, indulging in wine only to satisfy his audience, and is about to pick up his cutlery when movement in the corner of his eye catches his attention; he is used to the people around him freezing at this point.
Tartaglia’s fork stops mid-way to his mouth, blue eyes shining hesitantly, taking in how no one else is eating.
“Forgive me,” he says, having realised his mistake. “I am so used to—”
“Your apology is not necessary. Many a time, I have asked this table not to wait for me to eat first.” Diluc’s mouth quirks up in amusement. “It is nice to have someone do just that.”
Diluc nods his head to encourage Tartaglia to continue eating, raising his own forkful. Together, they take their first bite.
A letter waits on Diluc's desk once he returns from his outdoor duties, a mess of his name scrawled on the envelope in handwriting he does not recognise—even Kaeya's is easier to decipher.
He picks it up with great curiosity, not having received an unexpected message in such a formal manner for quite some time. The paper is expensive, the ink dry but still allowing for a slight smudge when he swipes his thumb over the lettering.
With a careful hand, he opens up the envelope and takes out the letter within.
Your Majesty,
I do hope my writing a letter will not seem too out of place despite us now sharing a roof. Though you wished to hear no apology last night, I would be a fool not to give it.
The Tsaritsa rarely dines with us. She is a rare jewel, one that enjoys the comfort of her cushioned room. However, even when we find ourselves in her company, we are family to her first and warriors second. Unless in the presence of those observing our every move, she cares not for formalities.
Context. For a gracious host.
Tartaglia
The paper seems heavy in his hand then, as though it holds far more than pretty words, a weight to it that it shouldn't have. How easily this information was handed over to him, like he was always meant to have it. Diluc doesn't quite understand why this trust is being granted.
Tartaglia is here on his queen's order, but acts as though he has made the tip here for no greater reason than to have some fun. He is sure Kaeya has not found half of this amusement in his situation—actually, he isn't. Kaeya has always found more silver linings than he thought possible.
He rereads the letter a few more times, imagining Tartaglia imparting these words on him in person with that delicious low tone he first heard at last night's dinner. What more sweet things might spill from his lips should Diluc only ask?
This singular thought drives him from the room, heeled boots clicking against the tiles as he stalks onward. Knights salute him as he passes, faces he would normally slow down and say hello to, but his feet will not let him change his pace. He knows very well this is reckless of him.
Diluc needs to know more about this stranger in his home, and though he can tell himself the reason is the safety of his people, his hunger is far greater than any reasoning to be offered.
He finds his way to Tartaglia's room with such practised ease, like he has been here many times before. The corridor may be familiar, as with any wing of his castle, but the man behind the door is not. He raises his knuckles cautiously, unsure if he wants the door to open.
Not that that means anything to the universe. Tartaglia's frame becomes visible almost momentarily after Diluc has stopped, a small smile pulling at his lips.
“Your Majesty. Please, come in. Was there something you needed?”
As he walks away from the door, Diluc takes in the half-dressed state of his guest. Tartaglia shows no embarrassment about being caught in little more than his undergarments, simply reaching for the corset on his bed.
Diluc finds he is still holding the letter he came here about. “You left me quite a note while I was away this morning. I do not know many people who would do the same.”
“Well, I would have come to tell you personally but whatever you were busy with seemed quite important when I asked about your whereabouts. Adelinde agreed to leave the letter in your reception room for me so I wouldn't have to disturb you.”
Admittedly, Diluc's mouth is dry. Of course Adelinde would conspire against him, but he had no idea the original plan was to track him down.
Diluc closes the door. “Why you?”
“Pardon?”
“I sent my brother because he is someone I trust to take over in my stead if it is ever needed. He means more to me than most things. But you… Your Tsaritsa might've sent any warrior or noble.”
“I'm the youngest, the most sociable, and a thorn in her side more often than not. But I've also seen more of Teyvat than anyone else. Freedom is not found in the four walls of a castle.”
Tartaglia waves his hand then, emphasising the almost hollowness of the room, furnished just enough that guests cannot say it is empty.
“You share your thoughts effortlessly.”
“Well, I have nothing to hide. What other questions might you like to ask of me?”
The paper in Diluc's hand crumples. He takes a purposeful stride forward. “One might call you a fool. Another a spy, an infiltrator. Why do you confess to me with such ease?”
“Perhaps I consider you someone who might bear the weight of my sins. You are a king, after all, Your Majesty. You know better than most that sacrifices are often taken from our souls.”
Childe walks around the room he's been given in casual movements, continuing to dress. Diluc faces an enigma that roams the walls of his castle, and the smart thing to do would be to cast the man out.
But he cannot. His hands itch to unwrap each ribbon wrapped around him, to be confessed to as a priest in church with all the trust in the world.
Another stride. “You have no ill intent towards my people?”
“I care not for politics. And besides, that would make the agreement between yourself and my ruler void of meaning. I am here because when asked to go, I said yes. No ulterior motives. Though perhaps I do enjoy holding a conversation with Your Majesty more than most people might dare to.”
Something in Diluc's gut turns when Tartaglia turns his gaze towards him, slowly buttoning his shirt up. His head cocks to the side slowly, eyes deliberately casting themselves lower and lower.
“Then, perhaps, you would like to join me for my morning ride tomorrow? I might show you places the trails stay clear of.” He is emboldened by this stranger in his presence.
A flash of white teeth. “I am a fan of the unexplored wilderness. Skirk might outrun your Dawn, though. She is quite fond of turning a trot into a race.”
“I assure you, Dawn is quite capable of holding her own. Mind you don't get left behind.”
Tartaglia's smile is nothing short of mesmerising. Diluc is well-aware that the longer Tartaglia stays under his roof, the more likely it is he will give into that smile's every whim.
He is in a dangerous predicament, yet he cannot say he is looking for an escape.
“Usually when you miss three targets in a row it's because you've had Kaeya pushing your buttons all morning, but he's not here, so who is it that's rattled your mind today?” Donna asks, watching Diluc notch a new bow.
He would like to tell Donna that he has no obligation to share that information with her, but then likely she would become his new source of irritation.
He hesitates in launching the arrow. “Our guest. He is far too happy about this arrangement. One would think he's here to court me into an alliance.”
“And that would be... a bad thing?”
“I cannot allow myself the indulgence. Not now, or for the foreseeable future.”
“And you know this from all the previous indulgences you have allowed yourself to take?” The arrow misses the target by a mile, and Diluc resists turning to Donna in anger. “You may not be a fan of the truth, but I am obliged to give it.”
He stands his bow on the ground. “Your King has not asked you to give it.” There is no malice in his voice, but there is exhaustion. He is unsure of what to do with himself.
“Then, at the risk of having my tongue cut out—” a punishment that Diluc would not lower himself to “—may I suggest that letters can be burned, traced back to no one, memorised by who they need to be.”
Context. For a gracious host.
Diluc swallows. He turns to find Donna's eyes, blue and bright and shining with hope for him.
“You meddle.” He says no more, and neither does she. Silent understanding passes between them as it has done many times before, a whisper of words on the wind as they continue training.
Before, Diluc has rarely considered the weight of a pen in his hand. Only sometimes, when signing documents that hold the future of his people, has it ever felt like too much.
All of his anxiety seems to have pooled in his gut. Writing Tartaglia's name has rendered him unable to say more, the comma after it written so fast it looks like a scratch. All those handwriting lessons he took as a boy seem to have been for nought.
And what is he supposed to say? What words does he have for the man who moves silently between his halls, a smile on his face as deadly and deceiving as hemlock?
My advisors would not dare to call you anything other than a wolf in sheep's clothing. This alliance has just begun, and there is still so much that could go wrong. How does one trust a stranger in their home?
But you have shown me a grace I fear I do not deserve. Perhaps a vainer king would not confess to something so damning, yet I find that I cannot, do not want to, lie to you. This, then, would make me the fool in our relationship. It is difficult for me to reject this title when I consider its truth.
Let us call this my weakness. An olive branch. Whether you set it on fire or use it to shade us is in your hands.
Aurora flaps her wings eagerly as he ties the letter to her foot, cooing at him curiously. He scratches her head with his index finger, assuring her that he knows what he's doing.
“You're more than welcome to bite him if he tries to stroke you.”
She ruffles her feathers and takes flight.
Tartaglia finds the vicious wind calming as he stands on the cliffside, awaiting the arrival of a second steed. There is a note tucked away in his breast pocket that has found its home next to his heart; it won't be going anywhere anytime soon.
The bird that delivered it held her head high as he read through it, watching him carefully as if to determine whether he was even worthy of receiving it. But she stayed for quite a while on his windowsill, content to simply observe him in his privacy.
Now, as she soars in the sky despite being a night bird, Tartaglia returns the favour. She is majestic, a true credit to her master.
Skirk whinnies next to him, annoyed at how long this stop is, especially with no signs of a hunt. Her hoof drags across the ground, kicking up dirt.
“The woman you're named after would scoff at your impatience. Bare with me a little longer. You can run as fast as the wind very soon, and then perhaps some sugar cubes might find their way into my hand. Deal?”
His horse huffs, twisting its head away from him, but complains no more. Time passes quickly after that, regardless, and soon Tartaglia spots a bright, flaming hair.
He cannot help but stare as Diluc comes towards him, morning sun reflecting off all his jewels and armour. He is not adorned with a crown, but the circlet resting against his forehead is just as regal.
“You rise early,” Diluc says once he's close enough to speak without shouting. “And here I thought I would be the first to arrive. Perhaps the servant's corridors are not enough of an evasion tactic.”
“That depends. How many people know you use them?” Tartaglia smiles, jumping smoothly onto Skirk's back.
Diluc raises his brows at that. Touché.
The two of them turn away from the cliffside, entering the wilderness of the forest. Birds tweet their morning song above them, swooping down and through the trees, swirling like leaves in the wind.
Tartaglia glances over at Diluc every now and then, watching his focus and poise as he rides, curious if there will be any more conversation between them—or if the rest of the morning will be spent in silence.
Quiet observation is not so bad, however. He must say that there is something beautiful in watching the air rouge Diluc's cheeks, in the way his wavy hair becomes more tousled the farther in they go, in his lips breathing out a small, delicate cloud of air.
“Hasn't anyone ever told you that staring is quite improper?” Diluc's smile is small, but not imperceptible to the trained eye. Tartaglia offers one back, bringing Skirk closer to Dawn. “If there is something you'd like to say, there is no one around to hear it.”
“I do not know if I should. Your Majesty's ears have been protected for so long, how can I simply throw the truth into them?”
“And what truth would that be?”
“That despite your obvious beauty, your slyness and calculative mind shine far brighter—qualities I find quite difficult not to fall for.”
Diluc risks a glance at Tartaglia from the corner of his eye, but his blue eyes are firmly fixed on the road ahead. He wonders if Kaeya is also being half as bold as their guest, but somehow he doubts it. There's a subtlety to Tartaglia's words that implies Diluc is the reason for his brazen words.
Diluc is used to a fire behind his ribs, the very thing that keeps him so passionate about protecting his kingdom, but now that fire starts to spit and hiss, crackling from being poked.
He does not mind it.
“Thank you for the olive branch, Your Majesty,” Tartaglia says quietly, his voice soft in a way Diluc had only felt when reading the first letter between them. “And, should we find ourselves like this once more, please, call me Ajax.”
Dilue halts before he can help it. He. stares shamelessly at the man next to him, lips parted.
His hands tighten on Dawn's reigns. “You would share with me your true name?”
“I would have shared it far sooner had we not been surrounded by walls for so long. Those things have ears, you know?”
“You are at ease with me,” Diluc states plainly.
Tartaglia's Ajax's grin is a flash of white amongst the green foliage. "Far more than I could have hoped for. Thank you, Your Majesty.”
“Diluc.” He removes the circlet from his head, attaching it to his saddle. “Out here, I am no king. I am simply your companion.”
Diluc holds out an ungloved hand, strands of hair flying wild with nothing to hold them in place.
With his teeth, Ajax hurriedly removes his own glove so he might clasp Dillc's skin to his own. “As you wish.”