Chapter Text
Every time Flins meets with Varka he vaguely feels like he's meeting with a literal persona of the sun. Bright, not only because of his looks but also because of his personality. Warm, just being in his presence and listening to his voice, you can see how big and warm his heart his- not to mention, the man himself; his body temperature to be exact -is warm.
The sun and it's warmth is something Flins rarely encounter if he says so himself. The sun's rays doesn't reach the cemetery where he resides, and the moments he's assigned to clear the Wild Hunts in sunny places are few and far in between even if he occasionally visits Nasha Town. He, admittedly, is far more used to the moon and it's coldness.
Varka as the sun is something of an anomaly here in Nod Krai. Because Nod Krai itself is all about the moons. Though Varka may argue that he came from the moon and is here for the moon (Mondstadt).
However, and Flins is sure that most residents of Nod Krai would actually agree with, Varka being here is a welcomed change.
Varka and his Knights have proved to be a powerful force that helps them with the Wild Hunt activities. They're kind, and help the people of Nod Krai as much as they can. Truly like the sun giving a ray of light and hope to the people living in fear of the darkness that the Wild Hunt brings.
Ah, he rambles.
But Flins can't help but muster every positive thoughts and comparisons he has about Varka in order to quell this... inexplicable feeling in his chest. It's like fear, but also helplessness and despair.
He doesn't fully understand this, but it's a persistent feeling that is hard to move on to. Logically, he knows that Varka would be fine. It was a slightly deep wound yes, but the healers got to him immediately and it wasn't infected.
Or so they say.
It was bleeding a lot.
The image of Varka's wound is haunting his mind.
One of the Wilderness Hunters they fought got lucky when Varka shielded a wounded Ratnik. It pierced him on the side of his chest. If it's any higher and to the right a little bit more it would have been his heart.
And he was pale. Like a sun that dimmed a bit of it's glow. He was fighting with that bleeding wound for at least half an hour more before they quelled this outbreak. His clothes were stained with too much blood it looks horrifying. He-
"Flins, are you okay?"
Just like the sun indeed, that warm voice pierced through the cloud of Flint's dark thoughts. The Lantern Fae looks up and locked eyes with eyes so blue, like the clearest sky and sea, it itches Flins' desire to collect beautiful gems with such shade. (Honestly, he has no luck so far in this quest.)
"... I am."
"You've been staring at the ground for so long. Are you sure? You're not lying to me are you? Are you injured?"
"I am not injured, Grandmaster. I am merely lost in my thoughts. I apologize for causing you unjust worry."
"What are you thinking to put such a sad expression on your ethereal face? And I told you so many times that there's no need to be so formal with me, just calling me Varka is fine.
If I may be so presumptuous, but you look tired Flins. Do not give me the excuse that you always look tired. I think I know you long enough now to tell the difference. Are you feeling unwell? Do you want our healer to check on you?"
Flins shook his head immediately at the last question. He isn't feeling unwell, that much he knows. But as he scans the man before him from head to toe, his gaze lingering at where the wound is- like it's a sin to be inflected upon such a man like Varka- his heart still feels unsettled. The wound isn't even visible now and obviously while he was lost in his thoughts, Varka has changed into another set of clothes so there was no blood to be seen.
Nevertheless, the fear and worry persists.
He can't explain it.
Perhaps, "I am a bit tired though."
Varka nods, and then, "Wait here. I'll take you back to your residence."
"Hmm? Wait there's no need-"
But it was too late and the rest of the words dies at his lips. The Grandmaster is already giving instructions to his Knights to go back first to Nasha Town.
"Frederica, you're in charge for the journey back. Besides, you still have to catch the ship back to Mondstadt right? Jean would absolutely be delighted to spend her birthday with you. I'm sure she would be so surprised HAHAHAHA."
"I can't wait to see her face too when she sees me! I miss my daughters so much. Unlike someone I know who is far too busy to even write monthly letters consistently hmp. You be careful on your, ahh, journey too Grandmaster."
The Knight winked at Varka. There was a meaning to it, but Flins couldn't understand what. Varka just laughed at whatever hidden message transpired between them.
Soon, Varka is by his side again.
Warm, and ever so gentle with him, Varka took his lamp- his flame, his real form, his heart and soul- from his own hand and he lets him. Then, with the same gentle yet firm movements, the Knight placed a hand on the small of his back and guided him away. Now that Flins thinks about it, for such a powerful and strong man, Varka has only ever been gentle with him- since the very first time they met, in fact. He also saw how gentle he is with that whiz kid Aino whenever he chances by the two of them together.
That warm hand was gone too soon for his liking (not that Flins would admit nor recognize the feeling at that time). The Grandmaster took the lead by a few steps and glances over his shoulder.
"Come on, I'll lead the way." Then he grins, bright and so reassuring to see, "I'll protect you too, so don't worry. Just take a breather and relax."
Flins smiles, "Thank you, Grandmaster Varka."
The Knight of Boreas rolls his eyes, "Just Varka, please. Or else I'll start calling you as the Lightkeeper Flins."
The Fae cringed at that. "No, please don't."
The moon shines above them, and the waters they passed are still and peaceful. It was such a picturesque moment if Flins say so himself.
He placed a hand above his heart to find it has stilled from its previous erratic beat, and while the fear still lingers, it is now slowly fading, being washed away by Varka's laughter and voice as he regals him with tales about his homeland.
Flins silently acknowledged, that something must have been wrong with his heart. He doesn't want to feel it again.
He looks at the Grandmaster's back and exhales, his body loosening. It's a novel experience for him, for someone else to hold his lantern and guide him in this darkness. It's usually the opposite: Him holding his own lantern and the one guiding others.
For some reason, Flins feels perfectly fine with it. Whenever he's with this person, he feels safe, he feels seen, and dare he put a word on it, cherished like his prized gemstones.
Huh, perhaps this is just another moment for him to live with and experience humanity.