Chapter Text
“Is it cold down there?”
Neuvillette stood quietly behind the drenched man, watching, waiting. “I know it’s raining. I’m sorry I couldn’t do much for you, kiddo.” He watched him reposition some fallen items near the headstone, watched him place a bouquet of bright, cheery flowers in the fixed vase. He watched him take off his coat and drape it over the wet headstone. He watched as Wriothesley kneeled down, head in his hands. Where was his umbrella?
Where is he? Was the question a mere six hours ago when the Duke was nowhere to be seen. His presence was needed urgently in a meeting. When no one could reach him, and Sigewinne went up to his office to physically check he wasn’t knocked out from tea, panic surged through Meropide upon his official disappearance. It wasn’t known how Neuvillette had caught on before he was notified, but it was known he was quite…frantic. The man had cleared the busy work off from his schedule and left his office, walking around Fontaine, a cloudy sky following him about.
Neuvillette had a bit of a hunch on what could’ve happened. But, of course, he didn’t dare mention that when questioned. If anything, upon the persistence of Furina, he simply said Wriothesley had been overworked lately, a neutral statement that only benefited the Duke’s reputation. He wasn’t a stranger as to how far he had come, how far he had wanted to keep his name clean of any trace of his past.
The meaning stretched both directly and indirectly, apparently.
The dragon began small, checking the quieter areas of Fontaine, the school grounds—he’d grown fond of making school safety appearances—should he be caught in helping a kid, the tea shops, the parks, anything the man had mentioned recently. He was an hour and a half into his search when he realized it would be to no avail, which unfortunately correlated with how Wriothesley never failed to cover his tracks no matter the circumstances.
He stretched his search to oddities. Bars, trails, restaurants. At some point, he had crossed paths with the Traveler and Paimon…both had nothing to input. They, too, had been looking for the man.
“He was supposed to meet the Traveler and Paimon for breakfast today!” She’d huffed. The Traveler had nodded. “Has something happened in Fontaine recently?” Neuvillette could only deject. He decided not to worry the pair, however, just telling them he’d be back soon. He quickly went back on his way.
Lunch had come by now, but he couldn’t care less. Even as he walked past the food court, Fontanians eagerly offering him glasses of water, he could only focus on Wriothesley’s disappearance. He was about to give in and trouble the Traveler when a table he’d walked past began talking about the Duke…
”You saw the Duke today, no?” A deep voice asked. “I did! He came to buy some flowers from me. I must say, he has quite the taste; or, at least, his lady does. Whoever she is, she’s in for a real treat!” The seller smiled, a hand gracefully covering his chuckle. Flowers…
Lunch came and went. So did an hour, and an hour more. Neuvillette found himself on the outskirts of town, confused. Besides the earlier eavesdropping, it was almost as if the man had dropped off the face of Teyvat. And flowers? What could he have been doing with those?
Neuvillette stood upon the edge of a cliff, head lowered in thought. He knew that Wriothesley had been troubled recently—anyone could see it. A case he had been called to had gone far south, resulting in the passing of a schoolgirl. If he recalled correctly, it had been the same girl he’d told him about after his very first presentation.
Wait.
The churches. The graveyards. He hadn’t checked either. Until he had, an hour once more, and realized he truly wasn’t anywhere in Fontaine. A feeling of doubt swelled internally, thick storm clouds crackling above in the distance. Maybe the man had taken the girl’s case to heart. He had seemed terribly off afterwards. He’d become snappier, more distant, easier to irritate. He’d shut down people if they so much as mentioned the girl, whether to comfort him or shine sympathy on the matter. “They don’t know anything about her,” he’d slurred out one evening, having drunkenly crashed into his office late one night. “And yet they claim her as their own.”
The day of her funeral was the final breaking point for the man. He was the first to arrive at and leave the service. And yet, he wasn’t all that active during it. Just sitting in the corner, standing afar from family members. He held those who wept, offering comfort and condolences.
Her funeral.
She hadn’t been buried where the designated areas were held. The ones who truly knew her claimed she would’ve rather been buried near her favorite field of flowers. And so, as the sun began to set, Neuvillette found himself standing at the edge of a forest, overlooking Wriothesley and the grave amidst the field. The sight pained him, evident with how the clouds began to pour rain.
The dragon sovereign couldn’t fathom how he’d supposedly managed to escape under the radar. It all made sense, now that he’d figured it out. Where else would he have gone? His reflection only brought more questions instead of answers. How had no one picked up on the signs? The biggest fear of all was suicide ideation upon following grief, making it necessary in Fontaine for any big staff member to receive the coordinating care should they need it or others deem it necessary. Wriothesley was by no means a man who would outwardly admit something was wrong, so was no one really paying attention to him?
“You can come out, I know you’re there.” Wriothesley’s quiet voice quickly caught Neuvillette’s attention. He stepped out, walking before he stood just behind Wriothesley’s back. And then, from a pocket:
”Would you like an umbrella? You will get wet otherwise.” He propped it open, holding it above the two of them. A beat of silence passed. Wriothesley kept his head towards the gravestone. Was he shivering?
Neuvillette didn’t have it in him to retrieve his jacket. Or, rather, he knew he wouldn’t make it out alive if Wriothesley saw him do it. On one hand, his reaction would puzzle him. It wasn’t like his coat was doing anything else but keeping the headstone decently dry. On the other, he wasn’t a stranger to grief and the weird outcomes it forced you to deal with. Living out everyone you’d ever meet wasn’t an easy burden to carry sometimes.
”Your coat seems to be doing well.” When Wriothesley seemed to untense slightly, he added: “You did well. You did the best you could.” He downcasted his eyes to the man. “Would you like to stay here for a little longer?” His voice was no louder than a gentle whisper. He took his coat off, draping it over the man’s broad shoulders.
Wriothesley licked his lips. Blinked his eyes, swallowed just a bit too hard. Tugged on the sleeves in hopes of hiding himself far, far away from the world.
”…Yeah. I would.”
She can’t be cold alone.