Chapter Text
Jean is not a fraud, nor is she the type of person to let mora cloud her morals. She is not a thief.
Well, in a strictly legal sense, she supposes yes, she frequently embezzles money from the Knights of Favonius and this would brand her a thief. However, if one were to ask her, the answer would be much more complicated:
She would say that it’s a common misconception that Mondstadt’s freedom comes from the winds. She would say it’s untrue that the land of freedom stands in any sort of contrast to the rocky shores and stone-set contracts of Liyue. She would say that the truth is, every breath of freedom is bought, and the only difference is that the contracts are whispered, so that the wind carries their evidence away, so that the guise of easy liberty is upheld.
The truth is that the worst parts of Mondstadt are still steeped in the traditions of its ancestors, and the death of Old Mond was a lie. She had wanted to believe the ideal of freedom, once: young and fresh-eyed, newly appointed Captain and handed the financial paperwork by Varka (they were broke, to summarize), she had entreated the noble houses to funnel even a fraction of their wealth into the economy, to fund public works and usher in a “new era of prosperity for Mondstadt.” All had denied, rather tersely– save the Ragnvindr Clan, which has always shouldered the economy through its wine business (thank Barbatos for Diluc, yet she fears what will become should his successor find the greed that so often seems to consume the gentry).
So it had started: the Knights were low on funding even before Varka’s departure, when Jean’s title was still Master of Knights. The Abyssal threat was ever-growing, and the villages dotting Mondstadt’s rolling fields were ill-equipped to defend themselves. The roads grew dangerous, and the local militias were no longer strong enough – being made of mostly farmers – now that the Abyss had learned to coordinate attacks. So more and more people were emigrating to Mondstadt, and Jean was faced with two problems: the first being that the unhoused population within the walls was growing rapidly while the economy remained stagnant, and the Church would soon be unable to provide sanctuary to everyone. And the second, that Mondstadt’s villages were suffering, and with more people leaving, their futures grew ever uncertain.
Sending more knights to guard their perimeters was only a temporary fix, and one that left an uncomfortable vulnerability in the city’s defenses. The Knights did not have enough money to provide a permanent solution yet. So it went like this:
First, she tried requesting access to the coffers of the Gunnhildr Clan. Her mother denied. So it began, innocuously at first: Jean found herself in desperate need of a quick way to pour money into the Knights’ hands, and there was a vast pile of it sitting untouched in the hands of undeserving nobles.
(Jean was always wary to cast her own judgement, but she felt this was an unacceptable level of greed. It would cost such an insignificant amount to solve these people’s suffering that the nobles wouldn’t realize if she swept it from under their noses herself, but of course, they were unwilling to loose their grip on it. Unforgivable.)
However, it would not be so simple as increasing taxes (though she long wished it could be). The Knights were the primary lawmakers, but each law in effect was to be passed under the approval of a voting board, many of which were descended from the noble clans and thus vetoed any law that threatened their purse (though she had tried, and would not try again, for fear of losing their trust).
(She was not technically supposed to handle all of the financials herself, either, but after a time she found that any report more than a page or two in length that she sent overhead for approval ended up back on her desk. For once, her self-sacrificing kindness reaped a benefit; once her supervisors felt comfortable relegating their work to her, she found herself almost entirely in control of the Knights accounts with no oversight or care. Even when she asked Varka about this, he smiled, said, “I trust you, Jean, and I don’t want to deal with it– dip your fingers for all I care,” and winked like it was a joke. It was a joke at the time, but now, she takes it as his blessing.)
All that to say, she approached the Lawrence Clan. A donation, she had proposed, in order to fund the next Windblume Festival. In exchange, she would set aside the Knights’ longstanding disagreements with their conduct and use the festival to highlight the customs and art of their Clan, which Jean said something about how the city “suffered for not knowing” and highlighting their contributions to Mondstadt culture would “improve their standing both socially and in the history books that are ever being penned.”
She did not tell them that, although the Knights had little mora to spare, the Windblume Festival was already paid in full, and Eula had already agreed to work in tandem with Jean to perform the old dances of the Lawrence Clan and give out some of their traditional cooking. Jean had even offered to pay her out of her own pocket, and Eula had responded (in much longer, clipped words), “No, I enjoy that you’re swindling them, especially for a good cause, they would hate that, I’ll help you for fun.”
So she quietly transferred the “donation” from the Knights’ account into her own, and covered the trail with religious caution (Though she knew it was somewhat pointless, because no one looked at the papers anyway and for all they cared, she could scrawl in big, fat letters, “I’M ACCEPTING ILLEGAL POLITICAL DONATIONS AND STUFFING MY POCKETS,” and Varka would fall asleep after the word “I’m”).
Then, she announced that the Gunnhildr Clan would graciously strengthen the fortifications of any village that requested it, and would fund a free training camp for any village’s local militia (which she enticed the knights to do with payment “from her own pockets”). It had to be the Gunnhildr Clan, because if it came from the Knights directly, the Lawrences would deduce that their donation had been unneeded. No one but Frederica knew that Jean had no access to their wealth, and she benefitted from the fact that no one would expect it from her, of all people.
Thus she had succeeded, though it hardly felt like a victory. She spent that night crying silently in her office, deathly afraid that someone would hear and walk in– and if they did, she wouldn’t have been able to stop herself from falling to her knees and confessing, begging Barbatos to punish her for her crimes. But then she remembered Venessa. Vennessa who overturned the ways of Old Mondstadt (for the most part), and it was a violent rebellion that sealed the change. Progress for the better, Jean told herself, sometimes had to come from unsavory means.
She thought of the people of Springvale, who had cried when she had come to say she would help them, who had insisted on bringing her fruits and wine and praised her goodwill, and she thought of those people who slept safely tonight, only a few miles away, yet wholly disregarded by the only people with the money to help them. Had she not intervened, the Abyss would have plucked another young farmer in the night, and in a few weeks, they would have neither fruits or wine to spare for themselves or any visitor who came to help. Everything she did was a sacrifice up until this point: is staining her hands for the safety of her people not the same?
So it continued: an expansion to the Knights’ library, which both created jobs and improved literacy. Then, education vouchers. Donations to the nobility that sat on the legislative councils to persuade them to pass a law establishing a minimum wage, a law where she had cleverly snuck in a fine for each employee that was paid under. Then, after reaping the benefits of this fine, a library in Springvale. Lanterns by the roadsides.
So it continued, and all was well. Even when Varka stripped the Knights’ resources and brought their personnel to its knees, she scraped by. And she needed her means, then more than ever.
All was well, until it wasn’t. For all Jean thought that her position as Master of Knights (and her role as Grand Master in all but title) had hardened her, she allowed herself to forget that at her core, she was foolishly trusting and kind. Trusting enough that she fell for mischievous emerald eyes and a devilish smile on soft lips.
—
Her name was Lisa Minci. A Mondstadter originally, though not from the city itself, because Jean took great care to know her neighbors and didn’t recognize her. A recent graduate from the Sumeru Akademiya, a much esteemed one at that, though Lisa dismissed these claims. This was all she knew.
Jean was to give her a tour. She rounded the hallway and felt herself struck– it was as if the sun had descended. Her heart fell into her stomach, and when the woman turned to face her, it was all of the warmth of the sky that smiled back at her. Her eyes were the color of the verdant hills beyond the city walls, the lush greens of the trees that give life to the earth and air in her chest, though it rather felt like she had drawn all of the breath from Jean’s lungs.
Or maybe all of that was dramatic. Perhaps Jean had been reading too many romance novellas in her fleeting free time, and her many sleepless nights were finally loosening her grip on reality. Jean was always prone to rambling. Simply put, Lisa was beautiful and Jean was struck.
“Lady Gunnhildr.”
Jean had to force each muscle of her mouth to remember how to move. Her throat was impossibly dry. “Please, call me Jean. You must be Miss Minci?”
“Call me Lisa. So, is this a frequent tactic of the Knights?”
“I’m afraid I am not sure what you refer to, so the answer must be a no.”
“Sending the prettiest Knight to lead the tour, so that I’ll be inclined to accept their employment offer. I can’t say I’m opposed; if they’re sending you, I’m sure the acquisition rates here are phenomenal.”
Her voice was low, teasing, and it left a distinct taste of honey on Jean’s lips. Lips, Lisa’s lips, which Jean couldn’t stop staring at, the well-defined bow in the middle, a bow that lodges a new arrow in Jean’s chest with each word she utters. For all her years of hard-trained composure, she felt a burning sensation erupt within her cheeks and spread like wildfire to the tips of her ears.
Green eyes moved up, down, and a self-satisfied smile spread slow across her cheeks, though it did not feel mocking. Still, Jean was horrendously embarrassed to be so rent of her painstakingly measured countenance. She straightened her back, smoothed her features, and smiled back, a polite upturn of the lips that infrequently met her eyes (but certainly did now).
“Wellnobutnowthatyoumentionitthat’sagreatideabecauseyou’dbeperfectfortherole,” Jean thought. But the years of etiquette training hammered over her head saved her, so instead she replied, “You flatter me, though I regret we have not thought of such a thing. A wise suggestion, though– the type of innovation our ranks are always hungering for.”
Lisa’s smile deepened, seemingly satisfied with the answer.
So Jean proffered an arm, which Lisa took, and she tried not to think about the sparks that danced along her skin where their bodies met. (Stupid of her, considering it wasn’t even skin-to-skin contact, something she hoped never happened because it would definitely kill her.)
So she gave Lisa a tour– first of the Headquarters (she noticed Lisa’s gaze lingering on the vast walls of the library. In other rooms, she looked mostly at Jean), then the training grounds outside, then the city itself.
“Did you grow up here?” asked Jean. She knew this already, but found herself driven by a strangely overwhelming need simply to talk to the woman.
“No. I came from a small village in the north of Mondstadt.” She did not continue. She did not talk about her time at the Akademiya at all, and though Jean hungered to know more about her, it was improper to pry. So she left it at that.
Jean did not let herself forget that her own hands were irrevocably sullied. Mondstadt was the city of freedom, a place of rebirth, where the wind wiped every slate clean. She trusted Lisa, trusted her kind eyes and her gentle words, so she invited her into the Knights and did not ask. Far be it from her, then, to raise a wary eye at a guarded past.
—
And a mysterious past it was. It would be two weeks, in fact, before Jean worked up the courage to even ask what Lisa had studied at the Akademiya.
Jean had fallen asleep at her desk, long after the Headquarters had closed, after the janitors came through, and then the Headquarters closed again. She must have only been out for fifteen minutes or so, but it was enough time to awake to the clacking of heels and realize with significant embarrassment that she had been face down in a stack of paperwork.
“Busy night, huh?”
Jean removed her reading glasses and realized, with dejection, that the nose had warped from its impact with the desk. If it were anyone else, she might have scrambled to sit upright, but she had come to know Lisa as an inexplicably calming presence, and so she simply straightened her back and smoothed her hair. “Apologies. How can I help?”
“Actually, I was hoping I could ask you that,” hummed Lisa, voice melodic as ever. And Jean felt she had to resist the urge to lean forward, to melt into its sound. “I had heard that you often spent your nights here, though I had hoped they were exaggerated tales. So I was wondering if I could do anything to alleviate your load.”
“That’s awfully kind of you, but I cannot accept. I would be a poor Master of Knights to delegate my work so easily.”
“Though it seems – correct me if I have the wrong impression – that everyone else is quite comfortable delegating to you.”
Jean nodded. It was not uncommon knowledge– no use denying it. “I will admit, my kindness has put me in a position of receiving others’ busywork. I do not mind it, though. In the City of Freedom, someone must shoulder the brunt of the work to make it so for others.”
Lisa hummed again, though unhappily this time. A pause fell– Lisa leaned against the doorway, and her green eyes seemed almost cutting, as if she were sizing her up. Then, she smiled, soft again. “You know, you’re very pretty with your hair down.”
“You’re kind,” said Jean, “but you’ll find me impervious to flattery.”
“I don’t doubt that. You’re a strong knight and a powerful leader. But I wonder– where do you draw the line between flattery and compliments?”
“I would say the line lies somewhere between seeking to do my paperwork.”
“Well, you’ll be thrilled to hear that I just think you’re pretty, and if you’ll have me, I shall sit on the couch at a distance and keep you company as you work.”
Jean could not help the smile that spread across her lips. “Yes,” she said, perhaps too quickly, “I’d like that.”
So Lisa sat herself on the couch against the wall, sprawling out languidly, much akin to a cat. She chatted idly with Jean, mindful of when her responses grew quiet, when she needed to focus more, and when she needed the conversation to pick up again.
She liked Lisa. Maybe she was being naïve, but Lisa had quickly become a source of great comfort to her. It was rare to speak with someone who did not see her as a resource, who did not beg at her feet for her blood and sweat. And Lisa was funny– charming but not insincere, confident but not conceited. Witty, smart, and sensitive to Jean’s needs. Jean must have seen her as a saint.
Her presence was so comforting, in fact, that Jean did not realize she had fallen back asleep until there were hands on her shoulders, stirring her gently from sleep, but this time she did jolt upright.
“Apologies. I had bet on property values being a boring enough topic for you to tune out when needed, but I forgot to consider that it might send you straight to sleep.”
Jean blinked awareness back into herself. Her composure, this time, was slower to return. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. You’re not boring. Truthfully, I haven’t slept well in days, and–”
“Will you please, please let me help you?”
“I have to finish these tonight, or I’ll be behind–”
“At the very least, allow me to categorize them by what truly concerns you and what you can send to lower channels. You have a bureaucracy here for a reason.”
Jean found herself nodding, though she had not intended to– maybe she was delirious from lack of sleep, or maybe the adrenaline from waking so suddenly was clouding her senses. Or maybe it was that even in the dim light, even when the sky outside was at its darkest, Lisa smiled at her and it felt again like the sun was in this room, and its light stripped Jean raw of her defenses, unable to do anything but stare. “You help everyone else,” murmured Lisa, the final nail in the coffin, “allow me to help you, for once.”
So, despite her better judgement, Jean found herself almost entranced– she scooted back in her chair, allowed Lisa to drape herself across the edge of the desk, and did not protest as she lifted a stack of papers. “I’m not sure you have the clearance for this,” said Jean, a final (but weak) effort.
“To be fair, you don’t have the clearance for this either.” Lisa noted. She lifted a paper and squinted at it. “You’re the Master of Knights. Surely financials aren’t in your job description?”
Jean blinked herself back into consciousness. Lisa was holding a tax statement.
Some time before, Jean had had accepted a donation to push a bill that increased the amount of land a noble house was allowed to own (which was fine at the moment, because it was a negligible amount that could be bought back if needed, and more importantly, the Abyssal situation had left the knights spread thin, and the noble clans had both far more resources and private armies, so the more land they were charged to protect, the better.) The important part was that she snuck a slight tax increase for nobles into the bill, and they were all too eager to own more land to care to read it. Even if they had, it was defensible; a raise to guard the city against the Abyssal threat.
All innocuous enough, but then, as expected, the related documents fell to her desk, and she casually underreported the new sum, something else easily defensible, because she could say, “I’m sorry but I am not educated in economics and I did this work out of kindness so you do it next time.” The difference fell into her pockets.
Their alarm would only be triggered if she proposed spending the Knights’ money on something good and helpful. Because suggesting something like building a school would be admitting that the Knights had enough mora to do so, and nothing would ever be approved if the sitting nobility on the board thought there was money to be used for their own gain.
Luckily enough, the laws that were partial to the same nobles were lenient with what could be done via private investment. Essentially, once the money had Jean’s name on it, she could build her own damn school.
All that to say, the statement that Lisa was peering at was a fraudulent one. Still, Jean was unconcerned: she had spent more hours than she could count studying tax reports, studying the flow of money through the organization, and painstakingly perfecting her paper trail. Every report she sent to the Logistics company was verified and approved– there was no reason to doubt her work.
Admittedly, Jean benefitted uniquely from Mondstadt’s laissez-faire attitude towards education (though she was working to fix it), as there were no national schools that taught accounting. Lisa, having joined the ranks with a degree from an international university, was a rather rare case. It was Hertha, a born-and-bed Mondstadter who was diligent but much better versed in fighting than bookkeeping, that Jean sent each record to.
“No,” Jean answered, “financials aren’t technically part of the skillset. But the more I accept others’ work, the more I find the other companies relying on me.”
“I am well accustomed to that,” admitted Lisa with a sigh. “Corruption ran rampant at the Akademiya. It was often those at the top who were paid the most, and worked the least. The lower the standing, the lower your wage, yet they were worked to the bone, spurred by false promises that their station would be lifted. They never were, and they either grew disillusioned or died in their office.”
She was still frowning at the report as she spoke. Unease gnawed at Jean’s stomach, but she told herself it was just her anxiety. So she aimed to distract it with conversation: “I understand why you left, then. I had heard whispers of such things.”
“I fear that’s hardly the surface of its issues. I will always be grateful for the knowledge I gained in my studies, but I reached a point where the organization disgusted me too deeply to continue."
Jean sensed that there was more to it, but said nothing. Instead, she asked, “If I may ask, what did you study in your time there? Feel no need to answer– I just find myself curious to learn more about you. You seem so well versed in so many subjects.”
At last, Lisa lowered the report, smiling warmly at Jean. “And I, in turn, find myself compelled to answer to you. I studied magic.” A pause, and Jean’s throat dried inexplicably.
“With a double major in accounting.”
Well. Jean had gotten a strange feeling that Lisa would be her ruin, but she had not expected it to be in such a literal sense.