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The meadow just outside of Mondstadt's walls had been drenched in golden light by the late afternoon sun, every blade of grass bending lazily with every sigh of wind, and Varka—Grand Master of the Knights of Favonius, knight of Boreas, titan among men—sat cross-legged among the flowers with his forehead creasing in deep concentration.
Another windwheel aster slipped out of his grasp. Yet another failed attempt unraveled entirely in his lap, leaving a loose cluster of flowers behind.
"This—" he declared gravely and stared down at the crooked stems, now bent beyond repair, before pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "This is beginning to feel like a personal attack." He mumbled in disbelief.
Laughter bubbled from your chest before you could stop it, the wind seemingly carrying it further into the trees before you moved closer on the small blanket that you two rested on. Your shoulder brushed against his arm as you rescued the poor flowers from further destruction.
"You cannot manhandle them into obedience... They are flowers, not your knights," you scolded him playfully, amusement lacing every word.
Varka released a long sigh of theatrical defeat, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him immediately as they curled up into a grin. "You wound me. I thought I was being gentle," he mused and let you take the flowers from his lap.
"You snapped three Cecilias in half." You stated matter-of-factly and placed the flowers with broken stems aside.
"In my defense," he mumbled solemnly, "they are remarkably fragile."
The forest behind you two seemed to glow as the sun slowly started to descend behind the horizon, painting warm hues along Varka's blonde hair. You sat close enough that the scent of pine and leather that clung to him mingled with the sweetness of the flowers gathered in your lap.
Patiently you guided his hands once more, showing him how to weave stems together without breaking them, how to tuck the asters between the white blossoms until the crown slowly began to form into something so delicate and beautiful between your fingers.
Varka followed your movements with surprising diligence, his large hands awkward but earnest as they tried again. Every so often he glanced sideways at you instead of the flowers, blue eyes warm beneath the fading sunlight, as if he had forgotten the crown entirely and become enchanted by the way you spoke.
"There," you whispered eventually and fastened the final Cecilia into place for him. "All done."
The flower crown rested gently in your hands, white and crimson woven together with flowers that reminded you of home, and for a moment, Varka simply admired it before lifting his gaze towards your face again with quiet wonder.
"And now? Will you wear it?" He asked curiously and reached out to take the woven flowers from your hands, but you shook your head with a smile.
"No," you hummed softly and reached upward carefully. "You will."
Something uncharacteristically shy flickered across his expression once your words registered in his brain, but he bowed his head without protest so you could gently place the crown atop his head. The red asters nestled brightly among the pale strands, illuminated golden by the dying sun, while tiny white Cecilias scattered around them like starlight.
And by the gods, perhaps it was ridiculous how lovely he looked that way.
When you brushed your fingers gently through his hair to straighten one crooked flower, Varka looked at you as if the entire meadow suddenly filled with light. The wind whirled softly around you in that moment, carrying the scent of Cecilias into the sunset, and somewhere right within the heart of Mondstadt, the world seemed to sigh contentedly at the sight.