Work Text:
It'd be a lie to say her mirror-self had left her nothing. No, she'd left Furina a sizeable inheritance: namely, Fontaine's government.
The Cataclysm, that disaster in Khaenri'ah, though not involving Fontaine aside from the regrettable loss of Egeria, had certainly shaken Teyvat. Sumeru is still reeling from the loss of their Archon. Trade routes and agreements disrupted, requests for aid, new issues being brought up almost daily. Every day she's spoken to by people in positions Furina can barely keep track of—a split-second pause before the names and correct address appear on her tongue, a split-second where fear starts to seize her heart and she ruthlessly beats it back down. Smiling and speaking the whole time, the words rushing and pouring out of her. Sometimes she hardly knows where they're coming from or what they mean, like she's standing aside and watching herself speak and speak. The Hydro Archon gushes with words, an endless inhuman outpouring to cover up the absolute nothing, the gaping hollowness of a vessel abandoned by the divine—
And then, the current Iudex, an ancient man—a good man, a kind-hearted man, fifty four years in the position, impossibly patient and generally good-natured, who'd fallen asleep in the middle of a trial the month before—dies in his sleep. He'd appointed no successor, which Furina had visited him once to ask him to do—did he simply forget, does her word truly not carry that much weight, was there no one he could think of—irrelevant—the courts could continue functioning just fine for a little while longer without a Chief Justice, they had the associate justices after all—which one of them—could Furina herself—but on top of all her other duties?—and that throne, that lonely throne—and all those rules of court, and procedures—
Furina buries herself in her pillows and blankets one night and lets out a very short, muffled scream. It's painfully non-cathartic.
And then the stranger shows up to the front doors of the Palais Mermonia. It's morning. Furina's sifting through the new backlog of correspondence in her office when Sylvia (the receptionist, a harried young woman, started work last year, new to the Court) runs up to her, red-faced.
"Lady Furina—at the door—asking for you," she wheezes, clutching the desk.
"Have they set an appointment?" Appointments were such a marvelous human invention. One person or one groups of persons at a time and their concerns so she could truly look into whatever issues they presented.
"No, but—"
"Then kindly tell them to set an appointment—" A little too pointed, soften—"and wait for their time, like the rest."
Sylvia winces. "But—my lady, they're—they're very impatient, and—" She can't seem to form any further words, simply bowing. "Forgive me, Lady Furina, it's just—they're very insistent."
Furina sighs, (because the Hydro Archon is an impatient woman), and stands, and offers Sylvia a brief "do take some time to catch your breath, have some water" (because the woman looks as if she's about to have a heart attack, and the Hydro Archon is kind, and Furina really doesn't want to have to deal with adjusting to a new person yet again) and makes her way to the front hall.
The very insistent and troublesome stranger is obvious, immediately. They're tall, standing almost unnaturally still. Their eyes snap to her immediately. "Focalors," they intone.
"And a good day to you as well." Too sharp, too sharp, what is it with her today—"And just what, exactly, is your business here that you needed my presence so urgently?"
Their lip curls. "You invited me," they say, with the faintest air of disgruntlement. "To serve as your Iudex."
Furina's smile twitches. She'd done no such thing—
... well. Well.
There's her Iudex.
(They don't look human. Someone her mirror-self knew? No—if they'd met before then they would have said something, would have had some reaction—can they tell that she's not—but they haven't said anything yet, so—)
"Finally." She huffs, put-out, a little too genuine. "And just what took you so long? Were you delayed in your journey here?"
Too aggressive—the stranger's eyes narrow faintly. "I gave your invitation the thought it required. You ask much of me, Focalors."
"I do apologize for such short notice—but, well, the nation of justice can't do without a Chief Justice, now can it? And you're the perfect fit for the job." She hopes.
The stranger only tilts their head. When no reply is forthcoming, Furina barrels on. When can you start—"You start next week," she declares. Too many eyes at the moment, eyes watching, cataloguing each word they speak, she can hear the rumors trickling all the way down to the city already. "Come with me to my office, we'll discuss further arrangements." Arrangements she hasn't made, because her mirror-self hadn't—
Because her mirror-self so graciously provides.
"Your credentials, monsieur?" She makes sure to ask when the coast is clear, as the make the trip to her office, her voice low. "Schooling, experience, anything?"
They slowly shake their head.
Maybe next week is too soon.
... Oh, well, they can handle it like she did. Surely her mirror-self wouldn't send her someone completely inept. Right?
(Then again her mirror-self appointed her—but a week is more than she gave Furina. So much more. Because the Hydro Archon is kind, yes, that's what she wants the Hydro Archon to be like—
And at least she won't be the only one who knows—was given—almost nothing.
Watching her new Iudex—Neuvillette—look through etiquette books with knitted brow and general air of bewilderment, she squashes down the tiny sharp sting of satisfaction—then guilt—then irritation—then nothing, absolute nothing. Like a hollow vessel for the divine.)