Chapter Text
“Are you alright, son?”
Diluc jumps, surprised by the sound of another voice so near – his father’s voice no less.
“Sorry,” Crepus says, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
There are many men in the kingdom of Mondstadt who would frown if their son made a display of weakness like that. King Crepus of the Ragnvindr Clan is not one of them. More fool him, some would say, especially their political rivals, but Crepus’s reign over his clan’s holdings is in no way insecure. His kind treatment of his subjects has gained him their love and fostered loyalty. He’s the sort of king Diluc aspires to be. Especially if he is named High King . . . something that may very well soon come to pass.
The current High Queen of Mondstadt, Queen Venerare of the Lawrence Clan, is rumored to be in very poor health. More than that . . . well, she’s not exactly young, and no one lives forever. When she passes, the Council will summon the heirs of Mondstadt’s three royal lineages and choose their new leader from amongst them, bypassing their parents in favor of their children’s youth which, or so it is hoped, will lead to a longer reign and extended stability of their nation.
Diluc knows both other heirs, or rather heiresses well. Eula Lawrence is kind but known to be rather haughty, and the Council tends not to select two high kings or queens from the same house in a row, however long passes between selections. Their histories tell of cruel dynasties in ages past, and no one wants to go down in history as having aided the start of another. So, Eula Lawrence can almost certainly be counted out.
Jean Gunnhildr is much stronger competition . . . and to be completely honest, Diluc will not mind if he loses to her. She reminds him of his father in many ways. Strong, but kind. The sort of person who does what they believe is right. More than that, she has a younger sister by blood, who will rule Gunnhildr lands if she becomes the High Queen. Queen Frederica was rumored to hardly be able to stand her husband by that point in their marriage, but did what she had to, to ensure another heir, to bolster Jean’s success. Whereas, when Diluc’s mother died, Crepus could not bear the thought of replacing her.
Still, fate found its own way to give Diluc a brother. His gaze now goes back across the courtyard to where Kaeya is sparring with Squire Guy.
“I was just watching Kaeya,” Diluc tells their father. “Since he came clean about his original purpose for coming to us, he’s seemed . . . lighter. Does that make sense?”
“It does,” Crepus says, a warmth in his eyes as he follows his eldest son’s gaze to the younger. “He was living his life under that burden of lies. I imagine they grew heavier each passing day. How hard it must have been to struggle like that, and think that he might one day have to betray those he’d come to love.”
“I’m glad he finally trusted us,” Diluc says.
“As am I.”
Little more is said on the matter. Neither man particularly wants to remember the boy they love as either a son or a brother breaking down in front of them and telling them . . . everything. About how he’s the scion of a once great nation, destroyed by the very gods that Mondstadt and the other nations of Teyvat worship . . . or about the taboo practices that brought those gods’ wrath down on his homeland. How his people strived to harness the forbidden elements; lumino, umbro, and chrono, and how their experiments sought to create artificial Visions and required blood sacrifice . . . they especially don’t want to remember how Kaeya himself was experimented on in those sick, twisted trials. A very large part of the reason Kaeya doesn’t seem to hate the gods of Teyvat is because he knows their interference probably saved his life, and led to him being repurposed as a spy, rather than dying as alchemical fodder.
But he’s theirs now. Crepus’s son. Diluc’s brother. Prince of the Ragnvindr Clan and of Mondstadt, and if Diluc becomes the next High King, then Kaeya will rule the Ragnvindr lands after Crepus’s death, and Diluc does not doubt for a moment that their people will be in excellent hands, no matter what happened in Kaeya’s past.
“Son? You’re bleeding?”
“What? Oh.” Diluc fights back a blush, but accepts the handkerchief his father hands him, and uses it to blot the cut on his palm. “Apologies.”
“That looks deep. Do you need to put a dressing on it?”
“I had one on it. I took it off this morning. I thought it had closed.” Diluc gives his father a slight smile. “I suppose I was wrong. It’s nothing to worry about though, Father. I’ll get a clean bandage for it in a few minutes.”
“Clean it before you cover it again,” Crepus tells him.
“Of course,” Diluc agrees.
Crepus glances back toward Kaeya . . . who is using a claymore against Guy, rather than his usual longsword. Guy uses a longsword as well, and often takes instruction from Kaeya. It seems the lesson of the day is how to defend against an opponent wielding a claymore. Diluc had been watching with interest, and was pleased to see how well Kaeya can actually wield a greatsword despite how he rarely uses one. He must have instinctively flexed his hand a bit further than the cut on his palm would allow, as he watched them sparring.
“I have matters to attend before tonight’s banquet,” Crepus says, after a few more moments of watching his youngest son, “so regretfully, I must leave you now.”
“Anything I can help with?” Diluc asks immediately, but Crepus waves his offer aside.
“It’s Harvest Fest Eve. Enjoy yourself. Just keep Kaeya from training the squires too terribly hard, and make sure you’re both presentable by this evening. I trust you haven’t forgotten who’s visiting.”
“Of course not, Father,” Diluc says, perhaps less enthusiastically than he should.
Crepus pats his shoulder sympathetically before taking his leave, but that’s the only comfort he offers his son. He’s not completely callous as to the situation . . . but this is a necessity that all young nobles must eventually face, and the higher their status, the more important it is for them.
Many would not envy Diluc’s position at all. Lady Rosalyne is beautiful . . . but there’s always been something about her that’s bothered Diluc, though he’s never been able to put his finger on. He knows she’s older than him. Not past her childbearing years, of course, or else she wouldn’t be such a strong candidate as his . . . his wife.
To be honest, marriage and children are . . . not things Diluc is truly ready for . . . but ready for them or not, they are part of his duty, and so he must prepare himself for them.
“By that winsome sigh, can I assume your thoughts are of fair Rosalyne?” Kaeya’s teasing voice, right beside him startles Diluc – the second one to catch him unawares in less than five minutes, Diluc realizes ruefully as he jumps.
“Kaeya,” he says, and slings an arm around his brother. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”
“I didn’t intend to,” Kaeya tells him. “If I had, I probably wouldn’t have approached from directly in front of you.”
“ . . . Fair enough,” Diluc concedes.
“And are you sure you want to be manhandling me like this?” Kaeya asks mischievously. “I just finished a training session with the squires. One where I was using a claymore to boot. I was actually just about to get a ba – watch out!”
The next thing Diluc knows, he’s falling. His back hits the ground and he feels the squelch of mud, even as he hears the thunder of horse’s hooves thudding past him. Something heavy lands on his chest – Kaeya, he realizes. Kaeya tackled him out of the way of that reckless rider’s horse. His brother wastes no time scrambling back to his feet to confront the man who nearly rode him down.
“Hey! What the devil do you think you’re doing?!”
“Sorry about that!” the rider says, far more cheerfully than someone who’s nearly ridden down anyone ever should, let alone someone who nearly rode down two princes in their father’s castle. The amount of nonchalance in his green eyes is infuriating. “I bear urgent news for King Crepus!”
“So urgent that you try to ride down his only son and heir?!”
It’s not right, what Kaeya says. He’s Crepus’s son too, and his second heir. Diluc is still picking himself up out of the mud though, and isn’t exactly in a position to argue the points. He regains his feet as Kaeya’s words sink in, and the messenger realizes what he’s done and at least has the grace to look a little embarrassed.
“I – uh, my apologies, your princeliness. I’m a retainer of the Lawrence Clan, and I bear an urgent missive for your father.”
“You just missed him,” Diluc says, with as much dignity as he can muster when he’s covered in mud like he is, “but if your words are truly urgent as you say, then he should hear them at once. Sir Connor? Escort this man to my father’s audience chamber, if you will. Squire Guy, please run and find – oh, actually . . . Sir Eustave, please find my father, if he’s not in his audience chamber.” Squire Guy has spent the morning getting beaten up and down the practice courts by Kaeya. He doubtlessly needs a bath . . . as does Diluc now too.
And so, to the baths they go, once the messenger is sent on his way.
Dawnwine Castle is built upon a foundation of ancient ruins. Some scholars theorize they date back to the golden age of the Seelies, when they were a mighty race capable of great and wonderous magics. Other scholars claim they’re even older . . . then there are those who claim they’re not that old, merely build over a natural hot spring. Whatever the reason, Diluc is and has always been grateful for the amenities integrated into the architecture. The entirety of the castle stays warm, even in the winter, and the baths are truly Archon-sent – large pools of water, sunk into dressed stone, that are eternally the perfect temperature to sooth aching muscles, and never dirty, as the pools are constantly draining and refilling . . . Diluc understands entirely why, centuries ago, both the Gunnhildr and Lawrence Clans attempted to seize the Ragnvindr castle on multiple occasions.
Luckily, his hand has stopped bleeding by the time they reach the baths. Diluc does take a few moments to wipe away the blood and inspect the cut, just to make sure that no grime has really become lodged in it, thanks to his fall in the mud. Thankfully, his father’s handkerchief spared it the worst of the dirt, it seems. Without that, he’d doubtlessly need to pour some stinging potion on it to clean it, because the rest of him is either covered or liberally splattered with mud. Even his Vision is caked with globs of it.
“Yours opened?” Kaeya asks, pausing in the middle of undressing himself, as he sees what Diluc’s doing.
“Oh. Yes. It’s not a big deal though,” Diluc says quickly. “It will heal back in no time . . . and these waters will help clean it.”
“Especially after I tackled you into the mud,” Kaeya says ruefully. “Sorry about that.”
“No apology necessary,” Diluc tells him. “You probably saved my life. Or at the very least, saved me from getting run over by a horse. I would have ended up in the mud then too. Your way was far less painful.”
“No less messy, though.”
“Thankfully, we have these baths.”
Kaeya helps Diluc get out of his mud-covered clothes, so he doesn’t have to risk getting dirt in the cut on his hand. Then he finishes getting out of his own sweaty clothes and the two head into the bath and sink down into the steaming water.
“I was watching your training sessions,” Diluc says, as he takes a seat on the ledge that runs around the perimeter of the pool, like a bench. “It looks like the squires have learned a lot under you.”
“I’m no arms master,” Kaeya says, and sighs as he settles into the water next to his brother, “but I think I do alright.”
Kaeya does more than alright, but Diluc doesn’t press the issue. His brother has always been a bit self-depreciating . . . but he seems less so now than a week ago. Like it’s engrained in him to hold back when he should be proud, but like he’s starting to realize it’s okay to let it show. One of the many little changes Diluc’s noticed since Kaeya came clean to them. He looks forward to seeing what Kaeya’s like when it’s finally all sunk in. That he’s their family. That they accept him, no matter where he came from, or why he came to them.
“Thank you for working with them,” Diluc says. “I’ve tried in the past but . . . well, you’re a much better instructor than I am.”
“Before they finish their training, you might school them a bit,” Kaeya says, his eye glittering with wicked amusement. “I think it would do them good to see just how strong their crown prince is.”
“What, you’re not worried they’d lose all respect for you then?” Diluc teases.
“You say that as though they have respect for me to begin with.”
Diluc gives a soft laugh then leans back against the stone. He and Kaeya continue to banter, playfully, until the squires in question arrive – a good quarter of an hour after the princes, since cleaning up around the armory, and making sure all their gear is pristine before putting it away are tasks required of the trainees. Kaeya and Diluc continue to speak after their arrival . . . just not quite as carelessly, since they have an audience, and since one of their topics of conversation was the trainees who just joined them.
Guy arrives last . . . and with a pleasant surprise to share.
“Spiced wine,” he says, looking a little nervous as he pours a goblet and offers it to Kaeya, “and grape juice. For you, Prince Diluc, if it pleases you. Since . . . I know you don’t favor wine, and since I figured you would be here. Since . . . that incident with the messenger.”
Diluc accepts gratefully. “Many thanks,” he tells the squire.
“Indeed,” Kaeya says, as he takes the goblet of wine. He clinks it against Diluc’s goblet in cheers before taking a sip. Diluc follows suit, then nods to Guy, appreciatively.
“It’s good,” Diluc says . . . even though the spices that were added to the grape juice don’t go with it as well as they probably go with wine. The flavor profiles of the two beverages are different, despite having the same basic ingredients. Still, he is grateful, because as pleasant as it is to just soak in hot water on a chilly day, having a cool drink somehow elevates the experience.
Guy gives a nervous smile, then hurries to the other side of the bath, where the rest of the squires have congregated, a respectable distance away from the two princes.
“I saw you speaking with Father,” Kaeya says, a moment later. “Did he have any instructions for us?”
“Not beyond making sure we’re presentable for the banquet tonight,” Diluc says. He takes another sip of his drink. “Though that may have changed, depending on what that messenger had to say. We probably shouldn’t spend too long here . . . though I suppose he does know where to find us, if he needs to send for us.”
“No doubt the tale of how I shoved you into the mud is making its rounds.”
“Don’t make it sound like you did something bad,” Diluc tells him.
Kaeya just laughs, but softly, and his smile reaches his eye, so Diluc isn’t too put out. He takes another drink before setting his goblet down on the edge of the bath, behind him. Kaeya holds on to his cup, however, in typical Kaeya fashion. From the looks of it, he’s already drained about half of it.
“I was actually telling Father that . . . that you seem happier. This past week, I mean,” Diluc says. “He’s noticed too. We’re both very glad.”
He’s treated to the rare sight of Kaeya’s smile turning from sly to shy. Like the expression that the skinny little boy he used to be always had on his face, as he struggled to adapt to a life where his next meal was guaranteed, and people cared and worried about him. Though Diluc much prefers the confidence that Kaeya has since grown into, whenever that shy expression returns to his brother’s face, he can’t help but feel a bit nostalgic.
“Thank you . . .” Kaeya says softly. “For accepting me.”
“Thank you for trusting me.”
Kaeya tries to hide that shy smile by draining the rest of his wine in one go. He splutters a bit on it, which is rare for him, even when he’s trying to hide embarrassment. Diluc briefly wonders if perhaps the spices in it don’t actually go well with wine either. He picks back up his own cup to take another drink, pretending he doesn’t notice anything unusual about how Kaeya’s acting, then gracefully changes the topic. There are so many much more pleasant things to talk about. Especially since the Harvest Festival begins tomorrow. Well, technically tonight, since it kicks off with the Harvest Fest Eve celebration. Preparations have been underway for a fortnight now, and since it’s so close he can practically taste the excitement in the air. The kitchens smell like heaven from all the sweet treats being baked for the occasion – pies and cakes, spice breads, and candied fruits, and now that the celebration’s starting tonight, roasting meats have been added into the mix. Decorations have sprung up everywhere, from wreathes and garlands made of yellow, orange, and red leaves to lanterns made from carved pumpkins and gourds.
Diluc asks Kaeya questions of little importance, that he already knows the answer to, such as what festival foods are his favorite (rum cakes, and wine marinated fowl skewers with mushrooms) and what part of the revelry he’s most looking forward to (the feasts, the performances by the troupe of acrobats Crepus always hires, and watching Diluc in the archery tournament, since that is the only competition either prince can compete in without their opponents holding back on account of their status).
Before long . . . Diluc begins to feel sleepy. The baths tend to have that effect on people, though usually not on him. His pyro Vision makes him more resistant to the lull of warmth, most days, but today he’s feeling it. As is Kaeya, though he usually only tends to succumb to sleep when he bathes in the evening, never in the mornings . . . but there’s a first time for everything, Diluc thinks, and smiles as Kaeya’s eye slides shut after struggling to stay open, and he leans against Diluc with a sigh, his head coming to rest on his shoulder.
More nostalgia. It’s been a very long time since Kaeya accidentally fell asleep leaning on him like this.
They probably shouldn’t stay in too long, Diluc remembers, but vaguely. There was something . . . something he needed to see about. He just can’t remember now. Perhaps just a quick nap . . . ? Surely someone will fetch him if there’s something truly important . . .
With that thought in mind, Diluc lets his own eyes close and –
“Are you alright, son?”
“Gah!” Diluc jumps, startled, and spins to stare at his father.
“Sorry,” Crepus says, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Oh. No. Sorry, Father . . .” Diluc blinks, disoriented, because . . . he thought . . . wasn’t he just in the baths? No, clearly not. He’s at the edge of the training courtyard, where Kaeya is teaching Squire Guy to defend against an opponent wielding a claymore . . . by wielding one himself. Diluc flexes his hand, instinctively, then realizes that the cut on his palm is throbbing. “Oh . . .”
“What happened?” Crepus asks, as Diluc holds up his hand to inspect.
“It’s nothing,” Diluc says quickly, embarrassed. “Just a cut.”
Crepus immediately hands him his handkerchief, and Diluc’s feeling of déjà vu intensifies. He tries to make sense of what’s happening, or what just happened . . . but the best he can tell, it didn’t happen. Perhaps he simply had a waking dream?
“That looks deep. Do you need to put a dressing on it?”
“I had one . . . I took it off . . . I guess I shouldn’t have,” Diluc says, less eloquently than he would have if he was able to think straight. “It’s nothing to worry about though, Father. I’ll get a clean bandage for it shortly.”
“Clean it before you cover it again,” Crepus says, with a slight, tolerant smile.
“Of course,” Diluc agrees. He looks back across the courtyard, toward Kaeya, “I just had an odd dream . . . no, never mind. Kaeya seems happier these days, doesn’t he?”
“Yes,” Crepus says, his eyes warming. “It’s good to see. I imagine it was hard for him, living under that burden of lies . . . knowing that one day he might have to betray those he’d come to love.”
“I’m glad he finally trusted us.”
“As am I.”
Having the same conversation (more or less) twice is odd, but Diluc’s certain stranger things have happened. When Crepus excuses himself to return to whatever matters he has to attend moments later, that’s familiar too. Diluc could have done without the reminder that his potential suitor, Lady Rosalyne, is currently visiting, but other than that, there’s nothing unpleasant about it. Diluc is still lost in his thoughts when Kaeya’s training session with the squires ends, but this time is attentive enough to see his brother approaching.
“Good morning, Diluc,” Kaeya says with a smile, and the difference from last time makes Diluc feel a distinct sense of relief. “Everything alright?”
“Yes,” Diluc tells him, returning his smile. It’s not a lie, nothing is technically wrong. Aside from him not being particularly fond of the woman he might very well end up engaged to before this Harvest Festival is over.
“Ah . . . thinking of the fair Lady Rosalyne, are you?” Kaeya asks.
“You know me too well, brother,” Diluc says, and resists the urge to sling an arm around Kaeya’s shoulders, because . . . yes, Kaeya is quite sweaty from his workout. The squires he was training, however, are far worse. They’re all certainly bound for the baths now, but – “Watch out!”
A messenger on horseback charges into the courtyard, completely disregarding basic riding safety, and the fact that there are people milling about. Had Diluc and Kaeya started walking only several seconds earlier, they would have been right in his path.
The messenger is familiar too, Diluc sees, with a chill . . . but he manages not to ride anyone down, since no one is directly in his way. He reigns his horse in sharply . . . but to his credit he does seem to be a good rider, and his mount does seem used to his crazy antics. It prances about in a tight circle as the messenger casts his gaze around, looking for someone who seems to be in a position of authority.
Diluc steps forward to address him. “However important you think your message is, neither my father, King Crepus, nor I will thank you for riding down our knights in training, messenger,” he says coldly.
The messenger’s eyes widen slightly in surprise. “I – my apologies, Prince Diluc. I bear an urgent missive for your father from the Lawrence Clan.”
Diluc nods curtly. “I will escort you to his audience chamber. However, in the future, you will reign in your mount more carefully in Ragnvindr lands. If you injure even a farmhand, I will personally hold you accountable for reparations.”
To his surprise the messenger looks a bit rueful rather than wrathful. Very atypical of the Lawrence Clan and their retainers. The messenger gives a nod of his sandy head in acquiescence and doesn’t bother trying to defend himself with a haughty comeback.
“Sir Connor? Could I trouble you to run ahead, and if my father is not in his audience chamber, request that he meet us there?”
Naturally, Sir Connor agrees and departs immediately. Diluc glances at Kaeya and gives him a slight nod. Kaeya knows him well enough to take this as a polite wave goodbye. Kaeya responds by raising his eyebrow, essentially saying, “Better you than me.” Then he turns to head toward the baths, raising one hand in a wave as he goes.
Diluc, in turn, heads toward his father’s audience chamber. Out the corner of his eye, he notices Squire Guy saying something to one of the other squires – thanking him perhaps? Then heading off in another direction which is odd. He has cleanup duties and weapons maintenance, as a squire . . . but perhaps he just arranged to trade chores with one of his friends for another day? Or maybe he’s off to get refreshments for when they do make it to the baths, like in Diluc’s waking dream. He is heading in the direction of the kitchens. Or maybe it’s nothing like that at all. Perhaps he needs to pick up medicine for his ill father, or run some other errand for Tunner. It’s not something Diluc feels the need to pry into, or dwell on overmuch.
He leads the Lawrence Clan’s messenger to his father’s audience chamber, and they’re in luck. Crepus is there and waiting, forewarned of their impending arrival. Diluc sees some missives he was reading over before he learned they were enroute, set aside now that there’s more pressing business. Diluc takes his place at his father’s right hand, as Crepus bids the messenger to speak.
“King Crepus,” the messenger says, “I have been sent on behalf of Princess Eula of the Lawrence Clan to warn you of a potential threat against your lands. My princess bids you read these missives which concern movements of multiple groups of men who passed through Lawrence lands, whom my princess deemed suspicious . . . and who seem to be converging into your domain.”
Crepus has never been one to dismiss a potential threat to his people. He immediately gives the messenger his full attention. Within minutes, the small group moves to the side of the audience chamber, to a table that is occupied by Crepus’s clerks on busy days, when he hears his subjects’ concerns on various matters in his kingdom. A map of Mondstadt is spread out, and markers are put on Lawrence and Ragnvindr territories to indicate the groups of men who Eula deemed suspicious enough to send warnings about. Before they can begin analyzing their movements in earnest, however, the audience chamber’s doors fly open so hard they hit the walls.
“King Crepus! Prince Diluc! It’s Kaeya! Prince Kaeya is – he’s . . . I’m sorry, your majesties. Prince Kaeya is dead . . .”