Archive of Our Own ^beta

The first visitor to Childe’s room is the Tsaritsa.

He feels it in the way the room grows incredibly cold, his teeth beginning to chatter, shallow breaths coming out in puffs of air, mucus starting to crust in his nostrils. She sits by his bedside.

“My child, what troubles have you gotten yourself into?” she muses. “Such an agent of chaos, everywhere you go…even when you simply want a vacation, the struggles seem to follow you.”

He doesn’t answer. He physically can’t. Not right now, when his throat is closed up and his lungs are full of blood and his eyes are too swollen to even open.

“The way you returned is quite unfathomable, dropping out of the sky such as you did…” She chuckles at the memory. “You were completely unconscious. I doubt you even remember it. I know not who sent you back, but I do wish to thank them.”

The Tsaritsa tuts as she brushes a lock of hair away from his face.

“It is good to see you resting properly for once,” she says, quieter. “Even you can make my frozen heart twist with worry when you insist on not caring for your well-being. I don’t believe you can even struggle right now, but if you could, I’m certain you would be protesting this. The Doctor insists that you stay in bed, otherwise you may not make a full recovery. I do hope you listen to those words.”

He wishes he could nod.

“The Knave is on her way back from Fontaine by now. The Captain has made his way to Natlan, and he imparted unto me a message he wishes for you to know: “chin up, soldier.” Everyone else is here in the palace. I expect them to visit you. I have instructed them to behave themselves. I have sent word to your family that you are still assisting with matters in Fontaine. I believe you would prefer for them not to know or to see you like this, hm? When you recover though, I trust you would like to meet with them again, and I have let them know that you will see them as soon as possible.”

He lets out the best noise of acknowledgment he can, a groan that plunges itself from his throat.

“Do not strain yourself, my child. Rest now. Dream.”

She leaves with a swish of her dress, and the chill recedes swiftly.

He falls less into sleep and more into complete unconsciousness.

He does not dream, he does not feel, he does not think. He can’t do anything. He is powerless.

*

I am in the sea, a boundless ocean, the color of cotton candy, surrounded by stars.

I hear my name being called, over and over…

***

The second visitor to Childe’s room is Pierro.

The clacking of strong boots against the marble floor alerts him to his presence. He tries to be quiet as he pulls over a chair, but it squeaks in protest as it slides across the floor and his weight is pushed onto it. A gloved hand rests on Childe’s forehead and draws back when he twitches.

“Don’t squirm like that, insolent boy,” Pierro says gruffly, but his tone is exasperated, playful. “You’ll hurt yourself even more than you already have.”

Childe breathes shallowly. He tries to open his eyes, but gets nothing more than a flutter of his eyelids. He frowns, makes a noise of frustration, tries to move.

Pierro’s gentle hand holds him in place. “Please stop struggling. Rest.” He sighs. “How did you manage to do this to yourself? Such a fool…” He holds no malice in his voice. “I know you enjoy dancing with death, boy, but one sacrifice for our cause is enough. If you try something like that again, I’ll kill you myself.”

Childe wants to laugh at the threat, but all that comes out is a strained wheeze.

“Did you hear me? Stop struggling.”

I’m not struggling , he wants to say. I’m resting , he tries to protest. Nothing can come out, though.

Pierro sighs again, heavier this time. His fingers card through Childe’s hair gingerly.

“Please rest,” he insists. His voice is hardly over a whisper, heavy with the burden of five hundred years of pain. “You’re just a boy.”

He leaves then, his steps a melancholic march out of the room.

*

I see that creature again, floating above me, its call all around me, drowning me.

“Ajax,” it cries. “Ajax, Ajax, Ajax.”

“I want to swallow the world, and you along with it.”

***

The third visitor to Childe’s room is Pulcinella.

His steps are solemn, shuffling, cane thwacking against the floor. He is quiet. Childe tries to angle his head towards him. He can imagine the man settling himself onto that stool, his head hanging low in mourning just as he did at Signora’s funeral. There’s stress in every movement Pulcinella makes.

“My word, just what have you gotten yourself into?” He sounds choked, and it hurts Childe even more than he already is. “You left for something so simple, then went missing again like you did all those years ago, and returned like this…” He stomps his cane against the ground. “Boy, I practically raised you back then. I have watched you grow up into a fine young man, and I’ll be damned if we lose you now. Your life should not be wasted.”

He reaches out and takes Childe’s hand in his own, bowing his head.

“Promise me, boy. Promise me you’ll keep fighting, and not lose your life here.”

With all of the strength that he can muster, Childe squeezes Pulcinella’s hand.

I promise is unspoken, but heard nonetheless. Pulcinella is stunned silent for a moment, then laughs, a wonderful and joyous noise.

“That’s my boy!” he exclaims. “So you can hear us, even like this. If that’s the case…”

He spends the next hour telling Childe stories at length about how his family has been while he was away and reading him letters from Tonia. When Childe’s lip twitches just slightly in the best smile he can manage, Pulcinella practically bursts into tears.

“That’s our boy,” he mumbles. “Our fighter.”

When he is forced to return to his duties, he gives Childe a farewell pat on the head and rushes to tell everyone about his condition.

*

No.

I can’t let that happen.

I have a family, and friends. I need to protect them.

And I will protect them from you.

I promised the traveler, when I saw you again, I would behead you.

So be ready for the greatest fight of your life…!

***

The fourth and fifth visitors to Childe’s room are Dottore and Sandrone.

“Remind me again why you're here?” Dottore asks as Sandrone runs her fingers along Childe's arm.

“Saw you heading to visit him so I thought I'd come along,” she answers simply. She plays with his fingers, bending them backwards, squealing in delight when he groans in pain. “Ooh, so you do feel that.”

“He's not a toy.”

“He could be. A clockwork soldier would be more useful than this broken body.” She drops his hand with a sigh, letting it flop back onto the bed.

“The human condition, fragile as it is, should not be forsaken. You and I both know his feats of strength.”

“And yet, here he is, limp in bed and turning purple. Doesn't seem very strong to me. Wasn't he supposed to be on vacation?”

Dottore scribbles something in his notes. “Only Arlecchino may know what sort of situation he managed to get himself into. Until she returns, we will have to trust that he was in some sort of grave incident. Judging by his injuries, it had something to do with fire, and may be Abyssal in nature. He experienced serious amounts of bodily trauma. I can assure you this wasn't something as simple as his usual street fights.”

Sandrone scoffs. “What, you think he saved a bunch of people from a burning building?”

Dottore shakes his head. “I don't think anything. I'm merely going based off of the facts given to me. Whatever happened happened. It's not my job to understand what he did and why. I'm here to treat him under the Tsaritsa's orders, and nothing more. Speculations and emotional vulnerability will lead you nowhere.”

“Says mister temper tantrum.”

“I believe you're confusing me with one of my since-deceased segments.” He stands then, giving Childe a pat on the knee that makes him hiss. “Come now, I need to update Her Imperial Majesty.”

Sandrone huffs in protest, but leaves along with him, muttering, “If you flirt with my robot again…”

And Childe is alone once more, the silence more deafening than comforting.

*

I fight that vile beast with every bit of strength I have.

Every muscle of mine screams with agony, and still I push forth.

How long am I in that sea of stars?

Why does no one come to find me?

***

The sixth and seventh visitors to Childe's room are Pantalone and Columbina.

There’s a dip in the mattress as Columbina rests her arms and head on the space by his arm, while Pantalone sits in the chair that has taken up permanence residence by his bed. A delicate hand comes to rub circles into Childe’s palm.

“It’s weird,” she murmurs.

“Hm?” Pantalone tilts his head.

“It’s never been this quiet.”

“So it seems.”

“Do you think he’ll wake up? Or will we…lose him too?”

Pantalone hums. “He’s been able to vocalize and move a little bit.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.” Columbina’s cheek pillows against her arm. “Little signs like that…they can give you some hope, but then rip it away all over again.”

“He’s a fighter. Let’s believe in him.”

“You know better than to bargain with the gods. Money will not buy him time.”

There is a pause. Pantalone taps his fingers against his other arm. He tries not to falter. The room seems to grow colder. Absentmindedly, he pushes his glasses further up the bridge of his nose.

Finally, he says, “He is strong, Columbina. Just as Liyue is the heart of commerce with its Mora ever-flowing, so too the heart of this boy will beat as long as the thrill of battle fills his veins.”

Columbina does not turn towards him. “Then I shall hope this dove may not lose his wings.”

Adjusting her position by his side, she begins to hum, low and soft, a Snezhnayan lullaby that Childe recognizes. He has not heard it in a long time. It is gentle, wispy, enveloping him like the arms of a mother. It soothes him. Placates him. Warms him more than the sun ever could.

And suddenly, he is crying. He feels the tears slipping out between his swollen eyelids, the way his chest starts to rack with sobs that hurt, gods they hurt as it feels like his own ribs start to stab him. He breathes shallowly, throat burning, starting to cough. Phlegm and blood come up from his lungs. Columbina screeches.

In all the commotion that follows, he can’t understand what’s going on.

Not that he wants to. All he can focus on is the pain, the agony, how he wants to scream but can’t, how he wants to breathe but can’t, oh gods, I can’t breathe-

And suddenly a firm hand is pressing him down and a distinctly cherry-flavored liquid is being forced down his throat. When he swallows, there is instant relief. His entire body goes slack as the pain subsides. Oxygen fills his lungs once more. A handkerchief comes to wipe at his eyes and nose. Numbness takes over him. Everything quiets and calms, only unintelligible murmurs coming to his ears, unable to be processed through the busyness of his mind.

In the distance, as soft palms cradle his cheeks, he hears her singing once more.

*

Electrifying.

The whale’s call reverberates through my core.

I can’t hear anything else.

How much longer do I have to endure?

It hurts.

It hurts.

It hurts.

***

The first time Childe is able to open his eyes, it is when one of Pantalone’s cats has made herself comfy on his chest and unintentionally causes him even more discomfort. He blinks at the brightness of the sun and snow from the window and tries to lift a hand to shield his eyes. It struggles to respond to his demands. He settles on laying his hand on the cat, fingers disappearing beneath her fur. She purrs, sending vibrations throughout his body.

It hurts a little, but he knows she’s trying.

It is quiet. Terribly quiet. Even when he strains his ears, he can’t hear anything besides the contented noises of this cat and birdsong.

With the absence of everything, he suddenly realizes how terrible he feels. His hair is oily, there’s a distinct odor in the room that he’s pretty sure is him and not the cat, his nerves are on fire, every bit of him down to his cells is utterly suffering, and he wants to scream in agony but not even his vocal cords will obey his commands.

It seems that the cat has decided to assist.

Because when Pantalone calls out, “Jade!” ( oh, is that her name? ) through the halls, she uses Childe’s chest as a launchpad and bounds off with such force that blood comes cascading up his throat again. He coughs and splutters, barely registering Jade’s frantic meows and her leading a concerned Pantalone back into Childe’s room. Soon, Dottore is there as well to relieve his pain.

“Foolish boy,” he mutters as he digs through his supplies and Pantalone hovers beside him. “Such a mess…”

“It’s good to see you awake, Tartaglia,” Pantalone greets. “How are you feeling?”

Their figures are fuzzy in his sight. Childe opens his mouth to speak, but Dottore practically shoves his fingers in there to keep him from talking.

“Do you want to cough up blood again?” he threatens.

Childe musters every muscle in his face to frown. Pantalone snorts.

“He really is our youngest,” he muses affectionately, mussing Childe’s hair. “Was Jade keeping you company? Should I send my other kitties to help you?”

“Pantalone, he can’t answer you.”

“We can establish a system, yes? Blink once for yes, blink twice for no?”

Childe sighs as Dottore re-wraps his injuries. He hasn’t seen them until now, and it’s disturbing how his skin has turned from its healthy pale to sickly yellow in some areas or deep purple in others. It blossoms all across his body, petals of crimson and indigo overlapping each other along vines of chartreuse. Nausea churns in his stomach. He wills himself not to puke.

They leave him alone once Dottore completes his duties. Childe is grateful for it.

I don’t need them fussing over me like I’m a baby.

Even if it does really hurt.

He watches the snow fall outside, and thinks about the rain in Fontaine.

*

It hurts more than anything I’ve ever dealt with.

Worse than corrosion.

Worse than being disemboweled.

Worse than a bond of life.

Worse than my parents not recognizing me anymore.

But I can’t die here.

I can’t.

I can’t.

I can’t.

So I have to keep fighting,

keep fighting,

keep fighting…

***

Recovery is a slow go.

But Childe marvels at every improvement, cheers whenever one of his normal functions is unlocked again.

He can finally turn his head, bend his knees, lift and stretch his arms, wiggle his fingers and toes, even if he still feels sore from every movement. He nearly sobs when he can finally bathe again (with Pulcinella's help, because no way is he letting that mad doctor anywhere near his naked and vulnerable body). He watches his skin recover its original color and the jagged wounds stitch themselves back together.

It is when he finally speaks again that the palace practically holds an entire celebration.

It’s like hearing a baby’s first words.

Pulcinella comes to deliver him a letter, with word from his family (“they think you’re on your way back from Fontaine safely”) that they are wishing him well. Childe’s hands still tremble, so Pulcinella opens the envelope for him and unfolds the letter, handing it to him.

Childe,

It’s been a long time since I last saw you. Thank you for your help with the whale. You must have been fighting it for weeks. I can’t imagine how bad you’re hurting. Sorry we couldn’t do more to help. I’ll make it up to you next time. I hope you’re recovering okay. I wish I could come to visit, but it’s pretty busy here. I’m trying to help with restoration efforts here in Fontaine after all that’s happened.

Sorry I couldn’t return your Vision to you in person. I’m having The Knave send it over, though maybe by the time you get this letter, she’ll be there and you’ll have it again. I don’t know.

I won’t be going to Natlan just yet, but I’ve been out and around to other nations. You know me, I can’t stay put in one place for long. I wanted to catch up with some old friends. Liyue and Mondstadt had a whole poetry event going on a while ago, and I met an Oceanid from a fairytale.

Zhongli was there.

He asked about you.

That was when you had just gotten locked up in the Fortress of Meropide, before I got myself imprisoned to come find you. I told him the truth, that you were found guilty for a crime you didn’t commit. He was surprised, but not. He called you a rascal. I could tell he was worried, even if he tried not to show it.

I’m not sure what’s going on between you two, but I hope you can meet up again soon. I think he misses you.

Paimon says hello, by the way. She misses your cooking.

That’s all for now. ‘Til we meet again.

Traveler

At the bottom, there’s a few doodles clearly made by Paimon. One is a crude representation of Foul Legacy battling the All-Devouring Narwhal, another is the three of them fishing together, and the last is him riding on the back of Rex Lapis.

He touches his fingertips to it.

“Zhongli,” he murmurs, voice raspy and hardly above a whisper from lack of use.

Pulcinella’s eyes widen from behind his glasses and he leans in. “What did you just say, boy?”

The tears take him suddenly, blurring his vision in no time. “Zhongli,” he repeats, louder. “Zhongli misses me.”

And his body is wracked with sobs that leave him in agony once more, crying out with emotion he forgot he had, not sure if his screams are from the physical pain or emotional pain. Pulcinella, confused as he is, draws him close and pats his back, letting him cry until he’s certain he’s lost every bit of water from his body.

When he finally calms, Pulcinella questions, “What’s wrong, Ajax?”

The mere mention of his true name nearly sends him spiraling again. “Everything, dedushka.”

“Then start from the beginning.”

“My whole body hurts. I haven’t seen my family or friends in ages. I never even got to get Tonia, Anthon, and Teucer little gifts from Fontaine like I promised. I miss everyone. They miss me. Zhongli doesn’t even know everything that happened, and I worried him, and I worried all of you, you thought I was going to die, I- I-” His throat closes up then.

I thought I was going to die.

I was so scared.

I’m supposed to be strong.

I’m supposed to be a fearless warrior.

Pulcinella continues to rub his back comfortingly. “My boy, everything is going to be okay. You’re still recovering, and your health matters more right now. They will see you soon enough. You’ve done everything you can. Focus on resting.”

He says more that Childe doesn’t care to listen to, because it feels like time is slipping through his fingers and the world is melting away at the revelation that he is missed.

The Eleventh of the Fatui Harbingers, who has caused so much chaos, is being missed dearly by the god of a nation he tried to destroy, by a god he hasn't seen in months due to being in Fontaine, by a god he swears up and down he doesn't have feelings for but knows somewhere hidden in the walls he's put around his heart that he yearns for him.

He puts on a smile for the visitors that day. He banters like always and tells them of his experiences and just how he got to be so injured. He laughs even when it makes him cough.

But when night falls, and he lays bundled up in the sheets under the moonlight, with another one of Pantalone's cats keeping him company, he lets himself frown as the constriction in his chest gets tighter at the thought of Zhongli there at Wanmin or wandering the streets or leaving the funeral parlor all alone with no certain redhead to greet him.

And suddenly he realizes just how alone he is, too.

*

I'm alone.

(I’m surrounded.)

I’m drowning.

(I can breathe freely.)

I’m awake.

(I’m dreaming.)

I’m a fearless warrior.

(I’m a scared little boy.)

I’m a hero.

(I’m a villain.)

I’m still alive.

(I’m dying.)

I’m winning.

(I’m losing.)

I’m struggling,

I’m fighting,

I have to keep going.

I’m suffering,

I'm screaming,

I have to keep going.

I’m crying,

I’m trying,

and I have to keep going.

Even as the days pass me by,

sleepless and starving,

I will fight,

push my body to its limits,

just as a warrior should.

I am not Ajax the Great.

I am Tartaglia, Eleventh of the Fatui Harbingers, the Tsaritsa’s Vanguard.

And I will do

whatever it takes

to protect the innocent,

save those I love,

hear people cheer for me,

fight against the enemy,

and get stronger.

(After all…

You shall ever be the eye of the storm,

And the clashing of steel shall ever accompany you.

The pitch-black memory of stepping into uttermost darkness

shall, at last, become the strength by which you will overturn this world.)

***

The clock in Childe’s room has grown incessantly loud. Loud enough to annoy him and make him lose focus as he’s trying to read. Just as he’s considering smashing it, the door opens, and in comes-

“Arlecchino?” he says in surprise, setting his book down. “You’re finally back. What’s all that you’re carrying?”

She sets down a pile of boxes, all pleasingly wrapped in bright colors and ribbons galore. “Gifts,” she replies.

“For who?”

“For you, dumbass.”

“Is it my birthday or something?”

“No.”

“Then why-”

“Because.” She holds up a sharp finger to shush him. “You’ve been stuck in bed for weeks after spending over a month completely missing, and according to the traveler, fighting some sort of whale that would’ve completely consumed Fontaine had you not stopped it.” She pulls up the chair that had finally been returned to his desk and crosses her arms. “On behalf of all of Fontaine, we owe you thanks. Monsieur Neuvillette extends his dearest apologies for the trouble caused to you and wishes to make it up to you at some point. But first, here.”

Arlecchino picks up the topmost box, too delicately for her monstrous hands, and hands it to Childe. It’s small and silver with a blue ribbon. He gently pulls at the ribbon and opens it. Inside a nest of velvet lays his Vision, which glows spectacularly the moment he recognizes it. He practically tosses the box away as he kisses his Vision’s cool surface.

“My baby is back!” he exclaims, then breaks into a coughing fit.

“The traveler expressed their regrets at not being able to return it to you in person,” Arlecchino says, “but they knew it would be safe with me and that I would be meeting with you again. For Celestia’s sake, don’t make out with that thing.”

He presses it to his face and sighs happily as he feels healing waters fill his veins. “I’ve spent too long without it…what’s the rest of this stuff, though?” He sets his Vision on the bedside table atop his book.

Arlecchino sighs heavily. “Do you mind explaining your little adventure first?”

Childe blinks. “Well, you already know I was wrongfully imprisoned. In the Fortress of Meropide, I kept hearing this whale song. I went searching for it, and ended up in the Primordial Sea, and then I saw that whale…so I fought it.”

It’s Arlecchino’s turn to blink in barely-contained surprise. “You fought it just because you could?”

“Yup.” Childe grins, even as he withholds some of the truth. “And hey, I ended up saving Fontaine. The traveler and that Neuvillette guy just had to finish it off for me.”

“Speaking of, how did you manage to get back here?” Arlecchino asks. “The traveler only mentioned seeing you briefly.”

“Well, uh…” Childe glances away. “I don’t know, actually. I lost consciousness from fighting it for so long, and when I woke up, I was here. I heard some voices, I think? But those could’ve been dreams.”

“Hm.” Arlecchino purses her lips. “Must’ve been quite the vacation for you.”

“Would’ve been nicer if I wasn’t dragged into everyone else’s little schemes all over again,” Childe huffs. “Now come on and tell me what all these are, I’m dying.”

Arlecchino shakes her head. “Rascal.”

It twinges his heart a bit to hear that coming from someone who isn’t Zhongli.

She hands him the trio of boxes. All three are black, but their ribbons are in mesmerizing maroon, appealing aquamarine, and captivating cerulean. He studies them as she explains, “My children of the hearth wished to send you these gifts as you recover. I don’t believe you’ve met them yet. Lyney, Lynette, and Freminet are their names.”

His hands dance over the box with the red ribbon. “They sound familiar.”

“They’re a touch younger than you,” she responds. “I believe you were here when I took them in. Open them, now.”

Not wanting to ruin the craftsmanship, he slides the ribbon off and opens the box. There’s another box inside, labeled with bold letters and bright colors.

“A magic trick kit?” he says in wonder.

“Lyney and Lynette are magicians,” Arlecchino explains. “It is a dear practice to them, especially Lyney. He wanted you to be able to experience the joy of it yourself while you recover, starting with the simplest tricks that can be performed even while laying in bed. You’ll have plenty of time to practice.”

He briefly peeks at its contents, finding an instruction booklet front and center with pictures of the tricks he can expect to learn. He sets it to the side and grabs the next one, again taking care with opening it. This one has a cylinder filled with water and blooming flowers that release bubbles, along with two metal tins of tea leaves.

“Lynette picked those flowers herself,” Arlecchino says. “They’re Romaritime flowers that only bloom when exposed to Hydro. The tea blends are herbal varieties from Fontaine. One is anti-inflammatory, using bulle fruit and flaming flowers, and the other is a calming blend with lavender and mint. They should help soothe your pain and assist in proper sleep.”

“Wow,” Childe breathes. “They’re really thoughtful.”

Arlecchino nods. “I raised them well. Should you require any assistance in brewing your tea- don’t look at me like that, Tartaglia, your brewing skills are quite lackluster.”

“I’m getting better!” Childe flails, coughing violently at his own outburst. “I just haven’t had practice!”

No practice lately, because he hasn’t had a certain consultant to brew any tea with.

She scoffs and shakes her head. “Open the last one, now. Freminet was rather excited about it.”

Setting the vase and tea on his bedside table, he turns his attention to the last box. It feels heavy. He tilts his head in curiosity as he opens it. Inside is a somewhat spherical object made of ceramic and painted with underwater scenes of Fontaine. He opens the lid to find it hollow inside, with only a little narwhal on a metal pole.

“It’s only activated with Hydro,” Arlecchino explains.

Childe nods in understanding and calls upon his Vision to fill the basin with water and watches in awe as the narwhal starts spinning and music plays. It’s a soothing tune, one that must be from Fontaine as he doesn’t recognize it. The waves of water inside dance along with the rhythm.

“He made all of this?” he questions, voice low.

“He got some help, of course, but he worked on the main mechanics,” Arlecchino responds. “He’s quite talented.”

“Yeah…” Childe stares at the waves. “Fontaine…is it…?”

“The prophecy was fulfilled, but Fontaine is saved,” Arlecchino answers. “It was flooded, and the waters receded afterwards. No casualties. As far as the Hydro Gnosis, I have safely secured it and given it to the Tsaritsa.”

“No fair, I didn’t even get to see it.”

“Perhaps Pierro will play chess with you and allow you to see it.”

“Hmph. How’d you get the Gnosis? Fighting?”

“It was entirely diplomatic.”

“Boring.”

“It was curious, though. Lady Furina was simply a human masquerading as an archon, while Focalors…is no longer with us. She deceived Celestia to save Fontaine, and gave the rightful power of the Hydro Dragon Sovereign back to Monsieur Neuvillette. The Hydro seat has thus been destroyed. There is no longer a Hydro Archon.”

“Interesting,” Childe muses. “I knew there was something off with that guy. I need a rematch.”

“Is fighting all you ever think about?”

“Not always. He played dirty, though. Attacked me while my back was turned and in the middle of my transformation, and then didn’t even do anything against the whale.”

“From what I gather, only after his power was fully restored was he able to subdue the whale.”

“Then he’s a weenie.”

Arlecchino splutters. “What?”

“You heard me.” Childe huffs.

Sighing, Arlecchino stands. “That’s all I needed to discuss with you, anyways. I do hope you recover swiftly.” She puts the chair back at his desk and tidies up a bit, retrieving the empty boxes from him. She pauses at the entrance to his room, door slightly ajar.

“I did notice someone rather curious indeed while finishing up business in Fontaine,” she remarks. “The Geo Archon himself was out and about there.”

Childe’s heart stops. “He was…?”

“I can’t imagine why he was present in Fontaine. Perhaps he needed a vacation of his own.” She shrugs. “Goodnight, Tartaglia.”

The door shuts.

Childe stares at the empty spot where she was standing and buries his head in his hands.

*

I am here.

How long has it been?

It hurts so much.

I can’t take it.

If I rest for even a second…it disappears from my sight.

I follow it. I see crowds of people about to be swallowed. I take action.

I see the Iudex, battling alongside me.

I see the traveler and Paimon, eyes wide.

I watch the whale disappear into the depths, escaping my clutches.

Everything hurts.

My skin is burning.

I want to scream, but I can’t even exhaust that effort anymore.

I want to go home.

I want to see my family, my friends…Zhongli.

I look at that damned judge who wronged me so…

…and give him one last message before I can’t remember anything else.

“You lose this one.”

***

It's cold and lonely.

Wind whips up the snow outside. Icicles crash from the roofs to the ground below. The sun is hidden behind dark clouds and storms, and the earth seems to tremble. Crying, surely, weeping at the loss of the warmth of another.

Childe does not even have the comfort of a cat on his lap. The fireplace is crackling, yet it may as well not be with how freezing it is. He yearns for his family, heart wailing in his chest for the touch of another.

He wants Zhongli. He has ever since he read the letter, and Arlecchino's revelation has only made it worse.

Their relationship has had its ups and downs, certainly - from best of friends sharing dinners together, to not speaking after Childe learned of his true identity, to reconciling and Childe admitting that the reason he was so upset was due to his insecurities brought on by his fall into the Abyss (a story he has told not a soul). Everything has been normal since.

And now he is alone, far away and for so long of a time, the longest it's ever been.

He can handle it. He's been through worse.

But right now, more than anything, he wants to be held by Zhongli and cry into his shoulder and be the weak and vulnerable human he was supposed to be, instead of the steel weapon honed only for battle. He can't afford to be soft.

A weapon made of wool is no weapon at all.

He sighs heavily as he activates his music box again and tries the disappearing card trick outlined in the kit once more. He's been practicing since he has all the free time in the world, yet still can't get the hang of it. He chalks it up to his mind being overrun and tries harder, determined. When the cards fall through his fingers and scatter across the floor like the shards of his heart, he groans miserably and gives up. Turning away, he stares out at the blizzard, watching for any sign of who he longs for most running through the worst of weather to take him in his arms (and maybe confess some long-overdue feelings, but that would be impossible).

The tremors in the earth strengthen briefly, and then cease once more. Childe worries at his lip.

Is there going to be some disaster here too? Has the whale followed me?

The door opens and Childe turns to see who it is.

Time stops.

In the doorway is Zhongli, bundled up in a warm coat and a chunky scarf, nose and cheeks reddened from the cold, holding a tower of boxes and a bouquet of sunflowers. His amber eyes shine when they land on Childe, brighter than he's ever seen them.

“Childe,” he breathes. He shuts the door behind him and sets the gifts down before kneeling at Childe's side. “Childe, you're okay.”

“Zhongli-xiansheng,” Childe replies, voice barely above a whisper, throat threatening to close up. “You're here.”

Zhongli's eyes glisten, and tears suddenly stream down from them. Childe reaches out to wipe one away, and Zhongli leans into his palm.

“Please don't cry,” Childe murmurs. “I'm here. I'm okay.”

“I missed you more than words could ever explain,” Zhongli responds. “I was so worried that you had been lost.”

“I won't die that easily, Zhongli. Come on, you know me.”

“It is not a matter of how strong you are.” Zhongli takes Childe's hand, gently, so gently, and removes it from his face, rubbing circles into his palm. “It is because I care deeply for you. Even if you were a god such as I am, I would still worry to the ends of the earth if you were not by my side.”

Childe laughs breathlessly. “What took you so long to get here, then?”

“The traveler informed me during a poetry event that you were imprisoned,” Zhongli recounts. “I understand that there is no possible way to bypass Fontaine’s judicial system, as law is as much a contract to follow as my own are, so I did not make any attempt to betray that. I grew increasingly worried as time passed, and eventually Director Hu came to me with a copy of The Steambird, telling me about how Fontaine had completely flooded…you can imagine my reaction, I’m certain.

“I took the fastest route there, searching only for you. I came across the traveler there, and they told me about how they had your Vision in their possession, how they dreamed of you floating in the Primordial Sea and seeing a whale, how you were fighting that whale when they last saw you, and had returned to Snezhnaya to recover afterwards. I feared the worst. And that’s why I have all of these-” he gestures towards the gifts- “to offer to you. The traveler helped me pick them out.”

Childe blinks, then his eyes go wide. “Zhongli, there’s so many. Why would you get me so much?”

“Some of them are for your siblings.”

“Zhongli.”

“The traveler told me that you enjoy bringing your siblings gifts from the nations you visit, but perhaps you hadn’t gotten the chance to due to your predicament.”

“Gods, Zhongli, you didn’t have to-”

“And yet I did.” His hands close tightly around Childe’s own, silky smooth. “Because you are precious to me, more precious than I believe you could ever understand. Precious like rain during a drought, precious like the finest jade, precious like an antique artifact with eons of history behind it. You must be protected and cherished.”

Childe opens and closes his mouth dumbly, like a fish out of water. “But-”

“Do not dare speak of yourself as if you are still a pawn, still a cog in the machine, still a tool to be used.” Zhongli’s eyes burn with anger. “The Abyss has twisted even your own thoughts of yourself, and I cannot stand by and allow for their words to fog your mind. If all of the world shall judge you and cast you away, if all of the world shall wish you to be someone different, then may I stay and defy them for as long as I breathe. You are deserving, and you are human . And if I may be so bold as to say, the grandest part of recovery is to allow yourself to be entirely vulnerable, to feel every bit of pain and express it freely. Here and now, I implore you to do so, for I can tell that you are holding yourself back.”

The world matters not. Childe’s entire body is numb, his heart pounding. He can’t feel anything besides Zhongli’s hands on his.

He tries to stay strong at first.

“C-Come on, it wasn’t that bad.” His voice wavers. “I fearlessly fought that ferocious beast with all of my strength, I even used that spear-kicking move you taught me! I got to show off all my power, and…and it…”

Zhongli gazes at him with downturned eyes.

And then he feels it, a blooming pain deep inside his chest, a churning in his stomach, a stinging behind his eyes, his throat closing up.

“It was terrible, Zhongli,” he chokes out. “It was so awful, almost worse than the Abyss- and I-I was completely alone this time, I didn’t know how long I would be in there, I haven’t seen my family or friends or you in ages, I couldn’t take a single break from fighting or else Fontaine would be destroyed, and it hurt, it hurts so much even now, I was scared, I thought I was going to die-”

Every bit of emotion inside of him floods out. He sobs as he tells Zhongli everything that happened, letting loose all of pent-up frustration, rage, grief, and everything in between that he’s been holding back for the sake of being strong. And Zhongli holds him in that comforting way he does, letting him cry into his shoulder, rubbing his back and sending soothing waves of Geo energy throughout his body.

“You do not have to hurt anymore,” Zhongli whispers. “You did so well, Childe. I’m proud of you. You fought for so long, and now you deserve to rest. You are a hero.”

Childe sobs even harder then, stuttering through his next words, “You- You don’t know how much it means t-to hear that.”

“And I will repeat it until the end of time.”

He melts in Zhongli’s sunshine embrace, lets those honeyed words and syrupy voice wash over him, heart bursting and overflowing and suddenly he can’t hold it back anymore, needs to say something now before the opportunity passes him by, before they’re separated again-

“I think I love you, Zhongli,” he confesses, barely above a whisper.

Zhongli’s hand comes to cradle the back of his head, chuckling softly. “I was wondering when you would finally tell me.”

“You knew?” Childe reluctantly pulls from the warmth of his body to stare into his eyes, sincere as ever.

“Have you not been courting me this entire time?” Zhongli questions, amusement tinged in his voice. “You even accepted the chopsticks.”

Childe blinks a few times as his mind tries to catch up. “The chopsticks…the dragon and phoenix ones?”

“Yes, they were my betrothal gift to you.”

There’s a pause as Childe’s eyes widen.

“Your what?”

It’s Zhongli’s turn for his eyes to go wide as saucers. “Oh dear. I apologize. I was under the impression that you knew their meaning. A dragon and phoenix, in Liyuen culture, symbolize a marriage full of happiness and harmony.”

“…We’re married?” Childe’s voice has risen an octave.

“Ahem.” Zhongli clears his throat, face turning ruddy. “Not officially. I would require a stronger contract than chopsticks for that.”

Childe starts laughing then, almost maniacal, interspersed with coughs that make Zhongli grip him tight with concern.

“You’re so stupid,” Childe finally gets out, “ so stupid, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. We could have- gods, Zhongli, we could’ve had all this figured out ages ago! I’ve been dancing around my feelings for so long because mmf-”

Zhongli silences him with his lips on his.

“There is no need to worry about the bygones,” he says against his lips when they separate. “Let us focus on now.”

And then he leans in again, gentle, holding his face in his hands as if he’s holding the most precious and fragile thing in the universe. It strengthens, becoming feverish, he kisses Childe like a man starved, and Childe beats against his back with his fist to pull him off and muffled “mmm! Mmph!”s because he can’t breathe. He takes in gulps of air when Zhongli lets go. Sheepishly, Zhongli mumbles an apology.

“Don’t apologize, do it again. Kisses help you heal faster, right? Doctor’s orders.”

They spend far longer than they should languidly kissing, mouths moving in tandem, noses brushing, fingers tangled in each other’s hair. When Zhongli murmurs Childe’s name at one point, he corrects him-

“Ajax. Call me Ajax.”

“Ajax…what a handsome name. So perfect for you.”

And he dives in again, taking Childe’s breath away.

When they separate again, cheeks flushed and panting, Childe jokes, “Not even going to let me open my gifts?”

“Ah, it slipped my mind.” Zhongli pulls over Childe’s desk chair to sit in, as his knees were smarting against the floor, and sorts through the boxes to hand to him while the bouquet is neatly placed in an empty vase that Childe fills with Hydro. “Here.” He hands him the tiniest box, cube-shaped and mint green. Childe pops it open to find a small cake inside, topped with an orange slice.

“You’ll ruin me, Zhongli,” Childe comments. “You always remember my sweet tooth. Wait, how is it still cold? Zhongli, don’t tell me…”

The sheepish look on Zhongli’s face tells him everything.

“You flew here-”

“In order to check on your condition as swiftly as possible,” Zhongli finishes, “and to keep this cake fresh, among other things.”

Childe lets out a long sigh. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Anything you please, so long as you never leave my side again.”

Childe smirks. “Is that a challenge?”

“Ajax.” Zhongli’s gaze is stern.

Throwing his hands up in surrender, Childe responds, “Okay, okay…” He moves on to the next box placed gently on his lap. It’s circular, colored pastel pink, with a lace ribbon on top. Inside are twenty or thirty assorted macarons.

“How am I supposed to eat all of these, Zhongli?” Childe whines.

“I was thinking we could share them.” The fond smile on Zhongli’s face is too cute for words. He pulls him down and kisses him.

“Stupid,” he mutters. “Moron. Brainless. Dumb. Idiot.”

Zhongli just smiles like a lovesick fool. He hands him the next box. Childe mumbles something about how many there are before opening it. He rolls his eyes.

“Tea? Really? You sure these gifts aren’t for you?”

Zhongli pouts. “You like tea, Ajax. They’re special blends from Fontaine - one reminds me of you, since it is made from bulle fruit. I thought it would be useful in assisting you in learning how to properly brew tea, as well, since you do struggle with that much as you struggle with chopsticks-”

“Oh, come on!” Childe groans and pushes him playfully. “I’m getting better with them!”

“I am a strict judge.”

“No, you’re just mean.” Childe sticks his tongue out. “What else did you get me?”

The space on Childe’s bed lessens and lessens as it is overtaken by hordes of gifts - sweet-scented lavish soaps and candles, coffee blends, Fontainian clothes tailored to his exact measurements, a new fishing pole, travel guides to Fontaine and recipe books, a tome of Fontainian history (“that I will happily read to you,” Zhongli suggests), and even jars of jam and honey.

“Zhongli.”

“Yes, Ajax?”

“You spoil me.”

Zhongli kisses him. “That pout doesn’t suit you.”

Childe flails. “I’m covered in stuff, Zhongli. I can’t even move! And there’s still boxes to open!”

Zhongli nods. “Yes, these are for your siblings, since you always bring them gifts when you return home. I wish for you to take these to them.”

“ Zhongli! I can’t go tell my siblings I got these for them when you bought them!”

“It’s a treat, courtesy of me.” Zhongli stands to set the boxes on the desk. “I got Anthon and Tonia some books, and Teucer some mechanical toys, including one of a Ruin Guard. The traveler told me he enjoys those. In Tonia’s box, I also included some fabrics and dress patterns. I’m not certain of her measurements or what styles she enjoys, so I thought it would be suitable for her to choose what she prefers and simply send it to a tailor in Fontaine.”

Childe rubs his face. “Gods, how am I supposed to thank you for all of this, or pay you back?”

“There’s no need to thank me.” He sits back by Childe’s side. “You are my treasure, and these are to show how much I cherish you.”

“I still need to send thank-you letters to other people, though…”

“There’s no sense in worrying about that just yet. Focus on your health first.” He hums a bit as he picks up all the scattered gifts and starts tidying up. Childe watches him with rapt attention. Zhongli suddenly pauses once he finishes, putting a hand under his chin.

“Oh, I did forget something,” he muses. “One moment.”

He pulls a teapot out of nowhere and disappears for a brief time, before returning with yet another box. Childe is about to start yelling at him before he’s quickly hushed by Zhongli’s finger. He opens it up and lays an array of medicines on the bedside table, then sets a bowl of steaming soup in his lap. He holds a spoonful up to Childe’s mouth.

“I can feed myself,” Childe whines.

Zhongli does not back down. Childe mutters under his breath before letting himself be fed, spoonful by spoonful, all while Zhongli tells him stories about what’s been happening in Liyue while he’s been gone. When the soup is finished, Zhongli sets it aside and runs his hand through Childe’s hair.

“Good boy,” he praises.

Childe’s face turns completely crimson.

It manages to turn even redder when Zhongli coaxes some bitter medicine into him, praising him more all the while. He feeds him a macaron and kisses him to make up for it, lips tasting sweet as honey.

“Hey, Zhongli?” Childe says after a beat of silence.

“Yes, Ajax?”

“I’m really glad you’re here.”

“As am I.”

“I missed you. More than anything.”

Zhongli’s hand closes around Childe’s. “As did I. If it was within my power, I would move the heavens and earth to forever be by your side, so that we may never be apart. Trouble always seems to find you when you are out of my sight.”

Childe giggles. “Come on, the great and mighty Morax could move the entirety of Teyvat around if he wanted.”

“I believe that Morax is deceased.”

Snorting, Childe settles into the covers. Zhongli’s ministrations on his palm relax him.

“Stay with me?” he mumbles, barely lucid.

Zhongli smiles. “Forever and always.”

And when he finally falls back asleep, he does not dream, does not feel, does not think. He doesn’t need to do anything. He is powerless, vulnerable, and this time…there is someone by his side to protect him.

Someone to wake up to when the morning light breaks through once more.