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Master Childe is quiet.
He’s always quiet these days, the lively youth that arrived in Liyue all those months ago a thing of the past. But perhaps more unsettling than the silence the young harbinger carries like a cloak nowadays, is the sorrow barely hidden beneath that pale face. A lingering glance towards Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, a half-step towards Wanmin restaurant, even an unconscious reach to his money pouch – it’s easy to see who Master Childe still thinks of.
Ekaterina has no delusions that Master Childe is innocent – no Harbinger can claim that, not with the duties they are entrusted with by the Tsaritsa – but even with this knowledge, she cannot help but believe that in matters of the heart, Master Childe was as innocent as a teenager experiencing their first love. Was, because now she’s bearing witness to the harbinger’s first heartbreak.
And what a terrible love story it was, from start to finish.
In the beginning, Ekaterina found it cute – the sheer sweetness of it all, of watching Master Childe follow after the funeral consultant like a lovesick puppy, all wide-eyed and loud laughter. Those days where Master Childe would spend his days in the company of Master Zhongli, strolling through Liyue, dining at the city’s various restaurants, and emptying the bank’s mora reserves all for the funeral consultant’s sake.
And yet, despite such earnest attempts at dating, Master Childe was left with a broken heart. The Eleventh Harbinger spends his days hiding from the world in his office, only leaving to collect debts as the sun gives way to the moon. There is something truly pitiful about seeing Master Childe like this, especially when she remembers that not once has the consultant made any attempt to reach out. In the end, it seems like Master Childe was only ever a means to an end.
A means to an end that now sits before her, his gaze distant as he looks at a pair of beautiful chopsticks. His touch is gentle while handling them, a lingering fondness curling the man’s lips into a shadow of a smile, soft and wishful in the morning’s light. Here, with his back to the office window, Ekaterina can see why Master Childe is considered one of the most beautiful harbingers, often sent on honeypot missions for the Tsaritsa’s sake. Hair aglow with the sun’s rays, blue eyes filled with an unsaid emotion, and that aching fondness painting Master Childe’s face into the picture of a lovelorn wife – it is breathtaking to see the man behind the Fatui mask, so gentle in his heartbreak.
Gentle for the sake of a love lost before it was ever truly his.
“Master Childe?”
“Hm? What is it Ekaterina?”
Even his words are hesitant, where before Master Childe had always been loud and vivacious, he’s now dimmed his childish excitement of life. It’s a sad thing to see, and she knows her fellow coworkers are more than worried. Not even the promise of a good fight is enough to cheer up Master Childe these days, and the harbinger’s quietness (meekness her mind whispers, a word she refuses to associate with Master Childe because while the Eleventh Harbinger is renowned for many things, meekness is not one of them).
Though as the days pass by, she wonders if eventually he will be known for this unspoken sorrow that has made its home into his bones. Master Childe’s solemn air reminds her of the Tsaritsa in a way, Her Majesty’s regal bearing has always held a tinge of sorrow hidden within. If the legends hold any truth to them, then perhaps Her Majesty might be the only person to understand what it’s like to lose your heart to an indifferent god.
From the little she’s seen herself, Ekaterina wonders how any Archon can be so cruel.
“A letter and a package have arrived for you, Master Childe. From Lord Scaramouche – it’s been marked as urgent.”
A furrow between delicate brows marks the harbinger’s confusion. Not reasonable considering the well-known tension between the Sixth and the youngest harbinger.
“Urgent? What could that idiot need from me?”
Distracted by the news, he sets aside the chopsticks, carefully storing them away within a beautifully crafted wooden box, the motif of a dragon and phoenix in mid-fight lovingly painted on the cover serving as another painful reminder of the man who had seemingly promised many things, yet delivered on none.
She wonders how he can bear the reminders, wonders if maybe this is Master Childe’s way of grieving for his broken heart.
A sharp intake of air draws her attention back to the man in front of her, and for the first time since the Osial debacle, she sees a hint of the old Master Childe. A huff of disbelieving laughter escapes through his lips, echoing within the room and down the hallway (she thinks she hears someone drop some files at the unexpected, but welcomed sound).
There’s a wild look in the young harbinger’s eyes, disbelief warring with the sudden bout of glee that’s taken hold of him. It’s a good look on him, she decides, this lively air of mischievousness that she hasn’t seen since a certain funeral consultant walked away with a stolen heart like a thief in the night.
“Ekaterina, what do you know of traditional Inazuman clothing? Wedding attire to be more specific?”
“I – well, not much Master Childe. It’s impossible to travel to that region in the first place, much less vacation there to see the sights and go clothes shopping. Why?”
Gesturing to the opened package on his desk, Master Childe gives her a rueful grin, “It seems that Scaramouche has finally decided how he wants to use the debt I own him. Looks like I’ll be a married man by this time next week.”
“M-master Childe?”
Unable to give voice to her thoughts, Ekaterina looks down at the innocently sitting package, wondering how it could ever be possible that two of the Tsaritsa’s elite harbingers would end up bound by marriage. Inside the opened box, her eyes immediately see expensive silk robes clearly of Inazuma make. She holds a layer up, her fingers feeling the softness of the material against her skin. At her side, Master Childe is glancing down at the rest of the layers, each so carefully folded and presented to him. His grin is nowhere to be seen on his face, instead, that solemn air of his has returned as his gaze becomes distant once again.
Even now, that bright spark of mischievousness did not last long. It must be true when they say that to love a god is to give them everything you are, everything you were, and everything you could ever be.
A sinking feeling grows within her chest at the thought, and the sight of Master Childe’s subtle expression makes her wary. Not for herself, but his sake. He looks lonely beneath the morning’s light – lonely, and so very yearnful for the presence of the god who left him behind.
A traitorous thought worms its way to the forefront of her mind, and though she does her best to ignore it, the thought lingers in her mind for the rest of week.
Will Master Childe look this lonely on his wedding day? Will Liyue’s Archon take even this day, meant to be the happiest day of a person’s life, from him?
Though she receives no answer, in her heart, Ekaterina already knows the answer.
Not all marriages are done for love – but to marry someone else when you’ve already given your heart away must be a different sort of pain to undergo. It is not her place to question her superiors, but she hopes that Lord Scaramouche will show mercy nonetheless.
Master Childe deserves that much at least. He deserves many things, but the life of a harbinger leaves little room for happiness. It’s not the wedding he wanted, nor is it the husband he loves – but Ekaterina will ensure Master Childe’s wedding day is as perfect as she can make it.
She refuses to have his wedding day become another regret to carry.
-
Word quickly spreads among the Fatui stationed in Liyue that their Master Childe is to be wed to the Sixth Harbinger, Lord Scaramouche. Ekaterina is at the forefront of the rushed wedding preparations, hardly ever present at the bank except to converse with Master Childe before rushing out to complete her list of errands. Though in the midst of preparing for his wedding, the Eleventh Harbinger continues his self-imposed withdrawal from the daily happenings of Liyue.
What should be a happy occasion, is simply another duty to be done in the name of Her Majesty, who, rather surprisingly, has already sent various wedding gifts for the future bride-to-be. Though no one is stupid enough to say it, the entirety of the Fatui is more than aware that the upcoming marriage between Master Childe and Lord Scaramouche is not one of love. Of lust, yes – both men are beautiful in their own way (though everyone agrees that it’s Master Childe who takes the title of delicate beauty, what with his slender frame and delicate features), but of love? No, even a blind fool could see that Master Childe has no love left to give to anyone else.
“I just don’t understand it! What could Lord Scaramouche gain from marrying Master Childe? Don’t they hate each other? I never got the impression that he was interested in commitment – a fun night with a beauty like Master Childe, sure – who wouldn’t? – but not marriage.”
Rubbing his forehead, Vlad is still trying to understand how his heartbroken superior went from being simply lovelorn to being lovelorn and engaged within the span of a day. With the wedding set for tomorrow, there is little time left to wonder how exactly this all happened. The days after the Balladeer’s proposal have been nothing but a haze for all the lower rank Fatui members in Liyue.
A slap from Nadia only worsens his headache at the current situation.
“Don’t be crude! You sure have gotten bold to call Master Childe a beauty out in public! If he were his normal self, you would be looking at a month’s worth of beatings barely disguised as fights,” she berates, though her heart isn’t in it.
“Yeah – that’s the problem right there. ‘If he were his normal self’ and not this sad mess of a human being. If I had known encouraging him to go on dates with that, that, bourgeois parasite masquerading as a forgetful fool would lead to this, I would have interrupted their dates on purpose! Maybe then we wouldn’t even be in this mess!”
Dropping his head to the table, Vlad turns to Felix. “You get me right? We were all fools dancing to the tune of the Geo Archon and Master Childe paid the price for our mistake.”
Felix lets out a tired sigh, turning his eyes towards the stairs that lead to the Eleventh Harbinger’s closed office door. “Does it even matter now? What’s done is done and by tomorrow morning, Master Childe will be a married man.”
An uncomfortable silence settles between the group, an unwillingness to believe Felix’s words, no matter how true they were. They had already seen for themselves the beautiful wedding robes gifted to Master Childe by the Balladeer – robes that clearly screamed “rich, possessive, and prideful” to the highest degree possible.
“…do you think, that maybe we’re wrong?” Nadia questions, her fingers nervously twirling her chopsticks around her uneaten bowl of noodles. “Maybe Lord Scaramouche is actually fond of Master Childe? They’re both the youngest of all the harbingers, and Her Majesty has always seemed to favor them in comparison to the rest.”
“Yeah – I don’t believe that for a second.” Fists slamming into the table, Vlad’s face reddens from his fevered denials. “I say that this wedding is a sham! Ekaterina said that Master Childe mentioned a debt he owned Lord Scaramouche – and that he seemed to be collecting that debt with this wedding, though I can’t for the life of me think why any of the harbingers would need to get married. What mission would require something like this?”
A tired sigh is his only answer, before an amused voice comes from behind him. “…As much as I appreciate the concern, the wedding is set for tomorrow. It’s too late to change anything.”
“M-master Childe! Forgive my impudence! I meant no disrespect to you or Lord Scaramouche,” Vlad scrambles to bow before the young harbinger, while the rest of his colleagues start to rise from their seats. A careless handwave stops them all in their tracks.
“No worries – I would be questioning the sanity and taste of anyone willing to get married to that shortie too,” Childe gives a short laugh at his words.
If it sounds slightly bitter, no one present mentions it.
Just like no one mentions how sad their superior appears on the eve before his wedding. Having rarely been out and about in the past few weeks, it was Vlad’s first time seeing the harbinger since the fallout of Osial’s awakening and he could confidently say that the other looked miserable. It’s obvious to anyone with eyes that the harbinger had lost weight, his uniform hanging off of his frame, and his cheekbones protruding rather sharply where before, the young man had always had some healthy fat to give him a childish look.
As much as he hated to think it, Vlad couldn’t help but think his superior looked…small. As if a simple breeze would be all it took to blow him away. There’s a helplessness in Master Childe’s eyes, a resignation that ran deeper than Vlad could ever hope to understand.
“Ah, what does it matter? Just –” a mindless gesture towards the three of them. “Just don’t cause too much trouble, alright? We’re already on thin ice as it is with the Qixing.” Turning back towards his office, Master Childe spares them a single glance. “At the very least, you can all look forward to returning home soon. With my…marriage, I’ll be expected to follow Scaramouche on his missions anyways, so there’s no need to stay in Liyue anymore. Some of his men will be replacing us.”
Watching him walk away, Vlad’s heart ached for the man. He didn’t think anyone could ever utter the word “marriage,” with such bitterness and still plan to go through with it anyways.
Besides him, Flex mutters softly. “Well, I suppose that’s that. Do you think we’ll ever work under Master Childe again? Or will Lord Scaramouche’s men replace us?”
It’s with a heavy heart that Vlad answers: “I doubt we will. Lord Scaramouche doesn’t tolerate anyone he doesn’t want to and it’s Master Childe that’s ‘marrying in,’ not him.”
Nadia only shakes her head from behind them. “You would definitely have gotten a fight with Master Childe for saying that.”
Unsaid was the fact that Master Childe hasn’t been excited for a fight in weeks.
Unsaid, but not unheard.
-
With the day’s last rays of light, Liyue harbor is set alight with the dying sunlight, the sky a beautiful shade of red that will soon give way to the comforting darkness of night. The people bustle about, lighting up lanterns to shine the streets as the men and women hurry home, some stopping by a street stand for a snack or for idle chatter. Others still, are beginning to gather at the sides of the main road, their curious eyes pinned on a slight figure in white walking alongside another person in black.
It’s to this sight that Aether and Paimon teleport into, unceremoniously landing in front of the two well-dressed individuals walking through the streets of Liyue.
“Ow, ow, ow! Aether! Why can’t you teleport properly?! Paimon does not like tasting dirt!”
“Oh? That’s funny, I thought your stomach was a bottomless pit. My bad.”
“Aether!!!” Snickering to himself, the blonde slowly picks himself off the ground before a startled voice interrupts him.
“Comrade? What are you doing?”
“Childe? Is that you? Great! I was planning on looking –” All of a sudden, Aether’s words died in his throat at the sight before him. His face rapidly turning cherry red, Aether could only stare wordlessly at the man before him.
Gone was the usual Fatui attire, and along with it that hideous mask Aether had always been tempted to tug off the man’s hair. Instead, the young harbinger is nearly unrecognizable if it were not for his signature red hair. White, as pure as the snow that forever falls on Dragonspine, is what immediately catches the outlander’s attention. White silk robes are draped elegantly over Childe’s surprisingly slender frame – and was it Aether’s imagination or had the Fatui member gotten thinner? – the robes shimmering in the lantern’s light, calling to attention the delicate embroidery covering the outer layer, designs of a bird in flight handwoven into the silk with care.
His red hair, longer than Aether had ever seen it, is pinned back by a jade hairpin, only a few strands of hair left free to frame his face perfectly. There’s even red eyeshadow painted at the corners of Childe’s eyes, giving the man the appearance of a courtesan dolled up to give the performance of a lifetime. It went well with the red painted on the harbinger’s lips, emphasizing the man’s naturally full lips.
In fact, Aether had never quite realized how pretty the Fatui harbinger naturally was. The red brought out Childe’s delicate features, from the long, dark eyelashes that gently touched pale cheeks to the sharp cheekbones that showed the fine bone structure of the other man. The sheer veil only served to highlight Childe’s beauty, the light and shadows a delicate play dancing across that lovely pale face, akin to the moon peeking down from the night sky.
He looked beautiful, like a bride on her wedding day beneath the lantern lights.
Though as lovely as Childe appeared, there was something off about the man. There was no happiness in those dark blue eyes of his, no blushing joy that any bride on her wedding day should have for the moment she would tie herself to the man she would call ‘husband’ for the rest of her days.
Instead, all Aether could see was a tiredness in Childe – the same tiredness that had settled into place the moment Zhongli revealed the truth.
It…hurt to see that. To see that even with the passing of time, Childe hadn’t been able to move on, though he supposes the other man had been in too deep, had believed the façade of funeral consultant despite how flimsy it was. Zhongli wasn’t too good at playing mortal, of that, Aether was more than aware of.
Too distracted by Childe, Aether is completely caught off guard by Paimon’s exclamation. “Ah! It’s you! The other bad Fatui man!”
“What are you talking about – oh.”
There, with an arm wrapped possessively around Childe’s thin waist, is Scaramouche. The short Fatui harbinger only tugs Childe closer to his side, a smirk dancing on his lips as he stares down at them – and how he manages that with his short height, Aether doesn’t know.
While not as dressed up as Childe, Scaramouche is well dressed in black silk robes, the simplicity of his outfit serving to draw attention to the matching embroidery between his and Childe’s attire.
“Ah, if it isn’t Mondstadt’s honorary knight himself! Like what you see?” Scaramouche’s other hand reaches up to gently touch Childe’s cheek, possessively tilting the man’s chin down to look at him rather than at the outlander standing before them. “Too bad, this lovely beauty is all mine.”
Leaning into Childe’s neck, his eyes glaring straight at Aether and Paimon, he proudly states, “After all, he’s my wife now.”