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His mother had knitted the traveler a scarf.
He pretends not to notice, makes a point not to say anything until she brought it up herself, then graciously accepts the bag she had meticulously prepared the next day. He sees it; he'd be a fool not to. Ever since he'd let slip how he met this wonderful girl—short, blonde, fiery bundle of otherworldly might in a pure white dress—back when he was first assigned in Liyue, something in his mother's countenance had changed.
There were times when he could see it in his mother's eyes, the hesitance. She feared for him, always has. Knowing her, she likely dreaded each time she'd send him off would be the last. He is aware of this; they both are. Still, she had never attempted to stop him from leaving. Instead, she would simply cup his cheek and stare at him as if looking for that wide-eyed fourteen year old dreamer they'd lost to the Abyss that one tragic night.
(He never figured out whether she does find that boy or not in him anymore. He is too afraid to ask now.)
And so when he first mentioned offhandedly having met this mysterious comrade of his with a strength that can split tundras and a beauty that can rival the colorful lights of Aurora Borealis draped in the snow-white landscape of Morepesok, his family had not known what to make of it.
In time, they learn of his comrade's many quirks through ink and parchment. Teucer, in particular, took his ramblings in his letters as gospel. Even the ever-reserved Anthon would chime in with the occasional question or two, such as: "Is big brother's pretty comrade a shooting star?" or "Is she made of stardust?"
It is Tonia, though, who unknowingly clues him in on the misunderstanding. "When are you marrying this printsessa of yours, big brother? Can I be a bridesmaid, please? Like those wedding stories from Fontaine!"
In retrospect, he could hardly blame them. Looking back, he had spoken of the traveler in a way that did nothing to hide his admiration.
As for his mother, he finds it takes her less than two letters in to catch on.
When he first started out as a harbinger, she would pester him in her letters about resting, about eating well, about taking a step back from all the chaos that was his life in the Fatui and going out to meet new people. Now, all she does is ask if there's anything interesting going on and like a leaking faucet, he'd spill his guts: about the boring paperwork that is waiting on his desk, about the places he got to visit as a foreign diplomat, and, naturally—inevitably even, the traveler.
At first, it was embarrassing how easy it was to write about her to his mother. Once, he'd attempted to distract himself: talk about the weather in Liyue, the folklore of Inazuma, the dramatic plays of Fontaine. But, therein lied the issue—it has only ever been a matter of seconds before all his ramblings become about her. He'd go from "kids in Inazuma play with these beetles called onikabuto" to "which reminds me, I met the traveler again as she was taking souvenir pictures..."
He had enough sense to recognize it was futile to even try avoiding it, and so he'd just grown to accept it and rolled with it. He doesn't think he has it in him anymore to correct them anyway.
By now, his family has gotten very used to hearing so much about her that they'd probably recognize her anywhere. Teucer was all the proof he needed—and it's only gotten worse since. He'd heard from one of his older siblings, how the little ones would babble even to their neighbors, which he supposes might just explain what the sudden congratulations he kept receiving last he'd been around town were all about.
("Didn't think you had it in you, boy," one of the village elders at the marketplace told him as he offered yet another humongous catch despite their adamant refusal to accept anything for free. "May Her Majesty continue to bless this chapter of your life."
"Uh, thanks. You're the best, babulik?" The elderly woman only smiled in amusement before flaying the fish in silence.)
Which brings him back to his current predicament.
"Make sure she's sufficiently wrapped up for the weather, alright? And don't forget the soup you made for her."
"Yes, mama."
"And you, young man, are to put this on her yourself. Understood?"
"Yes, mama."
"Are you finally going to give me some grandkids?"
"Yes, mam-" he sputters upon realizing what he almost agreed to, "n-no! Absolutely not! And don't you already have three older kids who did just that?!"
"Archons, don't yell. I was just testing if you were listening," his mother chides him with an unrepentant shrug. "... so, are you?"
"Mama!"
"Alright, alright. I got it, stop nagging," she brushes him off with a lighthearted chuckle. "Now, off you go, boy."
"Can't wait to get rid of me, can you?" He groans exasperatedly for additional dramatic flair, but his mother, already used to his antics, only scoffs and shoves him playfully towards the door. It takes him a mere few seconds before he bursts into laughter. "Alright, alright, I'll get lost now!"
There is still mirth in his eyes when he turns to look at his mother one last time, to once again commit her to memory. It might be another while before he gets to have any semblance of domesticity like this, what with his extended bedrest after his fight with the Abyssal beast. He'll have to return to his duties eventually, loath as he was to admit.
"Take it easy, alright?"
He smiles. "I will. I doubt she'll spar with me right now, anyway."
She snickers. "Well, you hardly win as it is. Even I would hate to kick your ass when you're still recovering."
He gapes, aghast. Clutching his chest in mock pain, he stomps his way to the door. "That's it. I'm really leaving!" he yells, waving his hand casually without turning.
"Take care!"
Truth be told, it has never gotten any easier over the years. Even now, a part of him wants to drop his bags and rush back inside, where his three younger siblings lay still in peaceful slumber. This is why he always preferred to leave before dawn. He doesn't think he could ever be strong enough to refuse them if they were awake enough to ask him to stay another day.
He pretends not to hear his mother sob as his footprints get lost in the endless heaps of snow.