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[wyvernne]

III. In which the Holy Knight wins Diluc’s favor

for @mmmairon

read on ao3

The moment you step through the tavern door Diluc levels you with an irritated look. You grin, knocking the door shut with your hip. “That’s quite the way to greet your guests, sir.”

Even from this distance, you can see his jaw working in irritation. Can he smell the blood?

“You look awful,” he says quietly. You make yourself comfortable at the bar, sighing at the ache as you settle down.

Today the Inquisitors were kind enough to personally spar with you, four to one. You didn’t stand a chance. Especially considering half of them wield visions.

“Thanks,” you respond dryly. It’s early enough in the evening that there’s only a few sparse customers spread across the tavern, mostly keeping to themselves. “What’s on special today?”

Diluc sets a glass in front of you. “Water.”

You scoff, flicking the glass with your finger. “Do you think I’m a child?”

“I cannot, in good conscience, give you alcohol when you’ve got wounds like that,” he says firmly.

You lift your head, squinting at him. “How can you tell?”

You already know the answer. He can smell it. Diluc doesn’t take your bait.

He startles you when he reaches out, thumb wiping against your jaw. He pulls away, lifting his hand for you to see. You missed a spot then.

“You’ve got blood all over you. Don’t think I can’t tell the difference between yours and others.” He has immaculate self control, seeing as he merely wipes his hand off with a rag. Waste of a perfectly good snack.

You wince, rubbing your temple. “Diluc, I’m really not—“

There’s a clatter, and you stop short. Diluc motions to the jar he’s just dropped in front of you. “At least put salve on that nasty cut on your temple.”

You’ve got far more than that, really. Those bastards in white didn’t hold back at all.

“Give me a glass of wine first,” you grumble.

Diluc sighs. He’s lucky he’s got a nice face. It’s a miracle he keeps customers at all with that sour attitude of his.

———————————

You’ve had far too much to drink. Charles, in all his infinite kindnesses, has supplemented Diluc’s rather stingy bartending with a generous flow of mixed drinks. It’s only you that Diluc is withholding liquor from, seeing as the tavern has gotten infinitely rowdier as the night has gone on.

Diluc chats idly with a patron at the other end of the bar. It’s hard not to watch him, honestly. It feels like a sin not to. Not when the Divines’ most perfect creation is right in front of you, hair tied back with a black ribbon.

Can ribbons be sensual? They look like it on Diluc. Gods. They’re practically a sex symbol when he wears it. Everything is.

The alcohol has dulled both your thoughts and the pain from the wounds the Inquisitors left behind. Hangover or not, it’s worth it now, when all you need to think about is how good Diluc looks.

Gods, he looks so good.

“Are you alone?” You barely manage to stop yourself from rolling your eyes as a man sidles up beside you. You didn’t come here tonight to look for a partner.

“I’m quite content by myself,” you reply. As if he could draw your attention when Teyvat’s most beautiful being is standing feet away. You turn away, and for a single moment catch Diluc’s gaze. Okay? he mouths.

“Listen,” The man’s hand slides up your back. You swat at him, scoffing. Take a fucking hint. “How about you and I get out of here?”

“Fuck off,” you reply sharply. You’re too drunk to deal with a nuisance like him delicately.

“Don’t be so standoffish,” he coos. You flex your fingers. It’s hard to mitigate your strength when you’re intoxicated, but you have no qualms about sending this bastard flying.

His hand slips to your flank. Enough. You shift back, raising your fist.

You don’t get the chance. It takes you a long moment to realize Diluc has one hand around your wrist and the other yanking the man away from you by the collar.

“If you’re going to bother my patrons, get out,” he says firmly. The tavern falls quiet.

The man laughs, raising his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay.”

Diluc releases him, shifting to block you from his view. His fingers are still clasped around your wrist, but you haven’t the mind to shake him off. Not yet.

“I wasn’t bothering you, was I, sweetheart?” he asks, peering around Diluc’s shoulder to see you.

You nudge Diluc to the side, shaking free of his hold. “Go fuck yourself.”

The man’s smile drops. He scowls, yanking his collar away from his throat. “I was just leaving, anyway.”

Something crosses his face and he grins, leaning close to you. “Ah. Does the Church know a monster is going around masquerading as a citizen of Mondstadt?”

You swing.

————————

You grin, giving Diluc a thumbs up. “You’re welcome. I wouldn’t say no to a ‘thank you’ drink, mind you.”

He sighs, pressing a cloth to your nose. “Keep it there until the bleeding stops.”

“Just give me a drink, for fucks sake,” you grumble. You’re still far too drunk to be making rational decisions, but no part of you regrets throwing that punch. Bastard got what was coming to him.

“No.”

Diluc is angry. He must be, seeing as you struck a paying customer square in the face. That bastard is lucky his elbow caught your nose by pure chance as Diluc was pulling you back. You would’ve concussed him without a second thought.

Diluc speaks again after a long beat, setting a glass down in front of you. “Please, don’t go starting brawls in my tavern again.”

You take a tentative sip, frowning at the realization that it’s just juice. “I was only defending your honor.”

He laughs dryly. “My honor has been stamped into the dirt for decades. Don’t bother yourself with it.”

A hand touches your shoulder. Not again.

You turn, half ready to swing again, but it’s only Harry. He grins heartily at you.

“I’ve come to retrieve this,” he says to Diluc, nodding to you.

Diluc’s jaw ticks. He almost looks murderous, if you could focus your vision for long enough to tell. “Back to the slaughterhouse already?”

Harry bows. “You wound us, Sir. We’re only doing our jobs. I heard a commotion and thought I would fulfill my duty and lend a hand. It’s no surprise this one was the cause.”

“Are they angry?” you manage, tossing the rag onto the counter. The bleeding hasn’t exactly stopped, but it’s slowed enough for now.

Harry scoffs, tugging you off the stool. “Take a wild guess.”

Your head is spinning. Only bad things wait for you back at the Church.

Diluc catches your arm. You turn, surprised. Deja vu, and in the span of such a short time. It’d be romantic if only you were a touch drunker.

It’s hard to gauge the expression on his face when you can hardly focus on the floor in front of you.

“Tell the Church their Knight has been delayed,” he says firmly.

“If it’s a matter of the bill—“ Harry begins.

Diluc raises a hand, cutting him off. “I don’t believe your Knight is well enough to make the trip back. I insist on providing lodgings for the night.”

Harry’s eyebrows shoot up. “You think I’d leave one of our own under your care? This intoxicated?”

“I have a room upstairs just for situations like this,” Diluc says. He tugs you out of Harry’s grip.

“Tell the Church to fuck off,” you offer with another thumbs up. It’s probably not something you’d ever say sober, but you’ve enough alcohol in you to dull any reservations you’ve had about criticizing the Church.

“You fuck off,” Harry mutters, raking a hand through his hair. “Don’t come whining to me when the Inquisitors find out.”

“You won’t say a word?” you ask. You’re not far gone enough to ignore the warning he’s giving you.

“I never saw you here,” Harry grumbles. He turns on his heel, clearly irritated.

You don’t dwell on it. Diluc lets out a breath, and heaves you over one shoulder without a second thought for the onlookers around you. “To bed with you, then.”

———————

“Let me know if you feel like you might get sick,” Diluc murmurs, pulling a chair up to the bedside.

“I’m not that drunk,” you slur. Your head is throbbing, but it’s hard to tell if it’s the alcohol or the fact that you were hit in the head today. Twice, at that.

“Is the Church always so rough during training?” he asks.

You open one eye, peeking at him. He’s trying to act nonchalant, leafing through the book left on the nightstand, but his words are pointed enough. “Trying to use the wine against me, eh?”

He scoffs, but doesn’t glance up from the pages. “You’re sober enough to snark back, aren’t you?”

You sigh, rolling onto your side. “I’ve been injured more during training than I have out on the field.”

He looks up, finally, mouth pressed into a firm line.

You sling your arm back over your eyes, grumbling. “I don’t need your judgment.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he replies quietly. He doesn’t have to. You know better than anyone how twisted the Church’s “traditions” are. Severe injuries during training within the Knights are accidents. Severe injuries during training within the Holy Knights are standard practice.

You can’t even count how many birthdays you’d passed with black eyes from the Inquisitors. It never gets any easier.

Diluc says nothing more. There’s only the soft rustle of pages turning and the steady sound of his breathing to lull you into sleep.

———————

“Diluc,” you press. He’s irritatingly fast, stride just a touch longer than yours so you have to jog every other step to keep up with him. He either doesn’t notice the difference or doesn’t care. You’re not sure which one irks you more. “Have you decided to bring me on yet?”

“I’ve no intention of taking a Holy Knight under my employ,” he replies curtly.

You click your tongue. “I caught up to you. Shouldn’t you reward me?”

It wasn’t exactly easy to catch him just as he was exiting the city gates, especially given how early it still is. There’s also the lingering feeling that he could have left unnoticed, had he so desired. He could’ve left you far behind. It’s hard to decipher his actions, sometimes.

He made enough noise as he was leaving the tavern to alert you, hungover or not.

Diluc ignores your provocations in favor of raising a hand in greeting. You peer over his shoulder to see Elzer, waiting just beyond the end of the bridge.

“Good morning, Holy Knight,” Elzer says warmly.

You repeat the sentiment, but the nagging uncertainty in your stomach only grows at the sight of him. Diluc wouldn’t need his closest aid if he were merely returning to the winery.

“Tagging along?” Elzer asks, as much to Diluc as to you.

“Hardly,” Diluc grumbles. “But I suppose I’ve been left with no choice.”

“I’d rather not return for morning mass,” you mutter. Besides, there’s no doubt the Church has already caught wind of your little brawl in Diluc’s tavern. If you’re already going to be punished, what’s a few more transgressions for the list?

“You should do well to remember your vows. I have no interest in catching the Church’s attention just because they can’t keep their knights in check,” Diluc sighs, exasperated. “Especially after last night.”

Despite his complaints, he makes absolutely no effort to stop you from trailing behind him. Elzer, in all his good graces, slows his pace to match yours with a warm smile. Your hangover has slowed you enough to be a nuisance, but Diluc makes no comment of it. Besides, you’re sure your face is quite the sight, given all that’s happened.

Your little trip ends far sooner than you’d expected, only a ways down the road from the city. Diluc halts abruptly, arm shooting out to stop you.

There, a group of Fatui stand only a few yards off the path, obscured by the overgrowth of trees. It’s not exactly the most secretive of meeting places. It’s… it’s almost absurd, how easy it was to spot them. Anyone with their wits about them could catch sight of their ominous presence just beyond the green.

“Don’t speak,” he says quietly. You sigh, but you’re not stupid enough to disobey him. You trust Diluc far more than any order that could come from the Church. He knows that well enough.

Elzer steps in front of you as you approach. You’re certainly not wearing any favonius insignias, but the Fatui spend their share of time monitoring the Church. There’s no telling if any of them might recognize your face.

From bartending to meeting with the Fatui only hours later. Once again, Diluc’s intentions are impossible to understand.

It’s a small team, only three soldiers and a commander. They seem relatively low-ranking, given their badges. You stay obediently back, only nodding your head towards the group in acknowledgment.

“Sir,” the Commander begins, opening his arms wide. Diluc is pulled into a haphazard hug. You’ve seen the greeting enough between Snezhnayans, but the Commander should know well enough that Diluc is put off by the gesture. He must be testing his boundaries.

Diluc’s expression remains unchanging. You tune out most of the business talk the moment it begins. It’s not what you followed Diluc for, after all. You already know most of what they’re saying is likely coded beyond anything you’d hope to decipher.

Regardless, any intent you had to soak up the information from this little transaction of his falters when you see the weapons. The Fatui are all heavily armed. Every nerve in your body goes alight. Diluc seems strangely relaxed, given the situation.

Even Elzer doesn’t spare you a glance. He has that same, unfaltering smile, pleasant to the point that it’s eerie.

You don’t even have a sword at your hip. It’s utterly belated, but it’s only now you realized neither Diluc nor Elzer have a single weapon. Even all your training is nothing when faced with the sheer firepower each Fatuus holds in their hands. It feels like too obvious a trap.

The talks drag on for nearly an hour. Wine, grapes, mora. Simple business transactions, if taken at face value. But still… there’s something in the air that has your stomach in knots. Something about the way Diluc and Elzer are so utterly nonchalant, even when speaking with their supposed enemies.

The Fatuus just to the right of Diluc shifts. It’s hardly anything noteworthy at all, really, but you can tell from his stance.

He’s stiff, as if he’s preparing himself for something. Everything else drowns out. You can focus only on that rigid figure across from you. His arm shifts suddenly, and it’s—

Well. You can blame your stupidity on reflexes, at best.

You jolt forward, shoving Diluc to the side just as a bang resounds through the air. He catches himself easily, but the words don’t make it out of your throat.

You’re an idiot, truly.

Maybe being around Diluc has dulled your sensibilities. All you can focus on is how hard it is to catch your breath. It feels like you’ve been punched. You grapple blindly at your shoulder, and to your surprise your glove comes away darkened with blood.

An odd sound escapes your throat at the sight. Blood. You’re bleeding.

Whatever Diluc’s intention was, it’s clear you’ve utterly fucked it all up. The thought has your stomach lurching. Idiot. You’re such an idiot.

There’s a deafening commotion, a scuffle only a few feet away. You can’t focus on any of it. Your mind isn’t functioning correctly. Shot. You were shot. It’s hard to breathe. There’s so much blood.

You gasp for air, doubling over. Diluc shouts some distance away and suddenly Elzer is by your side, coaxing you down. You’re bleeding, but your hand grapples to your throat, slick with sweat, as you try desperately to fill your lungs.

“I can’t breathe,” you wheeze. Elzer leans you back, pressing you flat to the ground.

“There, just like that,” he soothes, pulling his jacket off. He folds the fabric over your shoulder with quick efficiency.

“Deep breath,” he instructs. You’re fucking trying. He puts his weight onto the mess of your shoulder, wincing as you sob in response. Your heels kick against the ground, trying to escape the pressure, but Elzer holds firm.

“I don’t feel well,” you manage. You sound like an upset child, voice unsteady and weak.

You can’t even focus on Elzer’s face. You feel hot and deathly cold at the same time, strewn between breathlessness and nausea and feeling like your heart is about the burst any moment.

Diluc comes into view, blood splattered across his cheek. He ducks down, replacing Elzer’s hands with his own. “Doctor is coming. Hold on a little longer.”

Oh no. Just seeing his face has your emotions welling up again, and you can feel tears prick at your eyes. “Diluc.”

“I’m right here,” he replies. Diluc’s fangs are out. You can see it when he speaks, that threatening glisten of ivory hiding just behind his rosy lips.

He should drink while he has the chance. Make good use of whatever blood hasn’t already spilled out into the dirt around you.

You repeat his name, but this time your voice catches on a sob.

He hushes you. He’s shaking. You can feel the way it vibrates through your body. Or maybe you’re the one shaking. It’s hard to tell.

“Elzer, go meet him halfway,” he orders sharply.

“How?” you ask. He seems to know what you mean. You were hit only… minutes ago? It’s hard to judge how much time has passed. Certainly not enough to fetch a doctor, even given how close the city is.

“I ran,” he mutters. Right. He isn’t like you. He isn’t human. He would’ve been fine, even if the bullet had hit its mark. How stupid and thoughtless could you be?

You swallow. “The Fatui?”

“Dead,” he answers dismissively. Diluc swallows. “You’ve lost a lot of blood already. Don’t waste your energy needlessly.” There’s something strange in the tone of his voice, but you can hardly mull over it. It doesn’t hurt as much as you thought it might. Maybe it’s the adrenaline. You just feel sick.

“It’s okay. Elzer will be back with the doctor soon. Just— just hold on.” Diluc almost sounds frantic. The pressure he’s putting on your shoulder is starting to ache, but it’s hard to focus on what, exactly, hurts.

“I’m going to be sick,” you manage.

Diluc shifts you onto your side just as you begin retching. Maybe it’s by the grace of the Anemo Archon that nothing comes up, but it’s no less embarrassing. Especially in front of Diluc.

When the fit ends he eases you onto your back once more, pressure firm over your shoulder. If it hit an artery, you’ve no more than a few minutes left, at best. The expression on Diluc’s face makes it hard to gauge just how bad it really is.

He’s pretty, at least. A nice view to die before. It’s a petty, shallow thought. Especially given how upset Diluc looks at the situation. Maybe you are an idiot after all.

——————

Getting put on house arrest seems rather unfair, given all the circumstances. Not dying should be celebrated under the Anemo Archon’s grace, according to everything the Church preaches to the masses.

Except, perhaps, when the whole “almost dying” happens because you directly disobeyed orders from the Inquistors. According to them, of course. You were merely helping out an acquaintance.

It only takes a day, locked in your room, for a bottle of wine to miraculously appear on the windowsill. It’s hard to tell if it’s a gift from Barbatos himself or the goodwill of a certain red-haired beauty. You don’t ponder it. Wine is wine, after all. And it’s a welcome treat to pass the hours and stave away the nasty ache in your shoulder.

You’re not one to question a heartfelt gift.