Chapter Text
There is an army approaching Mondstadt.
Mondstadt is not supposed to know about the army approaching their nation. Unfortunately for the army’s plans of secrecy, the people of Mondstadt are experts in knowing things that they aren’t meant to – though, it also helps that their archon is nosy as hell.
If anything ever happens in Mondstadt, anything at all, Barbatos will know of it – and if Barbatos knows of it, then so will everyone else. Word travels fast on the winds, after all.
And today, the winds carry word that war is on its way.
Jean Gunnhildr, the Acting Grandmaster and the highest military authority, what with Grandmaster Varka still on that expedition up north, is the one responsible for defending Mondstadt from these foreign invaders. Not solely, not as long as she has her Knights by her side, but she is still meant to lead them. The thought of such a thing daunts her, but she knows she’ll be able to rise to the challenge – Jean has never been one to back down, and she doesn’t plan to start doing so today.
But war is not on the horizon just yet. They have time to prepare, to fortify and defend, as they wait for the incoming army. The Knights of Favonius have been doing twice as many drills as usual as the walls around the city are fortified, and many of the merchants and citizens have been stocking up on food and other supplies in preparations for a potential siege.
Mondstadt’s walls have protected it from many an attack, but their isolated position in the middle of Cider Lake doesn’t exactly lend itself to a quick escape out the back, should invaders march right up to their front door. They have boats, of course, not to mention the gliders that practically everyone in the nation are equipped with, but it’s all too possible for a sufficiently large army to surround the entire lake. A siege is too real of a possibility to discount, and so they stock up, reinforce their walls, and do their best to prepare for every potential circumstance.
These are the things that Jean has to consider. Anticipating the enemy’s plans is the best thing she can do right now if she wants to help Mondstadt – running off to fight the incoming army on her own is out of the question, regardless of whether she’d win or lose.
(She wouldn’t win. Of that much, she is certain.
Jean has never been a hubristic person, and she’s well aware that only one being in all of Mondstadt could hope to take out an entire army all on their own.)
And as the people of Mondstadt prepare for the worst, a certain bard watches the interlopers make their way from the shore. For a moment, he simply observes them, before the winds swirl around him and he disappears in a blink.
oOoOo
The first time that The General met The Boy on the road to Mondstadt, he heard him from a good distance away, the gentle breeze rustling the trees and cooling his men as they marched carried the sound to his ears, and he ordered his troops to halt as he went around the bend to investigate the noise. The Boy sang cheerfully, playing what seemed to be a peasant's tavern song, upbeat and foreign to his ears as a stranger to this country.
As he approached The Boy stopped singing and smiled broadly at him, although he kept plucking away at the tune on his lyre. The General considered taking him prisoner, it would be a shame to kill him outright, he thought, a shame to let such talent go to waste. He would be able to travel much faster than the army, too, so it would not do to simply let him walk free.
It would not do for the enemy to have too much time to prepare.
"Good day, Stranger" The Boy said, still smiling, "you will not find what you seek in Mondstadt."
The General frowned, "how do you know that I travel to Mondstadt?"
The Boy's grin stretched somehow wider.
"I know many things," he said, "Besides! There is only one city down this road, unless you seek the Stormterror's lair, and that city is Mondstadt."
"And how do you know what it is I seek there?" The General asked The Boy. The Boy’s lyre still sang its cheerful tune, singing of friends and food and freedom, the tune still foreign and strange to The General's ears.
"There is only one thing that men like you, who come with armies and violence, seek, and there is none of it to be found in Mondstadt."
The General snarled and drew his sword, enraged by the insult, but, between one breath and the next, The Boy was gone, wind rustling the bushes surrounding the stump where he had sat, strange music still echoing in The General's ears long past when the sound had stopped.
The general returned to his troops, ordering a squad to scour the brush, but nothing and no one was to be found.
oOoOo
“How far out are they?” Jean turns to Kaeya, sitting in the right-hand seat to her own at the head of the table. It’s been centuries, perhaps even longer, since Mondstadt has held any sort of war council, but if any situation calls for it, it’s this one.
Kaeya frowns, tapping his fingers on the table in a repeating rhythm. “Two days, perhaps. They move slowly and they made landfall at an unfortunate spot – the winds must’ve blown them pretty far astray.”
“I see.” Two days isn’t much time, but Mondstadt has made do with less in the past. Jean still remembers the story of Vennessa’s rebellion, and she’d managed that with nothing but her own two hands and the support of the people beside her. “Have you gotten word back from Diluc’s contacts?”
“Nothing so far. They’re keeping an eye out, but at the moment, our enemy is a mystery. I was planning on doing some reconnaissance myself later.”
Lisa shakes her head, cutting in. “Don’t bother. They’ll see you coming, no matter how stealthy you are – there’s just too many of them.”
“Ah, you underestimate me, Lisa. Don’t you think I know how to be covert by now?”
Near the end of the table, Eula scoffs. “Certainly not. Send Amber – she can scout overhead, and even if they see her, they won’t be able to catch or hit her.”
It’s a possibility. With her glider, Amber can outfly most archers and she’ll have a better vantage point than any ground reconnaissance can do, but it’s just too risky if something happens. They have no idea what sorts of weapons or technology these people can wield – if Amber is knocked out of the sky, it will be Jean’s fault for sending her up there in the first place.
“No,” she decides. “It’s too risky to send in any sort of spy team if there’s a chance of them getting caught. We’re shorthanded enough as it is with Grandmaster Varka and half our men still up north. We need to focus on protecting the numbers we have, not sacrificing the few for the good of the many.”
Disgruntled, but pacified for the moment, Eula nods, and the war council continues on after that.
When Jean returns to her office after the meeting, there’s a slip of paper on her desk done in a familiar handwriting, listing the exact size of the army and the weapons they wield.
It’s signed with a single dandelion seed, pressed flat into the paper. Jean knows exactly who it’s from.
oOoOo
The next time that The General met The Bard, he was riding ahead of his men, keeping watch for signs of anything amiss. The gentle breeze that had rustled leaves and cooled the men and horses as they marched had risen, becoming slightly uncomfortable to walk against and whipping hair and leaves and twigs into eyes.
He almost didn't hear the music until he ran into The Bard, as it blended in with the whistling of the winds, complementing them, a gentle lullaby, sounding slightly closer to more familiar music from his home country. Just enough to be slightly nostalgic, but still jarring and foreign in places.
As it got louder, closer, he turned the corner and saw him, seemingly untouched by the strong wind.
"The Archons will not let you take their continent so easily, Mondstadt is more defended than you may think" He said, still smiling slightly, smiling sadly, at The General.
"The Archons stand no chance against the magic I have brought with me" The General replied, "and do you think I did no research? I know that the Archon of Mondstadt is the weakest of the lot, and he has not been seen for hundreds of years, the city is practically defenseless"
"Are you sure?" The Bard said, and The General, having been inching closer to seize his chance to catch and kill him, leapt.
By the time he reached the rock where The Bard was sitting, he was gone once again, the only trace of him the echo of a lullaby on the wind.
oOoOo
The army is only a day out from Mondstadt.
Jean is running out of time.
The troops are armed and armoured. They have enough food stocked up for weeks, and the small gardens that dot the city are primed to grow more. The walls are the strongest they’ve ever been, and the portcullis is firmly shut, both of the usual guards now standing inside of the city to keep watch over it.
Their soldiers wait atop the walls’ towers, hidden safely behind the parapets. Their arrows are fully stocked, and their gliders are ready. At any moment, they can leap from the wall and glide over the army, be it to drop down and attack from above, or to shoot from midair as they fly by. Aerial combat is, after all, a specialty reserved solely for the Knights of Mondstadt.
Kaeya’s cavalry unit has no horses, but they are ready to fight regardless. Lisa, for once, leaves the safety of her library and dons the armour of a warrior, lightning crackling along the metal as she watches the horizon. Eula and Amber wait with Noelle by the side entrance, ready to defend their home ‘til their final breath.
Above it all, Jean stands atop the Knights’ Headquarters and sees her people standing below, weary and wary, but still ready to defend. Their lives and their freedom are at stake here, and no true child of Mondstadt would ever let either go without a fight.
And above the Acting Grandmaster, perched at the highest point of the cathedral, a figure dressed in green watches over his city. Always present, though never seen.
oOoOo
The final time The General met The Strange Bard, he almost didn't.
The wind had risen again to a blinding gale, developing a stinging chill that cut at exposed skin and hurt to look into for too long, everyone in the formation tiring quickly as the smaller and lighter among them fought to stay standing.
The General didn't even realise that he had ridden ahead of the army, that he had encountered The Strange Bard again, until he heard a small voice, somehow audible over the wind.
"Don't do this. You don't want this" The Strange Bard said, his voice aching with sorrow.
The General didn't look at him.
He thought that he could picture his face regardless.
He thought that he could almost hear music.
He thought it sounded familiar.
"It is my duty" he replied.
"Very well."
It is only once The Strange Bard vanished once more that the song he was plucking on his lyre echoed, all too familiar in The General's mind.
A funeral march, from his home country.
oOoOo
The army is visible over the edges of Mondstadt’s walls.
Jean could tell her knights to attack now. She could begin this war with nothing more than a single word, and the blood would spill endlessly as a result. She holds so much power right now, and yet, she feels completely powerless in the face of the possible consequences.
Her people could die today.
The storm brewing on the winds feels like fate in the air – turmoil and strife made tangible, the ozone nearly thick enough to taste. It’s never been this bad before, and yet, not a drop of rain has touched her head. It’s only the winds whipping back and forth, threatening to tear the sky in two with the force of the gusts.
It’s desperate. It’s a last-ditch attempt for something, anything to save her, because Jean has never been the devout churchgoer that her sister is, and she’s found it hard to do this ever since she met him in person.
But desperate times call for desperate measures, and Jean is feeling that more than ever right now.
So, she closes her eyes and folds her hands in front of her, and she prays to Lord Barbatos, Archon of Anemo and Freedom, Patron of Mondstadt, Purveyor of Revolution and Revelry, to help her people in any way that he can. She knows it’s more than she’d ever ask of Venti under any other circumstances, but as she said – desperate times.
Jean only hopes that he can forgive her for the high demands she lays upon him.
She only wants her country to be safe. She only wants her people to live and be free – and she can’t even fathom the concept of him disagreeing with that.
Venti, like everyone, will do what he can. If this is beyond him, and the final call falls down to Jean alone…
She’ll lead her people, just like she always has. It is her duty, her blessing, and her curse.
oOoOo
When The General and his army arrived at the gates of Mondstadt the wind had risen once again, freezing and dangerous and still threatening more. The General could hardly see as he stared up at the great closed gates.
Atop the wall, the Archon Barbatos stood with a bow in his hands, the weapon strangely familiar.
"Heed the wind's warning, or the storm to follow will destroy you." The wind carried the Archon's voice to his ears, powerful and cold as the air and Anemo whipping around him. "Three times you were warned, and three times you did not listen. You will not find what you seek in Mondstadt."
The Archon drew his bow.
"I suggest you run."
oOoOo
It’s been many a year since Venti has touched this weapon.
The last time he’d wielded it… when had it been? The Archon War? He’d levelled mountains back then, and with ease. The scourge of the battlefield, bested only by Rex Lapis. His reputation of peril had long since fallen into obscurity, but to Venti, whose memory stretches as far as time itself, it feels like yesterday.
The Recurve Lyre fits perfectly in his hands, like it was made to – it was made to, of course. He’s the only one who’s ever been able to wield it. An instrument bending backwards into a weapon, with a draw weight so high that no mortal could ever even hope to string it, let alone nock an arrow and let it fly.
This is the weapon that Venti chooses today. This is the weapon that Barbatos will wield against these invaders who threaten his people and his home.
He stands atop the gate, invisible to both the enemy and to his own children. The winds whip higher and higher as the divot in his brow deepens, reflecting the unusually furious mood he’s found himself in.
How dare they?
How dare they enter his country, make landfall on his shores, take their army tromping through his wood, and march with malice on his city? How dare they seek conquest in a nation of freedom? How dare they interfere in his land, and expect him to do nothing about it?
The General is approaching at the head of the oncoming horde, sitting smugly atop his horse, and Barbatos is furious. He hasn’t felt rage like this since Durin struck Dvalin with that poison – since he thought he would lose one of his last remaining companions. This man seeks to take his entire nation from him, and it is only right that he pay for his transgressions.
Barbatos knows he must barely be visible through the sheets of wind that now tear through the sky, but he reveals his form regardless. The white cloth is still just as pristine as the first time he’d worn it, flowing elegantly despite the violent winds around him.
“Heed the wind’s warning, or the storm to follow will destroy you,” Barbatos states. His voice isn’t loud, but it will be heard. Of this much, he is certain. “Three times you were warned, and three times you did not listen.”
One last chance to run.
“You will not find what you seek in Mondstadt.”
Barbatos knows he won’t take it. He draws back an arrow, aimed perfectly at the center of the General’s forehead.
“I suggest you run.”
The arrow flies like a kestrel, cutting through the air with a perfect precision that’s untouched by the howling gale around it. It strikes true, just as Barbatos knew it would, because not once in all his years has he ever missed his target.
The General falls to the ground, dead in an instant.
The resulting shockwave from the arrow, however, ensures that not a soul is thinking of him as the army finds themselves thrown backwards with an impossible force.
Barbatos draws a second arrow from the air, threads of Anemo weaving together in his hands to create the very object he needs, and in an instant, another shot is loosed from his bow. He can see the impact crater it makes on the ground, right in the center of the converging enemy troops, sending them all flying in every direction.
The thing about Barbatos’s weapon in particular is, in short, the exact reason why not a single other soul can wield it. It’s impossible to string without the requisite physical strength, and because of the weight behind the bow itself, each shot is equivalent to an explosion. It obliterates everything in the area, leaving nothing by a flat, empty crater in its wake. If not for how close his city is, Barbatos could level this entire plain, leave nothing but dust – but he can’t do that to his people. They love these lands, and so he, the Archon of Freedom, restrains himself.
Instead, he descends from the city wall in a swirl of Anemo, bare feet touching down on the ground as he begins to walk towards the enemy. Their leader is dead, and their forces scattered, but for as long as they draw breath, they are a threat to Mondstadt and its people.
Barbatos prepares another arrow, letting the teal glow of the Anemo energy light up his shadowed face beneath his hood.
For once, he isn’t smiling.