Chapter Text
Fontaine had endured a heavy downpour for a week now, and it seemed to be unwavering, keeping steady despite each passing day. It didn’t get lighter. If anything, it seemed to swell and build up every second, day and night in a never-ending cycle. The Fontainians believed that the heavens were grieving with them, sharing their sorrows and conveying their unreachable emotions with relentless rain.
Streets were barren and abandoned, lacking the vibrant atmosphere only the sunlight could bring forth, whilst the people speculated that the deluge would fulfil the prophecy that had been spread around like wildfire, even before the sudden showers.
The talk about the prophecy had died down after the Primordial Sea outbreak, where every human being was confident that it was going to be fulfilled right under their noses. However, most had escaped, and the predication did not become true that day, a second outburst that had the nation loosen the tense and rigid ambiance that had graced itself upon them.
Not that it lasted for long though.
The rain started effective immediately, and just as the bone chilling fear had faded away, it nestled back down like slipping back into a bad habit.
Though the people didn’t know the cause for the rain, or the cause of any rain for that matter.
Passed as a mere children’s rhyme, it wasn’t a surprise that many didn’t take it literally. If they knew the true meaning of the downpours that had stained the streets of Fontaine for five hundred years, then the hatred and human inclination towards the rain could be replaced with empathy.
Not that Neuvillette needed their pity.
He didn’t need anything.
Originally, the Melusines didn’t question him, though they all passed him the same drawn expression after his return from the Fortress of Meropide, after his deal with the Primordial Sea. He didn’t know if they knew what had happened, but considering how fast news spread throughout the nation, he knew that they must have at least a slight piece of knowledge of what happened.
Down in the Fortress of Meropide.
Neuvillette got there in time to restrain the demanding waters and bound it back down into the ground, unbeknownst to the newly taken life force it had received. All that his mind contained were promises, to himself mainly, that the prophecy was to not be fulfilled and that he was to execute his role as the Chief Justice with the composure he always had on guard.
His professionalism, his composure, his guard, all the things that he was trying to maintain under the burden came crumbling down once he received an answer to a question he had asked so innocently, so naively.
“Where is Wriothesley?”
No one uttered a sound when he had asked, but their gazes were all cast downwards, some with voiceless tears streaming down battered and exhaustion-heavy faces.
Even Clorinde’s eyes reflected an unnatural sheen, like the surfaces of glass panes in direct sunlight. When Neuvillette had glanced at her, eyes laced with confusion, she simply shifted her focus towards the area he had just exited, the area with the glistening sea.
At that moment, the solemn tension vanished, the unnatural, almost eerie atmosphere morphed to silence, as Neuvillette felt his whole body freeze up and get consumed within the ringing of his ears.
The discovery punched him straight in the heart.
The logic behind Wriothesley’s absence paired with the strange twinges of subconscious familiarity and guilt he felt when locking the Primordial Sea all became evident to him too fast, his mind unable to grapple onto the impossible fate.
Unable to distinguish between his surroundings and his thoughts, the period from when he had left the Fortress and back to the surface had felt distorted, brain pounding as if like a subconscious gesture demanding, pleading that it wasn’t real.
It wasn’t real, it couldn’t be real.
He wasn’t gone.
He was strong. The strongest man he knew.
How could it end so quickly?
The smell of tea and the sound of his velvety voice were all parts of him that Neuvillette wasn’t inclined to grow foreign.
He despised the deliberation that it might even come to the point where he forgot or lost the reins of life that were so familiar to him, so Wriothesley.
Neuvillette had rushed back to his office promptly with only the thought of returning into the suffocating comfort of the walls in his mind, his emotions lay discarded since he was unable to understand them. Collapsing into his seat, the Iudex simply gazed onward, his neutral expression tainted, lips slightly parted and eyes wide, as if in disbelief.
He didn’t feel the grief.
No, this wasn’t grief.
He felt hollow.
Numb.
Empty.
So empty that it was almost nauseating.
Like reality hadn’t hit him yet.
His mind was so focused on upholding his thoughts that his physical body didn’t budge.
He didn’t even know if he was still breathing.
The facade was still there, the mask of impartiality lay active on his features, and in that moment, he couldn’t even make it stir if he wanted to. He was well aware of the human reactions of sorrow, having witnessed it many times in his long life, though he had nothing he could compare with what he was feeling at that time. The bitter emptiness consumed him, paralysed him and silenced all movement.
Now that he was in the closure of his office, the paperwork littered on his desk had never felt so protective, he started to process again and started to gather what had just happened.
The Primordial Sea.
The prophecy.
Wriothesley.
Although he was never particularly good or keen on analysing human emotions, he believed that anyone could have felt the crushing weight hung in the air of the Fortress.
He was certain that he hadn’t read Clorinde’s expression wrong.
Some part of him hoped that he had. Humiliation was the better option than the surreal truth.
But Wriothesley…
Neuvillette clung onto each memory they had together, as mere work partners, although he always felt like there was something else. A feeling so strong that neither of them seemed to need to clarify. At least there were still some personal moments that weren’t work related that Neuvillette could dwell upon. During those moments it felt like Wriothesley wasn’t the Duke, but instead simply just Wriothesley, and the loss of formal titles went both ways. He supposed that even during their brief work meetings Wriothesley never fell towards the rigid professionalism side but instead that his voice, his posture always had an element of ease, and trust.
Neuvillette was unsure whether that was directed solely at him, but he guessed that he would never be able to ask.
Never.
Such a simple word to Neuvillette held less significance compared to the minds of humans. ‘Never’ wasn’t something he’d worry about with his lifespan. For him it was ‘forever’. Since there weren’t as many limitations directed at him than to humans, he had ‘forever’ to achieve his goals or accept certain truths.
And it had only just dawned on him that Wriothesley’s life was always going to halt to a stop, and never awaken, never stir and never succeed in the battle with time.
But it was too soon. Way too soon. After living with the species for so long, Neuvillette understood that most had accepted their inevitable departures and instead just hoped it would be a good journey, one that would only end with they were wrinkled and grey. He presumed that was a desire for His Duke too.
But the heavens were too cruel.
This was the day when the rain started to fall, the Fontainians blissfully unaware of the circumstances ensuring that the rain would stay for quite some time. The clanging pitter patter of the rain was unlike the soft lulls that would usually bring comfort forth to Neuvillette.
With the heavy sounds outside the window, and most of his senses completely off, Neuvillette didn’t acknowledge Sedene rushing into the office. He could barely make out the new overlaps of sound, his brain becoming terrifyingly slow.
It was only when he felt warmth pooling into his shoulder that he shifted his bleary gaze to meet her own. Her brows were knitted, eyes wide with sorrow and her cheeks displayed aged tears. Those eyes of concern spoke volumes louder than any voice, the silence feeling achingly tight, unlike the familiar hollow sensation he was used to.
Neuvillette became wary of his own state, his rationality slowly returning. He became conscious about the fact that the mask he held so tightly was on the verge of slipping: a sight that would undeniably be a shock to all, especially to the Melusines who’d ventured the lands almost as long as he had.
“Monsieur.”
Sedene spoke in a low whisper, though even with the reduced volume he could hear the subtle tremble in her voice. Neuvillette didn’t respond, his throat felt constricting and suffocating, which frankly wasn’t a great combination with the sudden heaviness surfacing in his chest. The presence of Melusines never failed to make him react in the most obscure ways. Maybe it was their innocent faces. Maybe it was because they’d spent most of their life walking alongside Neuvillette.
Regardless of that, his mask didn’t falter, tears didn’t fall, and the hollowness didn’t fill. His gaze dropped away from his secretary’s eyes, as if looking at her would force the unbearable words to spill out of her mouth. That slight fear was terrifyingly out of character for the Chief Justice. The fear that Sedene would reinforce the truth of Wriothesley’s…
Neuvillette couldn’t bring himself to even think of the word, the word that would make it real. It was… unlike him. Having upheld justice and order for so long, he was often a quite direct and straightforward person, to both himself and others, with the decisions he had to constantly deal with. Within trials he had to face the truth, face the reality of the facts displayed in front of him and then make a judgement, no matter whether his heart agreed or not. Compassion couldn’t battle with fate and facts.
However, he couldn’t bear to be direct about this, knowing his heart wouldn’t be able to support the weighing truth. Time would deal with the face of truth but not the reality.
He heaved a few sharp breaths, knowing that building the silence would only cause the Melusine’s worry to rise.
“My… apologises, Sedene,” he spoke, voice raspy from misuse. Sedene merely shook her head, her rhinophores shaking from the movement.
“Don’t be, Monsieur,” she spoke softly, her concern rippling behind her eyes, and Neuvillette knew she wanted to reassure him and to provide comfort, though she was afraid of overstepping the unclear boundaries.
This had never happened before, so it was reasonable and thoughtful that his secretary was not fully interrogating him about the recent events.
Neuvillette opened his mouth to speak again but his throat lodged up and his voice failed to serve him. He cleared his throat, whether to dissipate the knot buried within it or to atone some air of his title back to him, it was unclear.
“Would you mind leaving me for now, Sedene? I think you can understand that… I’d like to be alone.”
Sedene’s brows furrowed deeper, her lips straightened into a thin line and Neuvillette was sure that she was going to refuse his order for the first time. Instead, she nodded slowly and threw a last worried look towards him before leaving the room, his loneliness being sealed once again by the gentle snick of the door.
***
The days that followed were mundane, the same cycle that the Fontainians had slowly gotten used to. Although the rain did impose an inconvenience, with several aquabus lines shutting, most had adapted and opted new ways to get work done efficiently.
Neuvillette still had to work on the cases that lay discarded on his desk; however, he found it particularly hard to concentrate for his usual prolonged periods of time. Therefore, he had inquired that Sedene should move any less important trials to later dates, ensuring that his current state wouldn’t affect the fates of dear Fontainians.
And his newly established concentration limits weren’t the only circumstances that had formed after the news of His Duke.
He’d often find himself skimming through files one second, then the next second his vision would become disoriented as his mind wandered elsewhere, with emotion he could not quite place. It would happen spontaneously, as if his mind didn’t acknowledge his feelings but his heart urged him to feel and to accept the grief he felt.
After all, his biggest regret were the unspoken words he never dared to utter, believing that they had time.
It appeared that the emotions that bore human traits were the ones he couldn’t grasp hold of, always doubting the truth or meaning behind them. However, Neuvillette was sure of one thing.
He cares for Wriothesley.
Cared. Loved.
No.
Loves.
Sighing raggedly to himself in the spacious area of his office, he gathered the papers and cleared them from his desk, allowing room for his arms to stretch out upon it. As he leaned back in his chair, Neuvillette’s eyes fluttered from the slap of weariness lapped at his head. Rolling his head to the side, his eyes faintly reopened, catching a glimpse of something ornamented, something decorated, something that beckoned him to focus on.
The tea cabinet.
Wriothesley’s tea cabinet.
***
“Enter.”
The door swung open with a force that could match the energy of Lady Furina’s dramatic entrance anytime she decided to barge her way into Neuvillette’s office, usually during his working hours. However, the one who was entering his office was not in fact Furina, but instead, it was none other than the Duke of Meropide.
Though polite and almost shy at the beginning of his new role, Wriothesley had changed immensely, especially regarding the degree of his comfort around the once terrifying Chief Justice. He seemed to be one of the only people that Neuvillette would allow storm into his office like that, and he was highly convinced that Wriothesley had been taking theatrics lessons from Lady Furina.
Wriothesley shut the door promptly before speaking, “Monsieur, Monsieur! How lovely it is to see you again!” he exclaimed, and Neuvillette was now even more convinced that the Duke had been spending too much time around the Hydro Archon.
Neuvillette calmly piled the documents around him and stashed them back into his drawer before making his way towards his normally untouched embroidered sofas, sitting on the edge whilst Wriothesley scurried about. They’d had enough meetings for him to gather a rough estimate on how it was to proceed. Wriothesley would be making tea alongside rambling about whatever he fancied, ranging from new additions to his extensive tea collection to conflicts that sometimes broke out in the underwater prison.
Then, the tea would be done brewing, and they’d discuss matters as the Chief Justice and Duke of Meropide, the two carers of Fontaine getting caught up on the recent affairs meddling around on the streets. Afterwards, it wouldn’t take long for one of them to break the professional distance.
“Have you ever heard of something called ‘taking a break’, Monsieur?” Wriothesley said as Neuvillette spoke of the dealings he had undertaken in the past few weeks. His question made the Iudex quite perplexed, since to him, although the jobs he’d received weren’t the lightest of loads, it was manageable compared to what he’d been doing for the past 500 years.
His confusion must’ve been blatantly projected across his features, considering the fact that Wriothesley’s answer to his lack of response was a mere chortle, causing Neuvillette to feel as if he’d missed something in the other’s manner of speech.
“It’s a joke, Monsieur,” Wriothesley’s mouth shifted to a subtle pout, like how Sigewinne would often react when deep in thought. “Though, I guess I do mean it. The Melusines are constantly talking about how Monsieur Neuvillette needs to take better care of his health, hm?”
Neuvillette considered his own answer to that; it was true that the Melusines were always nagging him to take breaks and to visit them at Merusea Village, and it pained him to have to heavily refuse their warm smiles he’d never be sick of seeing.
“You and I can both relate to the point that our roles demand a significant amount of time, and that time could affect a person’s fate, or justice,” Neuvillette responded, taking a feeble sip from his teacup.
“You just need to relax a little, Your Honour,” Wriothesley parroted Neuvillette’s actions with a hint of exaggeration, before slumping back into the sofas with a dreamy smile. “Say if you had a day off, what would you do? No duties, no nothing.”
Another question of Wriothesley’s for him to ponder.
He knew it was merely a curious question to keep conversations going, and Neuvillette could likely get away with saying anything, however the suddenness of the inquiry had him thinking.
What would he do?
It wasn’t often where he had to entertain the thought, maybe once or twice every few decades, given that his free time would be placing more solitude on him than he had already, and often when that time came, he’d come to the conclusion that he might as well do something productive with his time. Now taking that into account, he realised that he did have more time than he thought he’d had to do whatever he pleased, and it was only himself that decided to do something productive with that time. It wasn’t like he could have anyone to associate discourses with, other than the melodramatic Hydro Archon and the Melusines that were too far of a distance away to his liking.
And… Wriothesley?
He had never pursued that train of thought before, but now thinking about it, the Duke was a person, the only human, that he’d interact with. Disregarding their busy schedules, of course.
“I’m… unsure.” Neuvillette paused. “I’d likely indulge in my favourite waters.”
A sharp huff exited Wriothesley’s mouth, though it was not harsh in any way, sounding more like exasperation than bitterness, which had Neuvillette slightly flushed. What else was he supposed to say?
After a slight pause, Neuvillette continued before Wriothesley could tease him with a response, “And accompanied with someone else, I suppose.” Pause.
“You.” His gaze fixed on Wriothesley.
The Duke’s eyes widened, and he coughed into a fist, though Neuvillette could’ve sworn he saw a shy smile behind the action.
Neuvillette’s next words tumbled out before Wriothesley could answer, an inexplicable urge washed over him, much to his surprise.
“I… appear to enjoy your company. When you do not pester me, that is,” Neuvillette spoke, his voice increasing a semitone at the last sentence as he hoped that Wriothesley would understand his joke. Alas, the non-human Chief Justice wasn’t used to jesting, with his strict mask he had to keep preserved at all times.
Though, he realised, around Wriothesley, maybe the mask could falter.
Could slip.
They were equal in standing, he concluded, regardless of how Wriothesley would deny it.
The left corner of Wriothesley’s mouth perked up, clearly understanding Neuvillette’s intentions.
“My, my,” he said, in a mock grand voice. “Is the Chief Justice of Fontaine joking with me now? Goodness, my influence over people is rather powerful.”
Neuvillette huffed, “I’d like to think that it’s simply because I’ve become more at ease with you. You’re only flattering yourself, Your Grace.”
Wriothesley’s face softened at his first few words, a smile decorating his lips, relating more to a sheepish child than his usual signature smirk. “I appreciate your comment, Monsieur.” His face then turned to one of hyperbolised incredulity. “Though, I think you underestimate my influence over others,”
He leaned closer for a seemingly dramatic effect, and Neuvillette didn’t back away, much to his own surprise. The Iudex felt the warm tickle of the Duke’s voice on his nose as he continued to speak.
“How do you think the Melusines learnt how to bet?”
At those words, Neuvillette’s neutral expression couldn’t even hide the utter shock he felt he’d been struck by. None of it was with heart of course, since they were merely just bantering, but still, he was utterly appalled.
“Wriothesley!”
The man raised his arms in mock surrender, a smile dashing his helplessness.
“I can’t help that they’re fast learners—observers!” Wriothesley chuckled, his tiny slip up didn’t go unnoticed to Neuvillette, his eyes narrowing as he heard it.
The Chief Justice sighed, “You… astound me, Your Grace.”
“Back to titles again? I was just starting to enjoy the sound of my name in your voice,”
Neuvillette shot Wriothesley with what he hoped looked like a teasing glare.
“Your Grace,” he started, the use of the title fully intended. “You’re telling me that the Melusines have had their innocence stained because of your… hobbies?”
“Woah there. I didn’t personally teach them the ways of betting. They just… caught on.” The Duke flashed an almost mischievous smile. “And I think you should reconsider the image you have of the Melusines in that pretty head of yours. Sigewinne is terrifying.”
Wriothesley was probably the only person in the whole of Teyvat who could undermine and make that sort of comment around the Iudex Neuvillette. To jest with the firm and impartial Chief was one matter, but to challenge his point of view, regardless how important, was an incredible feat. And he ignored how Wriothesley had just called him pretty.
And to Neuvillette?
It was never one of his goals to get close with the humans when we got persuaded to become their Chief Justice. In fact, he ensured that there was always an apparent distance between them, believing that his immortality would conflict with the mortality both blessed and cursed upon the humans. Personal relationships could also be used as debate concerning the equity of his declarations when in court.
But Wriothesley?
He was no ordinary human, after all, his childhood barely existed, shaping the man into a kind that Neuvillette hadn’t come across before in his 500 years of walking with the species.
And, for the first time in centuries, it seemed that the more Neuvillette avoided the relationship from building between them, the more his heart tugged and longed for it. So, he had concluded that maybe… he did have a personal relationship with the Duke after all.
Neuvillette, who felt more comfortable with talking to Wriothesley, responded, “I highly doubt that.”
“Don’t tell me that you’re also one that’s fooled by her sweet smile and voice. Her and her milkshakes haunt my nightmares…”
Wriothesley’s eyes portrayed what Neuvillette thought to be an expression shown when reliving a traumatic memory, though the corners of his lips were slowly twitching as a grin fought to gain control.
Sigewinne’s milkshakes couldn’t be that bad to humans, could they?
A small chuckle escaped from Neuvillette’s mouth, causing Wriothesley’s gaze to perk up from where they originally rested on his teacup to the Iudex’s face, his smirk spreading through his lips like the fluidity of water.
Neuvillette sighed once more, though it was more as a message of defeat rather than irritation, a small smile pulling his lips too.
“I suppose I see your view, Wriothesley.”
“That means a lot, Neuvillette.”
***
The warmth that had enveloped his body snapped as he returned to reality, his chest feeling heavier than it was before, his mind consumed his consciousness. A shadow of a smile still haunted his lips, the memory of the cheerful and light conversation he’d never fully appreciated with the Duke stung like whiplash.
He tore his eyes away from the tea cabinet, having the urge to shove it all away out of his sight. But that would only give confirmation to reality, the kind of certainty Neuvillette didn’t wish to receive. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to store the fine tableware away.
His traitorous heart forced his eyes to gaze back at the intricate embellishment sprawled over the cups, the expensive quality radiating off of each stroke.
But no price would be worth the reminiscences the teacups held.
Neuvillette’s chest heaved as a thought dawned on him, a thought that nearly insinuated nausea within the almighty Chief Justice’s body.
The tableware would never be filled with the same joy again. The same laughter. The same voice.
It would likely never be used again.
What had shaped into a habit was snatched and shattered into a deviation.