Chapter Text
There were a lot of complex topics that had stumped Durin throughout his efforts to integrate into human society. Things like subtle unspoken etiquette he somehow was supposed to know about without being told, or implicit social cues, or – most recently, the topic humans loved more than anything else: “love” itself.
Of course Durin loved his mother, and he loved his new family and his friends, so at first it hadn’t seemed like a big deal to him. He’d been so sure he at least knew what basic emotions were. But, as it turned out, this was a far more vastly encompassing topic than he had originally been led to believe. As it seemed humans often tended to do, they had made it into something rather complicated, and the more Durin looked into the matter, the more labyrinthine it became.
Durin had learnt a lot about "courting" and "romance" from observing humans. It was certainly a beloved ritual for many humans, and while of course tales about love in all kinds of forms were oftentimes a part of his mother’s stories, those stories were always simple and straightforward, unlike the messy tangle of customs that humans in the real world seemed to get themselves into on a regular basis.
“Yes,” Albedo had said to him once when he’d asked about it, “it is quite the complex topic, isn’t it? People certainly find all sorts of ways to make socializing more convoluted.”
Convoluted is one way to put it, Durin had thought to himself at the time.
All in all, he had spent plenty of time observing these particular rituals in humans. Something he’d come to learn was that when two people were romantically compatible, people described it as having “chemistry” – something that Albedo had said with a chuckle, as though he was no doubt imagining some sort of alchemical potion on his worktable – and this chemistry, Durin had learned, was more of a potential energy than something immutably fated. There was no concrete way to describe when two people had chemistry, though. To Durin, it sounded as though it could be related to inherent properties of certain elements and their abilities to combine, but apparently, it wasn’t so much an empirical property so much as a feeling. As Timaeus had put it, when two people were compatible romantically with each other, “you just know”, he’d said.
Well, Durin wasn’t really sure what exactly the signs were supposed to be, or how he was supposed to know without any descriptions to go off of, but he felt like he’d definitely made some rather pressing observations as of late. There were several things one was supposed to notice about two people who had chemistry, according to Timaeus: firstly, being personally compatible was the most important. This was based entirely on the individuals themselves – so there was no single standard to judge a match by.
Secondly, it wasn’t vital that they knew each other personally, but in such a situation, one had to infer based on their personalities as to whether or not they would mesh effectively. And thirdly, most vital of all for any sort of romance to take root, there had to be a “spark” between these people once they did meet.
“I just couldn’t stop thinking about her”, Timaeus had said. “She was just so smart, and we both had so much in common, like potions and alchemy, and she was so beautiful… I couldn’t believe she actually wanted to be with someone like me.” He sighed dreamily, likely reminiscing about when he’d gotten together with Ying’er. “Anyway, does that make sense?” He’d asked.
“Uh,” Durin had tried, unsure as to whether or not this was the sort of situation where he should be truthful and say no, or simply say yes in order to move the conversation along. He opted for the latter. “I guess so,” he’d said, hoping someday it would make more sense to him than it did in the moment.
Well, as Durin had come to realize recently – it actually was starting to make more sense, based on first-hand observations. It seemed to be the case that “getting together” was the natural final step of a relationship between people, and this was reportedly the pinnacle of happiness. It had to start from two people who had something “going on” between them – some kind of good rapport, Durin had gathered, though the specifics still seemed less certain.
At any rate, according to everything he’d learned, Durin was beginning to think there must have been something "going on" between Albedo and Wanderer. Based on what he’d gathered about these sorts of relationships, it was all beginning to add up – from everything he’d been told about folks who had “gotten together”, it seemed like, were Durin to make a checklist of things required for such a relationship, he was pretty sure, objectively speaking, that they would check off every point. So, surely, that was indicative that some kind of action needed to be taken, right?
He had meticulously made his observations:
Wanderer didn’t get along with anybody, really, but he was always nice to Albedo. So step one was being personally compatible, which they definitely were. And they both would come any time Durin needed anything, even though they lived in completely different places, so despite the fact they originally wouldn’t have known each other, now they did because of him. So they’d already spent plenty of time together, and Durin could check off that part of the list. And the third step, as Timeus had described it, was the “spark”. That one was a little trickier, but if it was supposed to be based purely on intuition, then Durin thought they must have had one since they got along pretty well.
The evidence seemed pretty conclusive.
He thought it would be nice if they knew each other even better – and it seemed to him that such things were the next logical step, considering how much value humans placed on it. It was always called “taking the relationship to the next level”, as they said, and it was supposed to make both people very happy.
So, if he wanted Albedo and Wanderer to take their relationship to the “next level” too, then his conclusion was only natural: There was a thing he’d heard of called “match making”, and it seemed to Durin that it was up to him to make it happen.
Unfortunately, this particular part of the process was still unclear to him, so Durin knew he would need to collect more data. That was what Albedo always did when he was struggling with a particularly difficult problem, so Durin decided to tackle it in a similar way.
And thus began the data collection – Durin’s very own “great undertaking”.
“Yes,” Fischl said dramatically, answering his question with a flair of moving her hand over her patched eye. “In days of yore, the King and Queen of Immernachtreich did indeed exchange the most devout of declarations of love beneath the burning moon; and through the sacred bonds of matrimony did they decide to bequeath their kingdom to their esteemed heiress – none other than I, the Prinzessin der Verurteilung herself.”
Durin stared, turning his attention to Oz, a true lifesaver when it came to attempting to have any sort of comprehensible conversation with Fischl.
“What Mein Fräulein means to say,” Oz explained, “is that her parents courted each other through the use of love letters before they were married and had her, their child.”
“Oh,” Durin said, completely unable to reconcile the two meanings with each other, but grateful nonetheless for the clarification. “Hmm. Love letters…”
“Dost thou have stakes in the joining of two kingdoms, Sir Durin?” Fischl asked.
For once, Durin actually understood what she was trying to say, and was able to answer even without Oz to translate for him. “Uh… sort of, I guess?” He said, thinking it over. He paused a moment, thinking of the many roles that Albedo and Wanderer played in his life, before speaking with hesitance, mumbling more to himself than anything. “Though, I think in this scenario, it might be going out of order… I wonder if that’s going to be a problem.”
Fischl eyed him curiously. “Hm? Whatever does this matter concern you for?” She asked.
“Uh, well,” Durin replied, looking back up at her clasping his hands together awkwardly, unsure where to start. “I was just thinking – based on my observations, it seems like most people with children tend to be romantically involved in some way.” He said. “So, logically, I guess I was thinking… uh, if two people kind of have a child first, not an actual child but, you know, still someone they take care of, shouldn’t they…” Durin trailed off, unsure how to say exactly what it was he was thinking – not only for lack of words, but also partially out of embarrassment. “Well, anyway, they’re basically like my parents, from an empirical perspective,” he said at last, “so it’s not that weird to consider, right?”
Because, really – if Durin compared the roles parents have in their children’s lives – giving them guidance, and teaching them about the world… well, even though Albedo and Wanderer were his brother and his best friend respectively, and definitely not actually his parents, they also did fill those kinds of roles in Durin’s life, objectively speaking. And parents were usually “together”, right? So… it seemed like it was a logical conclusion, based on the facts.
“Ah!” Fischl exclaimed, seeming at least to pick up what he was trying to say. “Thou hast deigned to undertake the most sacred art of humanity!” She turned to him, seemingly nodding in approval. “Indeed, romance must always reign supreme, and goodness shall always win, never letting a rift befall two heavenly bodies!”
Durin looked helplessly to Oz, who luckily understood.
“The translation,” Oz said, “is that she approves of your undertaking. It would seem she agrees that in such a situation, the instigation of romance between parents that are not romantically involved is a respectable endeavor.”
Durin paused. “I… I see,” he said, not really seeing that meaning in what Fischl had been trying to say at all, but accepting the sentiment anyway, trusting Oz knew what he was doing. Durin had felt that, since parents are typically long-term romantic partners, it had seemed like a good place to launch his investigation – and because Fischl still had both her parents in her life, she had seemed like the best choice of person to consult first, despite how stressful talking to her could be. He was glad that the conversation had borne some fruit, though.
“Well, okay.” He conceded, resigning himself for the foreseeable future to this new endeavor. “I guess I have some work to do, then… time to go learn about love letters. Thanks.”
“But of course, brave Dragonborn warrior! Fight for love and justice!” Fischl announced, sending him off with a joyful wave of her hands.
Of course, seeing as Durin had only just recently started learning to read and write, this first task of love letters already seemed nearly insurmountable. Based on his research into the topic, he’d come to realize that this would be a difficult obstacle for him to overcome. There was no way he could pretend to write any sort of letter for anyone, and certainly not pretending to be Albedo – his brother’s handwriting was far too neat, and there was no way Wanderer wouldn’t recognize his own crooked handwriting right off the bat.
So, Durin sat in the Knights of Favonius Library, a pen to his lips and a blank paper set before him.
“Oh?” Came a familiar voice from somewhere behind him, smooth and questioning. “Practicing diligently, are we?”
Turning around, he sheepishly met the questioning gaze of Miss Lisa, who immediately leaned over to see his handiwork – though luckily, he hadn’t written anything yet, so there was nothing that would appear incriminating on first glance. He turned back to his blank paper. “Something like that,” he said, unsure if he should even try explaining the mess he was knowingly getting himself into.
Miss Lisa, though, was always very perceptive – he always felt like she might’ve had eyes not only on the back of her head, but also maybe on every wall of the room, for the way she always seemed to know everything that was going on – even when she wasn’t looking. There was a knowing glint in her eyes now, as though she suspected he was up to no good, and out of nervousness he came clean before she could say anything to reprimand him.
“It’s not something bad,” he blurted immediately, though the hesitation entered his voice unconsciously. “…I think.”
“Well,” Lisa said teasingly, “if you’re not one hundred percent sure it’s not bad, then that certainly raises a lot of questions. But,” she continued, her tone perking up thoughtfully, “if you’re going to write, then let’s consider it an exercise. What is it you’re trying to do?”
Durin looked down at the page, knowing it was going to sound worse than it truly was. “Uhh,” he mumbled quietly, trying to figure out how to say it in a way that didn’t sound like a punishable crime. Ultimately, he couldn’t think of any way to do it, and just spoke honestly, his voice barely above a whisper. “…Trying to imitate Albedo’s handwriting…?”
The way Lisa’s eyebrows raised nearly up to her hairline might have been funny, had Durin not been so nervous that she was about to go tell Master Jean about what devious things he’d been up to.
“My, my, now what could my little horned cutie be up to that involves forgery of all things?” She mused. “Please, do explain. This should be good.”
Durin’s heart felt like it might leap out of his chest for fear of what crimes he might be accused of committing. “I— I promise it’s nothing so sinister!” He exclaimed, only realizing belatedly that raising his voice in the library was one more crime Lisa might have had him thrown in solitary for, and he quickly lowered his voice nervously. “It’s— it’s just, I want to send a letter, but I don’t want them to know it’s from me, so I… so I thought…”
“Ahh,” Lisa drawled, understanding seeming to come over her, though Durin couldn’t yet be sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. “And is this something that needs to be our Chief Alchemist specifically? Have you considered an anonymous letter, perhaps?”
Durin considered her carefully, turning the options over in his head. From his observations, it seemed as though anonymous love letters had an extremely low success rate, since no one knew who the sender was. Secret admirers were, allegedly, quite common, but Durin supposed those sorts of confessions were more for the benefit of the sender, and not sent with the intention of any results.
Was that his goal here? What was the result he was aiming for with this letter, exactly?
“…No, I think it has to be him.” Durin said, though his statement nearly came out sounding more like a question.
“I see.” Lisa said. “Well, if it were anyone else, I might have questioned their intentions – but considering it’s you we’re talking about, I’m sure it must be something interesting. I can’t say I’m not dying to know what you’re trying to get Albedo into, cutie.”
Durin held his breath, unsure if he was being forced to confess. If he told her, she might tell Albedo, and that would probably ruin any chance of making this “match making” a success. And that would’ve been very sad indeed – because according to everyone he’d talked to, people were always so much happier after getting together with someone else. Didn’t his brother and Wanderer both deserve the best?
They did. They most certainly did, and Durin didn’t want his plan to fail.
“You can’t tell him.” Durin said resolutely. “It’s really important you don’t.”
Surprisingly, Lisa’s expression didn’t seem to hold any doubt – if anything, she only seemed more convinced of whatever it was she was deciding, and eventually, she spoke up, moving to sit down beside him at the table. It seemed as though her curiosity won out in the end. “Alright, you have my word. It’s our little writing exercise only – I won’t tell a soul. Now what, exactly, are you trying to write in Albedo’s stead?”
Durin pressed his lips together, trying to gather his wits about him. “A,” he started, choking on the words a little bit, so much so that the sound barely came out of him. “A love letter.”
Lisa’s surprise seemed to catch her off guard, then, a laugh escaping her that turned into coughing a little bit, quickly covering herself as she slammed her hands against the table in an undignified manner, very much unlike her usual demeanor. “A love letter,” she echoed, the stifling of a laugh audible in her words. “From Albedo.”
Durin nodded earnestly. “Yes.” He said. “I heard that love letters are an excellent way to get two people together.”
“Sweetie,” Lisa started, “I don’t think…” she paused from whatever she was going to say, though, seemingly changing her mind about something, the hint of a laugh still glistening in her eyes. “Well, who am I to say? I already agreed this would be our secret. Alright, Durin – listen closely. There’s a certain art to writing love letters – is this something you’ve heard as well?”
He looked down at the empty page. “Something like that, though I’m not really sure I get it.” He said. “But Albedo is great at art, so if writing can be considered a form of art as well, I feel like he’s probably good at it too.”
Lisa seemed thoughtful, considering what Durin said carefully. “That’s… quite a fair point, actually,” she said, “though I fear his methodology when it comes to language is rather… unromantic. Who, exactly, are you trying to woo in his stead?”
Durin thought about how he might describe his dear friend Hat Guy, and came up with very few ways to succinctly describe him. Eventually, he settled on his words, choosing a pragmatic answer over a more descriptive one. “Someone who is… probably very unromantic, I think.” He said, echoing Lisa’s words back to her.
“I see,” she replied thoughtfully, putting a hand to her chin. “Well, then, you certainly have your work cut out for you. Although it might actually work for them, considering the similarity, there’s also a good chance it could have the opposite effect from what you’re hoping.” She told Durin. “The thing about love letters, cutie, is that they’re very personal. I’m afraid that writing letters imitating each other only works successfully in Inazuman light novels – if your mystery recipient is oblivious, it might work, but depending on how observant they are, it may also backfire and make them unreceptive to any sort of romantic gesture.”
Durin frowned, feeling like he was watching his plan fall apart in front of him. “Oh,” he said, finding little else he could say in reply. Wanderer was rough on the outside, and always pretended he didn’t notice things for lack of caring – but Durin knew that was just a façade, and Wanderer was one of the most observant people he’d ever met. He had a keen eye and never seemed to miss a thing, but always assumed the worst in people, even though he saw the world clearly enough to know better than that. If he caught on that someone was pretending to be Albedo, Durin was quick to realize that it might not have ended well at all.
“…Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He sighed with disappointment. “I guess I’m back to square one.” The empty page seemed to stare back at him, echoing the emptiness he felt in his chest. “What am I supposed to do now?”
“Hey now, don’t give up so quickly.” Lisa said, resting against her elbow as she leaned over the tabletop. “I’m not letting you out of your writing exercise so easily, you know.”
Durin looked over at her then, curious what she meant.
“You write plenty of letters – you should know there’s more to letter writing than love letters, cutie.” There seemed to be a knowing sparkle in her eye, as if she had pieced together that Durin was trying to write this to the same person he always wrote to – and Durin wondered how she could possibly have figured that out. It was honestly quite scary how much Lisa seemed to know everything. Did she have eyes everywhere in Mondstadt? Even all the way to Sumeru?
Durin didn’t understand what she was trying to say, though, and he frowned in confusion. He supposed he could just write Wanderer a regular letter while he was here, but… that didn’t seem like it was exactly what Lisa had in mind, either.
“If you really want to get them together through letters,” Lisa said knowingly, “then you should do it as yourself. It doesn’t have to be an overtly romantic gesture. Do it the way you know best, cutie – just be honest. But,” she said carefully, “doing so doesn’t need to involve telling them what your intentions are. I’ll let you in on a little secret; if you’re going to be matchmaking, then you need to know that there’s an art to that as well.”
Durin turned the words over conscientiously in his head. “So…” he started, trying to reach the conclusion she was laying out for him, but finding that he was falling a little short of actually figuring out what she meant, staying silent as he tried to grasp it.
“So,” she supplied helpfully, “you’ll need to find someone with a mastery of matchmaking. I’ll tell you one thing; it’s not me. Writing this letter will be your homework – though whether it gets sent or not is entirely up to you. Understood?”
Durin frowned, realizing that this art of “match making” was going to be a lot more arduous than he’d originally believed. Still, he’d come this far – he’d set out to do it, and his two favorite people in the entire world deserved to feel happy and loved. So, regardless of how much effort it took, Durin was determined to see it through. “Okay,” he said, agreeing to whatever quest this was going to turn out to be. “But please promise you won’t tell Albedo.”
Lisa smiled gently, that knowing look never leaving her eyes. “I promise, cutie. Now off with you, then; I have a meeting with a cup of tea, and you have a meeting with some of Mondstadt’s most artful romancers.”
Durin waited, expectantly, but Lisa only stood up, the legs of her wooden chair scraping against the floor as she readied herself to leave.
“…You’re not going to tell me who to see?” He asked hesitantly.
To Durin’s dismay, Lisa only laughed, giving him a little wave as she disappeared around the corner, vanishing into the depths of the library.
Looking down at the blank paper set before him at the table, Durin crossed his arms in consternation. He supposed he’d have to hold onto it for the time being, then.