Chapter Text
Dear Lord forgive the love I have
for you and your fervent servants.
—Christian Wiman, "We Lived"
At three in the morning, head bent low over piles of paperwork, Jean Gunnhildr looked haggard in a way she never permitted herself to be in the light of day. Yellow candlelight clung to the wan, ashen lines of her face, highlighting the dark circles beneath her eyes growing darker still.
It felt like an intrusion, a betrayal, to see her like this. Eula was intimately familiar with how hard the Acting Grand Master worked to keep that steadfast, infallible, clear-eyed mask locked in place wherever others were watching.
But as always, she buried her discomfort and marched into Jean's office with shoulders squared, her own mask cool and sharp as glacial ice.
"Ah." Jean didn't so much as startle. "Captain Eula. You're back."
Her tired gaze flickered up to meet Eula's without surprise, then drifted right back down to resume her work. As though the late-night intrusion was just barely worth acknowledging.
Perhaps once upon a time, Eula would have been stung by this. But she'd long ago made peace with the reality that she could never hope to hold the whole of Jean Gunnhildr's attention. It was a commodity far too in demand, pulled and tugged as many directions as dandelion seeds in their fickle Archon's wind. To chase such a thing was a childish fantasy: fun sometimes, but leading nowhere.
Eula Lawrence had already picked more than her fair share of losing battles, and was busy fighting them still—she had little interest in adding another to her timetable.
"Acting Grand Master," she said, clipped. "Burning the midnight oil again, are we?"
"What can I say?" Jean's mouth quirked. "If there's work that must be done... it must be done. Regardless of whether the sun is in the sky or not."
Eula wondered dryly if this was yet another charming axiom drilled into Gunnhildr children from birth. She didn't voice this thought aloud.
"I'm curious," she said instead. "Is 'regular sleep deprivation' formally penciled into that draconian daily schedule of yours, or would you consider it more of an extemporaneous thing?"
"Believe it or not, Eula"—there was a faint undercurrent of amusement in her voice now—"I don't in fact wake up conspiring to stay up this late every night."
A stupid little butterfly fluttered to life in Eula's lungs whenever Jean said her name like this, without formality or titles. She smothered it ruthlessly.
"So you mean to say this egregious lack of care for one's own health and sanity isn't premeditated? How out-of-character for our Acting Grand Master!"
"It's not for lack of trying. But emergencies come up—"
"Yes, 'emergencies', like the latest cat stuck up a tree crying for the Dandelion Knight's singular heroics—"
"—then vital tasks become delayed and demand my attention—"
"'Vital tasks', which evidently never include 'take a damn nap'—"
"Well, according to my 'draconian daily schedule'"—here, Jean was most definitely suppressing a smirk, and Eula tried not to preen—"I should've been in bed at ten thirty p.m. on the dot. Lofty aspirations, I'll admit."
"Ten thirty. Of course," Eula said wryly. "So you may catch precisely six hours of sleep in time to rise for training drills at half past four. I can certainly see the Frederica-shaped roots of inspiration for this timetable."
"That was—more than a decade ago—" Jean flushed. "What does my—my mother have to do with how I choose to run my life in the present?"
She should've been smug to have finally pierced through an inch of the Acting Grand Master's iron composure. Instead an old, familiar feeling throbbed in Eula's chest. She looked away.
"Nothing, of course," she said breezily. "A joke in poor taste. Forgive the lapse."
Senior knights liked to gossip about the infamous schedule Jean meticulously laid out for herself every new dawn: the one that rigidly segmented each day of Jean's life down to the last minute. Eula was more familiar with this schedule than most. Though content differed greatly, its rigorous format bore eerie resemblance to the daily training regimen designed by Frederica Gunnhildr for her daughter so many years ago, which in turn bore eerie resemblance to the regimen that dominated the first fifteen years of Eula's own life. Noblesse oblige, indeed.
But she and Jean—they were not in the habit of stirring up old shadows from the past.
After a pause, Jean's faint, twitching smile returned: equal parts amused and bemused. "An apology from the Spindrift Knight? Would I be wrong to say, then, that I may seek vengeance for this transgression?"
"That would be appropriate," she allowed. "But be warned, my grievances against you haven't been forgotten. Were we to both exact vengeance, it could be interesting to see who's left paying the heavier price."
"Then we must defer it to a later date," Jean laughed. The little butterfly in Eula's lungs was growing distressingly warm. "After all, the hour is very late for the both of us—like you so politely pointed out."
"Does this mean you'll finally be heading to sleep?"
"Definitely not! This stack of paperwork is time-sensitive." Jean flipped a page, then tore her gaze away from her files to spare her a meaningful glance. "And I'm not the only one missing sleep, Captain."
"If it's a matter of missing the most sleep, though—"
"Why are you here, Eula?"
A rare silence overtook her.
"I doubt you felt the need to hand in your field report at this hour of night," Jean continued blithely. "Besides, your team is back before schedule. We weren't expecting you until tomorrow morning."
"We only just got back," Eula admitted.
It'd been a long scouting expedition, even for them. They could have made camp for the night and reached Mondstadt the next day as scheduled, but Eula knew her team ached to return sooner rather than later, regardless if the difference was only a matter of hours. After six weeks of wilderness, they missed their homes, their warm beds, their families.
Jean cocked her head, slow and curious. "You just got back," she repeated. "And instead of retiring to your apartment to sleep, you marched straight here."
You should be used to that by now, Eula didn't say.
I saw the light coming from your office window, she didn't say either. I'm worried you've stopped sleeping again.
"Someday, I'll make you pay for whatever foolishness you're implying," was what she did say, fixing her gaze on the space above Jean's head. "I came to deliver something."
She retrieved two objects from her pack and set them on the Acting Grand Master's desk: a neatly sealed dossier and a thermos warm to the touch.
"The Galesong report," Eula said brusquely, "which you'd better not even consider opening until after a full night's rest."
"And this?" Jean reached for the thermos.
"Some warm milk." Eula looked away again. "Don't get the wrong idea. I'd heated it over the fire before we set off, but didn't require it for myself on the journey home because the night was much warmer than anticipated."
A lie, of course. She'd heated it five minutes before entering the Acting Grand Master's office.
"Hmm," said Jean. "You couldn't have brought coffee?"
Eula glared. Jean was biting back another laugh. This woman would be the death of her.
"More coffee is the last thing you need," she said scathingly, turning on her heel to leave. "Drink the milk and go to bed, Acting Grand Master. Or don't. It's none of my concern."
"Very well," said Jean. She sounded far too cheerful for someone running herself ragged. "I appreciate the prompt delivery of your report, Captain. You can debrief me on your findings tomorrow."
"Whatever you say," she sighed, flicking up a lazy hand in acknowledgment. "Tomorrow, then."
"Oh, and Eula?"
She paused at the doorway, her back to her, but didn't turn around. "What?"
"Thank you for worrying about me."
"...Yes, well. You ought to take better care." Her mouth had gone dry and stupid, but her voice stayed mercifully steady. "I doubt this city could survive losing their beloved Dandelion Knight."
"We would just as much hate to lose our Spindrift Knight," said Jean gently. "So please take care of yourself as well."
Another egregious lie, and they both knew it. There were some who would surely dance in the streets at the news of a Lawrence's untimely death. But for once, Eula refrained from pointing this out.
"Good night, Master Jean," she said instead. She swallowed the rising lump in her throat and strode out, letting the door fall softly shut behind her.
***
The knighthood ceremony of the Ordo Favonius comprised a set of traditions dating back nine hundred years, almost to the days of Lady Vennessa herself. The specifics had been adapted to accommodate the passing centuries, but the spirit remained unchanged.
The evening before the official ceremony, the knight-to-be took a ritual cleansing bath deep in the chambers of the Favonius Cathedral. Newly washed of sin, they would be clothed in light, simple fabrics and begin a ten-hour vigil which would last until sunrise. In modern Mondstadt, most knights chose to keep vigil inside the cathedral, though some of the devout knelt at the foot of the Anemo Archon's statue out in the courtyard if weather permitted.
It was whispered that Jean Gunnhildr had kept her vigil at Windrise, beneath the looming shadow of Vennessa's great oak tree. Her knighthood ceremony took place at the end of one of the harshest winters in Mondstadt's history. She was so young—still just a girl—but the citizens spoke of her commitment with nothing but awe. Even back then, every knight and squire and maid believed the rumors saying she would inherit the mantle of Dandelion Knight, Lionfang Knight, and—eventually but inevitably—Grand Master of the order.
But not yet. Not yet. Years later, on the eve of Eula's own ceremony, Varka was still the Grand Master, the unflappable Knight of Boreas, and Jean had only recently been promoted from captain to his second-in-command. Eula wondered, with some weariness, which of the two masters would be the one to knight her in the morning.
Who would be less incendiary in the eyes of the public? The Grand Master or the Dandelion Knight? The respected titan of the Ordo Favonius or the revered heir of the Gunnhildr clan? She doubted it would matter much in the end, but the question clung like a stubborn burr.
Eula slipped out of the ritual bath feeling heavier and guiltier than she had stepping in. How pointless: most centuries-old traditions were. As if some bathwater would be enough to scrub the sin from her. As if it could be so easy as a night of kneeling and praying to an absent god.
It wasn't enough and would never be, should never be. Everyone understood this. Eula understood this most keenly of all.
But she dressed herself in the thin cloth tunic and cloak the wary-eyed sisters of the church had laid out for her. She found the private upstairs room they prepared, took her station by the candlelit altar, and knelt. The perfect image of an obedient postulant. For her, there would be no going to Barbatos's statue or Vennessa's tree. Varka had made it clear, tactfully but firmly, it would be best that her vigil take place within the walls of the cathedral. Extra patrols were posted outside, watching for passionate citizens or members of her clan.
The word was out that the scion of House Lawrence would officially be knighted at dawn, and tensions in the city were boiling to a fast breaking point.
Eula knelt, and slowed her breathing, and didn't pray. She waited.
It was winter—a winter almost as cold as the one that had seen Jean Gunnhildr knighted. But if Eula were being honest with herself, she knew she would not have chosen to complete her vigil at Windrise even if she'd had the option. Though an inextinguishable corner of her heart would always itch to match and surpass Jean Gunnhildr, the rest of her had learned to grow quiet and calm in recent years. She supposed she had a stubborn old man and a whistle of bird's bone to thank for that.
If she'd had the freedom to pick the site of her vigil, she would have gone somewhere she could hear the waves.
She sucked in another slow breath. A fresh chill swept over the room, carried in by the breeze blowing through the narrow window left open as was customary of any space for worshipping the Anemo Archon. Idly, she wondered if the gust of cold indicated whether Barbatos was blessing or condemning her choice: she wasn't sure which would make her more uncomfortable.
"Pssst. Psssssst! Eula!"
Hmm. It seemed the breeze had brought in more than just the cold this time.
The blaze of a familiar red headband and even more familiar smile materialized in the window frame.
"The all-night vigil on the eve of one's knighthood ceremony," Eula recited in an even tone, "is meant to be spent alone, in prayer and silent contemplation so that one may take their oaths at dawn with a clear mind and unburdened heart."
"Sure, sure, sure, but you totally have both those things already," Amber said, breezy and confident. "And I know you don't care about tradition and ritual and whatnot!"
Eula held on to her severe mask for only a few more moments before breaking into an exasperated smile. "What are you doing here, Amber?"
"I asked to be posted on patrol tonight! You know I never really get cold."
"Uh-huh. And have you spent your patrol peeking through every window of the cathedral to find my room?"
Amber stuck out her tongue. "I'll have you know yours was only the fourth—okay, maybe fifth!—window I checked."
"I see," Eula chuckled. "Nothing escapes the eagle eyes of Mondstadt's most diligent Outrider."
Mondstadt's most diligent Outrider beamed. Eula was glad to see her spirits were recovering. It had been several months, now, since Amber's grandfather had vanished without warning. His unit was falling apart in his absence, unable to withstand the rampant rumors of his defection. Amber was quickly looking to become Mondstadt's only Outrider, and Eula often worried how the younger girl was coping.
Worrying was the least she could do. She owed her and her grandfather everything. It weighed on her sometimes—how impossible it felt to repay such a debt.
"How are you holding up?" Amber asked, brow pinched as though she was worried for Eula as much as Eula was worried for her. "Are you, um, nervous for tomorrow?"
"What's there to be nervous about?"
"You tell me." Amber gave her an unimpressed look. "I've been saying for years you should officially join the Knights. You always argued it'd be a bad idea. But now..."
"But now circumstances have changed," said Eula curtly.
Nearly a year ago: Captain Diluc Ragnvindr abandoned his post and vanished from Mondstadt, leaving even his Vision behind. Mere months later, a high-ranking and influential Inspector was dishonorably discharged from the order for reasons unspecified. And months after that, the first Outrider disappeared just when his beloved granddaughter had won entry into the Knights. The entire order was in disarray, Fatui diplomatic pressure in the city was mounting swiftly, and Jean Gunnhildr had been promoted.
Three weeks ago, Eula Lawrence was paid a visit.
"I guess a lot of things have changed," said Amber distantly. Thinking of her grandfather, no doubt. "Life as an Outrider isn't everything I thought it'd be."
Eula softened. "Everything will be set right, Amber. I give you my word."
She wanted to flinch as soon as she said it. A silly, helpless part of her still expected to be met with anger, a harsh reminder that the word of someone like her was worse than worthless. But she'd forgotten whom she was talking to.
"Hmm, if you say so!" Amber's grin flickered back to dazzling life. "I'm just so glad we're finally gonna be real knights together. As soon as you're done with this boring—uhh, I mean super important vigil thing anyway."
"It's not that bad."
"Not that bad? I was dying during mine! I either wanted to run around, do some jumping jacks, or go to sleep, but I wasn't supposed to do anything."
Eula smiled. It was true that telling Amber to sit still and silent for ten hours was probably the cruelest request anyone could make of her. But Eula had her own reasons for resenting the tradition.
"This isn't the first time I've completed such rituals," she found herself admitting. Her eyes drifted out the window, to the cold distant stars above Amber's head. "The Knights and the old aristocracy share the same cultural roots, you know."
"You mean your family did stuff like this, too?" Amber perked up, like she always did when Eula mentioned her clan.
She sighed. This girl was impossible: her reactions to such dangerous subjects were the opposite of logical, and probably counterproductive to her own survival.
But Eula humored her curiosity. "Yes. The Lawrence clan has... trials... one must successfully endure to win the dubious honor of bearing our family crest."
"The Glacial Seal," Amber supplied with enthusiasm. "That awesome cold glowy thing you have!"
Eula grinned despite herself. "Yes. That." Her brow pinched a moment later, humor dissipating. "The rituals one must perform before attempting the trial are not unlike the Knights' own. But very few of us have managed to earn the Seal in a thousand years. Neither of my parents were able to do it, that's for sure."
"Ooh, what about your uncle Schubert?"
Eula shuddered. "Definitely not my uncle Schubert."
They laughed. That man was the only Lawrence clan elder who still lurked around town on a regular basis. Both she and Amber had had their share of unpleasant run-ins with him. A part of her suspected he'd been sent to the city by the clan to spy on her. He was more or less the only contact she'd had with her family in the past three years.
"So it's gotta be pretty impressive that you have the Glacial Seal, huh?" Amber said. "You must have worked really hard."
"I suppose I did." Though she'd never had much choice in the matter.
She'd been fifteen years old when her parents had her undergo the trial. She hadn't thought herself young at the time. After all, Jean Gunnhildr was fifteen when she'd earned the title of Dandelion Knight, the weight of Mondstadt's future on her shoulders. Fifteen was also the age Amber was now: Mondstadt's newest and final Outrider.
But the day her grandfather had left them behind, Amber had looked very young indeed.
Eula was beginning to think they were all too young, every one of them.
"Which was more boring, d'you think?" said Amber. "The rituals you had to do before your clan's trial, or the rituals you're doing right now before the ceremony?"
"Hmm. Well, I didn't have anyone like you to intrude on my solitary vigil last time around..."
"Oh, that's true! Obviously I make everything way more exciting, right?"
Eula didn't answer, just hummed again, pretending to think about it.
"Right? Right? Eula!" she complained.
"Okay, okay," she relented, laughing. "Yes, obviously, your timely interruption has made tonight marginally less boring. And for this, I promise to make you pay."
"Mark your words, vengeance will be yours, yeah, yeah, whatever." Amber was beaming again, evidently satisfied with her answer.
"Though it's funny how the rituals themselves aren't as different as you'd think," Eula said. "On the eve of my trial back then, I had to take the silly cleansing bath and everything, too."
"At the cathedral? I don't usually see your family hang around here much..."
"Hm? No, of course not the cathedral." She laughed a little at the idea. "But if you're familiar with the lake at the foot of Dragonspine—"
"What the fuck!" Amber caught herself and slapped two hands over her mouth, glancing around warily.
"Don't worry," Eula said wryly. "From what the bards sing of Barbatos, I think he'd approve of curse words in his place of worship."
"What the fuck," Amber repeated, closer to a whisper this time. "You'd freeze your limbs off in that lake."
"That's sort of the point. The bitter cold is meant to purify and purge. To burn away the postulant's frailty, her doubts, her sins—"
"And a layer of her skin tissue!"
"Don't be so dramatic," said Eula. "You know, if the Knights of Favonius hadn't adapted their traditions over time and established this cushy cathedral, you would have been bathing at Dragonspine as well! Good thing you 'never get cold', right?"
"Quiet, you," Amber huffed. "Don't tell me—after your ice bath in the lake, you climbed to the peak of Dragonspine and kept vigil there all night long while buck naked!"
"Now you're just being absurd." She paused. "I mean, I had clothes for that part." The breeze-blessed vestments of a postulant: same as what the sisters had given her tonight. Some things never changed.
"Sheesh," said Amber. "Aristocrats are crazy."
"Yeah." Eula let out a laugh that died too quickly. "You don't know the half of it."
Such rituals hadn't been much more than a minor nuisance to her back then. If anything, they were almost a relief. A night of quiet solitude, safe from the suffocating grip of her family and tutors.
The actual trial to earn the Glacial Seal—that had been markedly less pleasant.
But she'd passed. She passed, and she turned her back on the Lawrence clan with their highest honor tucked away in her fist, and in a lonely and aching and wretched state she met an old Outrider, his granddaughter, and their mercy.
"I'm really glad you're here, Eula."
She closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she finally answered Amber's forgotten question with a confession—
"I am nervous for tomorrow. More nervous than I was before my clan's trials."
"I know," Amber said, quiet and kind. "But I'll be cheering you on through the whole thing. And guess what?"
"What?" said Eula. The hard marble of the floor had begun to grind painfully into her knees, but she didn't tremble, didn't waver, her sinner's body from crown to toe one taut, surging string of anticipation.
"I heard the Dandelion Knight herself is going to be at your ceremony! Isn't that so exciting?"
***
It was rare that the Reconnaissance Captain ever spent more than a few days at a time in Mondstadt before setting out again on another assignment. It was rarer still that she found herself relaxing and actually enjoying her time in the city.
But the past week had been a pleasant exception on both counts, so it was in high spirits that Eula arrived at the Knights of Favonius headquarters to finally receive instructions for her next expedition.
Her good mood suffered a small hit, though, when she found a certain familiar face blocking the door to the Acting Grand Master's office.
"Oh, it's you, darling," came that voice like a trickle of warm honey. "Here to visit Jean?"
"Lisa," she greeted stiffly. "Yes, I'm here to report to the Acting Grand Master."
"Of course you are," said Lisa, eyes twinkling with naked amusement.
Every interaction with the librarian had a strange way of making Eula feel like she was being made fun of, or at the very least like Lisa was enjoying some private joke at her expense. Perhaps that was why being alone with Lisa Minci always left her a little uneasy, though she was well aware that Jean trusted the woman absolutely and irrevocably.
Come to think of it, being in Lisa's presence with Jean—something that happened with unfortunate regularity—didn't make Eula feel any better, either. If anything, it made matters even worse. Eula very deliberately refused to analyze why this could be.
"Well, Jean and I just finished having tea together," Lisa continued cheerfully, "so it's a shame you didn't drop by earlier. Poor thing, you're home so rarely as it is—"
"Rest assured, I prefer to be out in the field—"
"—and I've missed our little three-way tea breaks." Lisa sighed. "I could brew another pot now, if you'd like. Jean's office has biscuits."
"It's fine," said Eula. "I already ate."
"I see." Lisa slipped her a knowing smile. "With that adorable guest of yours, right?"
"No." Eula frowned. How did she even know about her? "She departed a couple hours ago. It's a long journey back to Liyue."
"That's a shame," said Lisa, sounding like she thought exactly the opposite.
There was an awkward moment of silence before Lisa languidly moved aside, clearing the way to Jean's office door.
"Best not to keep her waiting, dear," she said, as if she hadn't been the one delaying Eula's appointment. "Our sweet Dandelion Knight's been in a... strange mood the past few days."
Lisa winked as though Eula should have any idea what she could be implying, but sauntered away before she could ask—not that she particularly wanted to pursue that line of questioning.
She shook her head, ears warm as they always were after a conversation with the librarian, and pushed open Jean's door without knocking.
The Acting Grand Master was seated behind her desk, as usual, her attention fixed on a neat pile of paperwork, as usual.
"Captain Eula," she greeted her briskly, as usual, barely looking up from her work.
Eula almost rolled her eyes at Lisa's unintelligible antics. What 'strange mood' had she been talking about? Jean seemed to be her regular, reliable self.
"Acting Grand Master." She dipped her head. "Any updates on the situation in Brightcrown Canyon?"
"I'm afraid so," Jean said grimly. "Albedo's investigators confirmed your suspicions. They tested an irregular spike in the region's elemental energy: Abyss Order activity is highly likely."
This got Eula's attention. "I'll prepare my core team of scouts immediately," she said. "We'll be ready to depart by sunset."
"No," said Jean. "You told me yourself you have reason to believe the Abyss Order's established a full base of operations somewhere in the canyon. If that's the case, your core team is not nearly enough manpower."
"Greater numbers would slow our travel time exponentially," she argued. "Not to mention tip the enemy off to our presence as soon as we got near—"
"Eula," she said, a note of warning in her voice.
"Acting Grand Master."
They stared each other down. Jean was no longer looking at her paperwork, at least. Her fingers twitched, as though she wanted to twiddle with her pen or perhaps knead a fist against her temple—she looked so tired these days, like she was always teetering on the brink of a migraine—but of course the great Dandelion Knight was too disciplined, held herself too tight to give in to such gestures.
Once again: a familiar ghost of a feeling, twisting into lumpy knots in Eula's chest.
She said, quieter, "Master Jean—"
But Jean was speaking at the same time, "Listen, Albedo's report yesterday made clear that—"
"Wait," Eula interrupted. "Yesterday? The Investigation Team got their findings back to you yesterday? How come I wasn't briefed until now?" Ordinarily, she and her team would have been sent out as soon as the report was received.
Was this Jean's 'strange mood' Lisa had mentioned? Was the lack of proper rest finally catching up to her?
Jean seemed to hesitate. "I didn't wish to disturb you on your week off. Besides, we needed some time to confirm everything."
"Week off?" What? "You know as well as I do that I'm always on call. You could have sent for me."
"Yes, well..." Jean cleared her throat, and now she was fidgeting with her pen. "You appeared to be having fun with your... guest."
Eula's brows lifted.
"Several concerned citizens were sending in reports," said Jean, "claiming you were 'in cahoots' with a strange antlered woman with pink hair. They witnessed the two of you visiting several locations in the city, whispering and laughing together. People were—worried, let's say."
Eula scoffed, her own face going a little pink. "Is it really so alarming to see me laugh?"
"Apparently so." Jean gave a wan smile. "I dismissed the accusations that you were scheming against Mondstadt, of course—"
"Oh, I wouldn't be so quick to discount that possibility if I were you, Acting Grand Master—"
"—but it's rare to see you, ah, out and about with someone other than Amber. Lisa said it would be good for you to enjoy some downtime for once."
"As much as I hate to disappoint our dear meddling librarian," drawled Eula, "it wasn't so much 'downtime' as it was 'assisting a friend with a professional matter'."
"Oh?"
"Yanfei is a legal adviser from Liyue," she said. "She was visiting Mondstadt to investigate a complicated cross-border tax dispute on behalf of a client of hers."
"I see." Recognition flashed across Jean's face, as well as something else, too quick and small to decipher. "Yanfei. I recall you helped her out during the Dornman Port operation a while back."
"Yes, we've kept in touch since then. Given my familiarity with local legislation, I offered her my insight on her client's case while she was in town."
They'd ended up spending much of the week in each other's company. Perhaps her absence from headquarters was why Jean and Lisa had assumed she was taking vacation. It was too easy, after all, to spend and enjoy time with Yanfei. They had a natural rapport, and Yanfei wasn't from Mondstadt. Her forebears were not from Mondstadt. Eula did not owe her a blood debt she could never, ever hope to repay. Yes, spending time with Yanfei was easy: shamefully indulgent, a relief Eula did not quite deserve.
"If I had known Liyue Harbor's top legal adviser was investigating something here..." Jean was frowning. "As the Acting Grand Master, I am the most familiar with our legislation and should have handled the responsibility of assisting—"
"I wouldn't worry about it if I were you," Eula cut her off before she could spiral. "It wasn't that big a deal. And Yanfei wasn't looking for input from the Acting Grand Master, but rather someone with a more... flexible perspective."
Jean's frown didn't disappear, though it did grow more perplexed. Eula bit back a laugh.
"Legal loopholes," she clarified helpfully. "What else would interest a lawyer?"
Perplexity hardened into predictable disapproval. "I trust you know better than to be complicit in anything unsavory, Captain Eula," she said. "It would be disappointing to hear this trust was misplaced."
"Please." Eula did laugh, now. "Yanfei is as 'savory' as they come, I'm afraid. At most, we considered some interesting thought experiments together and engaged in spirited debate at my favorite sweet-shops in town."
"Oh." This seemed to placate Jean to some degree, but an inscrutable discontent still lingered in the corners of her eyes. "I suppose that's acceptable, then."
"Besides," Eula said lightly, "we both know you have far too much on your plate already." You always do. "There was no need to trouble you with something like this."
Jean shook her head, waving off Eula's thinly veiled concern like it was a buzzing insect, persistent but otherwise unremarkable.
A brief silence settled over them as she studied Jean's face, trying to figure out that inscrutable emotion flickering through the impenetrable storm of those eyes. She breathed in, slow and frustrated. The rich, sweet aroma of jasmine tea and the faint floral notes of Lisa Minci's perfume lingered within the office, overpowering the usual dandelion scent she'd come to associate with Jean: bittersweet and clean and sharp.
Eula's stomach squirmed with an unnameable discomfort. She viciously ignored it.
"I'm afraid we've gotten sidetracked," said Jean. "The pressing matter is Brightcrown Canyon—"
If it's so pressing, Eula wanted to retort, then you should have apprised me of the situation yesterday. But she knew she wouldn't be getting any more explanations out of the stubborn woman, so she dropped the issue and listened raptly—a well-behaved knight—as Jean debriefed her in full.
Though she was a marginally less well-behaved knight when she opted to resume their argument on the size of her traveling party.
"We've already lost a day," she said, but didn't push that particular topic in the face of Jean's tired, warning glare. "Let me venture ahead and get eyes on the situation. I'll send word for backup from the rest of the 4th Company if it's warranted."
"Eula..."
"With respect, Acting Grand Master," she said, "I lead a team of scouts. Permit us to do our jobs and, well, actually scout."
After a charged pause, the rigid line of Jean's shoulders slackened. She heaved a sigh.
"Very well. Take your core team and set out tonight, but please tread carefully."
"We always do."
"I expect you to send a messenger with your status report within three days."
"As you command, Acting Grand Master."
"Uh-huh," said Jean, like she didn't quite believe her. But her gaze slid back down to the papers on her desk, which Eula understood to signify the end of the conversation.
"All right then," she said, suddenly awkward. She was never good with goodbyes. "I—suppose I'm off to make preparations."
She turned for the door.
"One last thing, Captain." When Jean spoke next, she didn't bother to look up from her paperwork, but there was a careful edge to her words that gave Eula pause. "The... legal adviser from Liyue."
"Yanfei," she supplied automatically. "What about her?"
Quiet, except for the steady scratch of Jean's pen. Finally, eyes still fixed downward on her work, she said, "Please be mindful of how you conduct yourself with her. She's a prominent figure in Liyue Harbor, and the last thing Mondstadt needs is a diplomatic incident. The Fatui will take any excuse to sink their claws into us."
Eula blinked. Then blinked again.
"I'm not sure what you mean."
"Of course," Jean plowed ahead like she hadn't heard her, "you are free to spend your leisure time with whomever you wish. It's none of my business. But as Reconnaissance Captain, your actions reflect upon the Knights of Favonius, which you know is my foremost concern. So..."
She cleared her throat. Her gaze remained glued to the paperwork below her, but her pen hadn't moved in at least thirty-three seconds.
"...Just be mindful," Jean concluded in carefully measured tones. "Yes. That's all. That's all I meant to communicate to you."
If Eula looked very closely, she could almost swear the tips of the Acting Grand Master's ears were glowing pink.
There were many things she could have said then: a dozen different ways she could have teased her, and perhaps at last gain the upper hand. A flower of warmth—tender and elated—uncurled in Eula's chest, enveloping the stupid little butterfly that had long taken up residence in her lungs.
Sunlight poured through the windows and caught in the shining gold of Jean's hair, the freckles on the tense curve of her jaw. She looked young, for once. She was young, still: they both were. It was easy to forget. But they were young, and it felt like they were perched on the cliff's edge of something, these days, something hot and brittle, and Eula hardly dared to breathe for fear of losing her footing.
In the end, she only bowed her head one last time: "As you command, Acting Grand Master."
Jean's head snapped up, a startled animal. Her eyes found Eula's already waiting, steadfast and patient, and Eula watched as that familiar rolling storm in the Lionfang Knight's stare gave way to softer things.
"Of course," Jean said quietly. "May the wind guide you to safe harbors, Eula."
"May the wind let you take a damn nap," she replied, marching out of the room before Jean could catch the irrepressible smile spilling across her face.
***
"Let's go on an adventure."
Jean glanced over her shoulder at the sound of her voice and rolled her eyes. "Every time you say that, you just want to drag me out somewhere new and ominous to spar."
"'Ominous'?" said Eula, a grin pulling at one corner of her lips. "I prefer 'scenic'. Vibrant backdrops worthy of the grand scope of our enmity."
Jean just smirked. "Whatever you say." She didn't move to leave her desk.
It was baffling, the sheer amount of paperwork that would accumulate on that desk. Eula knew for a fact Grand Master Varka's office didn't look like this. She wondered if he was slacking off on his admin duties and leaving them to his too-reliable second again—if so, she'd be taking swift vengeance next time she ran into him.
In the meantime, she leaned one hip on the corner of that too-reliable second's miserably overburdened desk.
"What's wrong, Dandelion Knight?" she teased. "Afraid of losing to me?"
"Maybe I'd be more afraid of such a thing," Jean said placidly, "if you'd ever managed to beat me before. Precedent speaks volumes, you know."
"Aha, so this Lionfang Knight has teeth after all! I was beginning to have doubts."
"Meanwhile this novice knight is looking to be all bark and no bite," Jean retorted, eyes gleaming. But she was already standing up and reaching for her coat, so Eula knew she'd won.
"Who are you calling a novice?" she said with mock affront. "I'll have you know, a reliable source told me in confidence that I'm already being considered for a captaincy. I could be promoted by the end of this quarter, even!"
"A reliable—?" Jean sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Grand Master Varka can't keep anything confidential for the life of him, can he?"
"He really can’t," said Eula smugly. "But don't worry. I know better than to interpret his words as any sort of promise. After all, such a promotion would require recommendations from both the Grand Master and Master of Knights, wouldn't it?"
"No comment," said Jean, pressing her lips together.
They stepped outside. The day was bright and temperate, a gentle breeze stirring the autumn leaves around them in a great vivid swirl of red and gold. Ideal weather for sparring. Some recruits training in the courtyard stared holes into their backs as they passed, but if Jean noticed, she didn't say anything, and Eula followed her lead.
It wasn't as though she could really blame them. The Lawrence girl skulking in the shadows of the shining Dandelion Knight: it was little wonder onlookers were concerned! But the thought didn't weigh on Eula as it once might have. However Jean liked to tease, Eula was far from a novice knight now. It had been nearly two years since she'd joined the order, and she was growing dangerously close to something resembling comfortable.
But two years hadn't been enough to change how the dense tension knotted deep into her shoulders unspooled and grew lighter the moment they made it outside the city walls. Cool, crisp air filled her lungs.
"So," said Jean, "where are we going this time?"
"Follow and find out, Master of Knights."
"How ominous," she remarked. "Or should I say, 'scenic'."
Eula laughed, and Jean grinned back. She wondered if it was just her imagination—or perhaps some level of wishful thinking—or if Jean, too, smiled brighter and more easily once they were away from the city.
They headed into the Whispering Woods, an area familiar to them both. The ground underfoot was littered with twigs, leaves, and browning tree needles, but their boots didn't so much as crunch throughout their walk: Eula had the trained, silent gait of a scout, a hunter, while Jean moved with the quick, breeze-blessed steps of one favored by the Anemo Archon.
"Do you remember," said Jean, "when we used to bump into each other here as kids?"
Birdsong rang faintly in the distance. Eula took slow, measured breaths, drinking in the earthy scents of cedarwood and moss, and slipped Jean a wary glance. The other woman wasn't looking at her, attention fixed solely on the way ahead, which was just as well.
She took her time searching the lines of Jean's face. The dark, scattered spray of sun-kissed freckles; the tired shadows at the corner of her eyes, making her look older; the slight childish roundness that had stayed stubbornly all through adolescence, betraying her true age. In the end, she still couldn't decipher what she might be thinking.
Neither of them were the type to wax nostalgic about the distant past—at least not in the company of each other. It wasn't like they had ever been friends back then. It wasn't like they were friends now, either, but that was a line of thought too prickly and exhausting to pursue.
"I remember you used to run around in circles like a lunatic, trying to catch lizards," said Eula. "You were a very strange child."
"Are we pretending that you were the apex of normalcy?"
"Touché."
A fallen tree trunk blocked the path ahead. Jean hopped atop it with easy thoughtless poise, coattails flapping behind her in the breeze. She turned and bent down to offer a gloved hand, a faint sunlit smile on her lips.
"Ever the gallant knight," Eula intoned, ignoring the hand. She vaulted over the log and fixed her attention anywhere but on the other woman's face.
With a soft, amused chuckle, Jean landed lightly on the balls of her feet beside her.
"I was taught to show a chivalrous spirit to everyone around me," she said gaily, "no matter how unappreciative the audience."
"You're insufferable," said Eula, biting back a smile of her own.
Jean just laughed again in response, dusting off her coat. Without thinking, Eula reached over and plucked out a small, errant twig that had nestled itself in her collar.
At Jean's amused stare—close, too close—Eula pulled back, dropped the twig, and began walking away.
"You've changed a lot," said Jean from behind her. "Since we were younger, I mean."
Eula looked down, and quickened her pace. Her chest throbbed.
"So have you," she said eventually. "I don't see you chasing lizards around the forest anymore."
Jean shook her head, quiet and calm with those tired, tired eyes, and if Eula didn't know better, she might think this woman bore no resemblance whatsoever to the girl she'd once been in these woods, all those many years ago.
"We're here."
They ducked under a low branch and stepped into the grassy clearing Eula had scoped out on her last patrol. Towering cedars surrounded them on all sides, walling them off from the rest of Mondstadt, the prying eyes and pressing weight of impossible expectations.
She tossed Jean one of the two wooden wasters she'd brought with her. Jean caught the sword by the pommel, tested its weight in her grip. Then she readied her stance, the crisp, polished precision of her form a delicious contrast to the wild grin flickering at the corners of her lips.
Eula wondered—how many people got to see Mondstadt's Dandelion Knight like this? Did they realize her eyes were keen pools of mercury, quicksilver, liquid and deadly? How could they be near this barely restrained windstorm of a woman, and notice only the gentlest breeze? Were they blind?
They fought three bouts to a tense draw.
This was an expected result. A small, enduring knot of frustration simmered in Eula's gut anyway. Varka often said she and Jean were equals in swordsmanship, but—
The first time Eula Lawrence had lost a spar to the heir of House Gunnhildr, they'd been six years old and fighting with tree branches. Jean would likely insist something like that didn't count, but Eula was not so naïve.
In a real duel between them, with metal and blood, wind and ice, who would emerge victorious?
"You did well," said Jean, trading her weapon for a sloshing canteen. Beads of sweat glistened on the column of her throat and the strong curve of her jaw. They glittered wet in the sunlight when she brought the canteen to her lips, tilted her head back, and drank.
Then she held the canteen out to Eula, who accepted it mutely. The water was cool and sweet, but even as she swallowed, she tracked her dear opponent's movements in her periphery vision. The collar of the Dandelion Knight's coat was rumpled and crooked, and a curl of golden hair had come loose from her ponytail. There was a smudge of dirt on her left cheekbone. She was squinting up at the sun peeking through the canopy of trees above, arms stretched behind her head in a ripple of lithe muscle. The controlled power and sleek grace of a lioness.
Eula thought, as she had many times before, that Jean Gunnhildr was wasted behind a dreary office desk.
"Are you disappointed?" she asked, lowering the canteen from her mouth.
"By what?" said Jean, preoccupied, face tipped skyward.
Eula was quiet a moment, lips tingling where they had touched the wet narrow mouth of Jean's water bottle. Then, a smirk.
"Another day," she said, "another chance lost. Once again the heroic Dandelion Knight has failed to vanquish the wicked scion of House Lawrence."
Jean's implacable eyes flicked down to meet hers. She smiled.
"I'm not disappointed," she said. "After all, we still have time, don't we?"
***
Despite the Acting Grand Master's worry and warnings, Eula's mission in Brightcrown Canyon was completed without incident.
The role of Reconnaissance Captain was by nature a hazardous one. Though Eula took pride in being good at what she did, she was keenly aware that luck played no small part in any scout's success. To do her job was to dice with death—someday or another, her luck would run dry and karma would come knocking to settle its score with her. Brightcrown Canyon was not that day.
Two expeditions later, an ambush in Dadaupa Gorge was.
How pathetic, she thought idly, that this of all things should be my comeuppance.
It was an underwhelming end, with no poetry to it. She was simply alone and overpowered.
Her sword whipped around her with the force of an unyielding blizzard. Ice sang on the tip of her blade. A river of abyssal blood flowed at her feet. It wasn't enough.
Slow, too slow to escape a blinding bolt of purple light, and she nearly gagged on the stench of singed hair and flesh. She couldn't feel the pain yet. She slashed her blade across the Abyss Lector's throat and didn't wait to see it fall before twisting around to fend off the remaining Heralds.
She was too weak, too injured. Feverish and sticky with her own blood. A blade like a roaring tide crashed over her.
How pathetic indeed.
But then came a blast of cool air. A familiar fragrance: bittersweet and clean and sharp, dandelions in the wind, momentarily chasing away the stench of burnt flesh. A blur of navy and gold. Shielding her.
Her savior met the Abyss Herald's roaring blade with her own in a tempest—a gale—of dizzying light and fury, and Eula thought: You. Of course it's you.
The clash of metal, the ozone taste of elemental power—she had a vague, faraway awareness of her arm swinging, a desperate slash of her frost-tipped blade—and an explosion of dust.
Eula sagged to the ground.
The last thing she saw before darkness swallowed her vision was Jean Gunnhildr, windswept and wild-eyed and kneeling, reaching toward her.