Work Text:
He is perched at the top of Starsnatch Cliff, watching the wind dodge playfully through the white-tipped waves, when a breeze curls around his shoulders and murmurs to him that she is home.
He throws himself off the cliff and indulges for a moment in the thrill of free-falling, then spreads his glider wings and banks right. The breeze fills out the fabric and he makes haste to Windrise.
The giant oak comes into view quickly — and with it, a white-clad figure kneeling at the base of the Statue.
Venti drops lightly onto the top of the Statue’s head and waits for her to finish praying. When she straightens up, he clears his throat and sings out, “What news from the world beyond Mondstadt, O Illustrious Traveler?”
Lumine’s eyes snap up to see him atop the Statue, and she laughs and opens her arms and exclaims, “Venti!” And oh, he has missed that voice.
She catches him in her arms as he jumps down, and he hugs her around her neck. “You’re back!” he says: a simple but somehow profound observation.
“I am!” she agrees, indulgently.
He releases her from the hug and wriggles free from her arms, dropping to the ground. He places his hands on her shoulders and scrutinizes her face. It is, in essence, the same face as always. Golden hair, golden eyes, button nose. But there are bags like fading bruises under her eyes, and a certain fatigue in the line of her mouth. There are scars that weren’t there before — a shallow one along the line of her jaw, a tiny white nick on her forehead — and he suspects that not all the new scars she bears are visible.
Something of his concern must be reflected in his face, because she laughs a little and ducks her head. “Do I look that bad?” she asks.
“No!” he protests — too fast, too honest. He scrambles for some of his usual light-heartedness. “I mean, I always say you are as beautiful as the cecilias on Starsnatch, as vibrant as an apple in the fall, as–”
Lumine raises an eyebrow and he cuts himself off with a sheepish grin.
“But?” she prompts.
“But,” he says, “if you’ll permit this humble bard an observation — you look tired, Traveler.”
“I feel tired,” she admits. “It’s been a long few months.”
“Oh?” he says. “Care to recount the tale? Kaeya told me recently that I’m a good listener. Technically, he said that I was a surprisingly good listener, but I’m choosing to take that as a compliment.”
She laughs, and for one sparkling moment the fatigue disappears from her face. “Maybe I’ll tell you some other time. It’s just… a little fresh right now,” she says. “I don’t know if I could do the adventure justice. But one day, I’ll tell you everything.”
“No rush,” he says. “The ballads can wait.”
He pulls her by the hand to the base of the old oak tree, and they sit with their heads together and trade stories. He tells her how Diona and Klee almost blew up the Angel’s Share, and in turn she tells him of the kitsune scattered around the shrines in Inazuma. (“Maybe you should have a patron animal,” she teases. “Cats, maybe?”) She asks after her friends, and he wonders aloud how his old comrade, the Electro Archon, is doing.
But at the mention of Baal’s name, the Traveler tenses, hand splaying like she wants to go for her sword. Venti redirects the conversation quickly, desperate to chase away the echo of terror in her eyes.
She clambers to her feet eventually, citing a need to rejoin Paimon in the city. “I’ll see you around, though, right?” she asks, and he clasps her hand and promises that he’ll be there anytime she needs a song, or a friend, or a shoulder to cry on.
He watches her walk away. Is he imagining things, or is she walking slower than normal?
Whatever happened in Inazuma has clearly made her wary. How can he remind her that he still has her back — as do scores of other people in Mondstadt?
Ah.
He has the perfect plan.
Jean looks up as he pushes the door open.
“Ven– uh, Lord B–” she starts, stumbling over her words. “Barbat– Venti?”
“All of the above, yes,” Venti agrees amiably. “Do you have a minute, Acting Grand Master?”
Jean pushes aside the paperwork on her desk. “This can wait,” she says. “How can I help?”
Venti sits down and explains his plan. Jean is nodding even before he finishes talking.
“Of course,” she says. “Yes, of course. It’s good to have our Honorary Knight back. We must celebrate; it’s almost Christmas, anyway. The Knights are happy to fund this.”
Then she narrows her eyes at him, clearly having heard of his excesses from the current and former Cavalry Captains. “Within reason, of course.”
“Well, we can’t do it in the Cat’s Tail, Master Diluc,” Venti complains. “Not unless you want me to be sneezing at everybody the whole time. Just think how unsanitary that would be!”
“You still haven’t paid your tab from the last time you were here, bard,” Diluc points out wearily, wiping down the bar counter with practiced movements.
“Ah,” Venti says triumphantly. “But the Knights are funding this. Surely you trust the Ordo to pay their tab?”
Diluc looks surprised for a moment, then rolls his eyes. “Jean. She’s too soft-hearted,” he says.
“Or maybe you’re not soft-hearted enough,” Venti says primly.
“Just for that, I’m tempted not to let you rent the Angel’s Share.”
Venti gasps. “But just think how sad Lumine will be! Do it for her, Master Diluc, if not for me?”
Diluc sighs. “Fine. For the Traveler’s sake.”
“A party? How fun!” The bow atop Amber’s head quivers as she vibrates with excitement. “Ooh, we must decorate! Is this a Christmas party or a welcome back party? Ah, we can do both! Leave it to me! I’ll enlist Noelle’s help — she has a great eye for detail!”
Amber rushes off, and Kaeya raises an eyebrow from where he’s lounging against a library shelf. “Now, however did you get Master Diluc to let you rent the Angel’s Share?”
Venti winks. “A bard never reveals their secrets.”
Lisa chuckles. “Come now, Captain. Master Diluc is a surprisingly soft touch. If you don’t already know how to coerce him, then I’m afraid you’re a lost cause.”
“You wound me,” Kaeya says, putting a melodramatic hand to his heart. “I have my ways, of course, but I’m always on the lookout for new ones. A posture of intellectual humility, if you will.”
Lisa shakes her head affectionately and turns to Venti. “Well, I condone your methods, whatever they are.”
“Just the adventurers I was looking for!” Venti exclaims.
Bennett turns to greet him and walks straight into the fountain. Razor jumps in to “help” and ends up splashing him even more.
Fischl ignores them. “What service can the Prinzessin and her retinue render to thee?”
“Yeah, how can we help?” Bennett asks, emerging damply from the fountain with Razor in tow.
Venti explains his commission to them, ignoring the droplets that splash everywhere as Razor shakes himself dry.
“Sure, we can do that!” Bennett says. “Benny’s Adventure Team is great at sourcing food!”
“Indeed,” Fischl adds. “The Prinzessin is pleased to provide aid. The wayfarer of a world beyond must be made welcome in the court of her regent, after all.”
“Razor is not adventurer,” Razor reminds them. “But Razor will help, for lupical. And for food.”
And eventually there is only one more person to invite.
Venti finds her cupped in the palms of the Anemo Archon statue, legs tucked under her as she gazes out on the city’s moonlit roofs. She notices him watching her from the ground and gives him a little wave, the moonlight glinting off her blonde ringlets.
He looks around to make sure no one is watching, then calls on the winds, shooting himself straight up into the air and landing lightly in front of Lumine. He sketches a goofy little bow and she laughs.
“That’s cheating,” she says. “You should have to climb up here like the rest of us.”
“Ah,” he says, seating himself next to her. “But where’s the fun in that?”
She nudges him playfully. “You’re ridiculous.”
“They do say Ridiculous is my middle name,” Venti says, even though nobody has ever said that. “Just because I like to have a little fun! And speaking of fun, Traveler, what are you doing tomorrow night?”
Lumine glances at him. “Dunno. I’ve been a little too tired to make plans.”
“Come to the Angel’s Share with me, then,” he suggests. “Master Diluc has this wonderful vintage I’ve been dying to try.”
“He doesn’t let you drink, though,” she points out.
“Which is why I need you!” he exclaims, delighted at his own brilliance. “He lets you drink, so you can get a drink and let me try it!”
Lumine gives him a skeptical look.
“Please,” Venti tries. “Please, please? Please please please?”
“Alright, alright,” she surrenders, laughing. “You win! But if I get banned from the Angel’s Share, I’m blaming you.”
On the morning of Christmas Eve, the sun rises over a white-clad city. It doesn’t snow often in Mondstadt — the country having been terraformed by a god who never wanted his people to feel cold — but the weather seems to have defied all expectation. A dusting of snow covers the rooftops and cobblestones, a pristine white blanket interrupted only by the imprints of little feet scampering around the city.
The snow continues all day, so that when Venti, Lumine, and Paimon make their way to the Angel’s Share that evening, there is still fresh snow for their boots to crunch through.
“Maybe the god changed his mind about snow,” Venti suggests when Paimon questions him on the strange meteorological conditions. “It is Christmas, after all. Or maybe not! What does a humble bard know of the minds of gods?”
Paimon doesn’t answer, too busy catching falling snowflakes on her tongue, but Lumine shoots him an affectionate smile. She’s quiet — quieter than normal, and the Traveler never talks much at the best of times — but he’s glad to see that at least the circles under her eyes have eased during her time in Mondstadt.
They approach the Angel’s Share and Venti starts to regret making it snow. A multitude of footprints litter the ground around the tavern, suggesting far more people than the usual patronage. He glances at Lumine, who is scrutinizing the ground with a furrow in her brow.
“Looks like the Angel’s Share is busy today,” she remarks.
“Yeah!” Paimon agrees. “That’s a lot of footprints!”
“Ehe,” Venti jumps in. “I told you it was a good vintage! And if there’s one thing Mondstadt’s citizens know, it’s wine.”
It seems to satisfy Paimon, and Venti doesn’t dare check Lumine’s face to see if it satisfied her too.
He pulls the door open to reveal the unlit interior of the tavern, stepping aside with a flourish to let Lumine enter first. She looks confused at the darkness but gamely steps into the doorway.
The lights flicker on.
“Surprise!” yell two dozen voices. Venti can make out Mika in the back, Diluc behind the bar counter, Amber by the light switch. Diona and Klee set off party poppers that explode with a series of loud bangs. And Lumine–
–flings her arm out in front of him and Paimon and goes for her sword, terror and fury blending in her face.
“Wait, Lumi, wait!” Venti yelps.
“Stay back, Venti!” she snarls. The hand on her sword clenches so hard he thinks the pommel might leave marks.
“It’s not an ambush, Lumi,” he says soothingly, coaxing her down. “It’s a surprise party. It’s ok. You can put your sword away.”
As her eyes adjust to the brightness, he watches her take in the people scattered around the tavern in various stages of surprise and worry.
“Oh,” she says. She releases her sword. “Sorry.”
Silence blankets the room. Venti notices that Jean has shoved Klee behind her, that Albedo’s hand hovers over the hilt of his sword. Nobody moves. The air thrums with tension.
And then Paimon pokes her head over Lumine’s shoulder and stage whispers, “Well, is this a party, or what?”
Kaeya laughs — too loudly, but it serves to break the awkwardness. “You heard her,” he says. “Time to celebrate, Master Diluc?”
Diluc grunts, flips his towel over his shoulder, and pops open a bottle of champagne. The familiar fizzing sound seems to breathe some life into the party, and Eula sidles up to the bar counter to grab a glass.
Klee jabs at some buttons on the phonograph, a recent gift to the Angel’s Share by a kindly witch, and Christmas music begins to swirl around the tavern, the strains of a string quartet curling into the corners of the room.
Amber runs up to Lumine and flings her arms around her. “Sorry for startling you! We missed you! Welcome back! Merry Christmas!” she exclaims in one breath.
Lumine hugs her back tightly. “Amber! I missed you too. You did all this for me?”
Amber laughs. “It was all Venti! We just chipped in here and there. You deserve it!”
As Amber pulls her away to make the rounds, Lumine throws Venti a grateful look over her shoulder.
He takes a look around the room as the atmosphere brightens. People have begun to mingle and chat. Sucrose and Albedo are explaining their newest experiment to Barbara, who is nodding in the manner of someone who doesn’t really understand but wants to be supportive. Eula is chugging champagne much faster than champagne is meant to be drunk, cheered on by Rosaria. In the corner, Fischl is holding court with her faithful subjects Klee and Diona, while Bennett and Razor are having a violent-looking arm wrestling match at the table next to them.
And in the middle of the whole jolly mess, there’s Lumine, looking radiant. Mona says something and Lumine laughs, throwing her head back. The fatigue is gone from her eyes, replaced by the sparkle of excitement.
It’s a good sight. A heartwarming sight.
“And in the face of such a wonderful sight, wouldn’t it be a shame to deny a parched bard his drink?” Venti wheedles. “On a night filled with such camaraderie and kindness?”
Diluc rolls his eyes, but pushes a wineglass towards him anyway. “Just this once, bard.”
The clock is striking 9 when Venti realizes Lumine has disappeared.
He taps Noelle on the shoulder. “Have you seen the Honorary Knight?”
“She went upstairs,” Noelle says promptly, gesturing with the broom in her hand before Jean notices and asks her to please put the broom down and relax for a while.
But Kaeya is the only one on the second floor of the tavern. He’s seated by the banister, nursing a bottle and watching the festivities below. He nods at Venti as the latter climbs the stairs.
“Hullo,” Venti says. “A bit lonely up here, isn’t it?”
“Just gathering my thoughts,” Kaeya says, his uncovered eye inscrutable. “If you’re looking for the Traveler, she’s on the balcony.”
Venti thanks him and leaves him to his drink.
Lumine turns as he steps onto the balcony and her lips quirk up in a smile. “Hey,” she says.
“Hey,” he says. “Isn’t the snow beautiful? One could almost write a sonnet about it on the spot.”
“Oh?” she says. “I’d like to hear that.”
Venti clears his throat and produces his lyre, picking out the skeleton of a tune.
The winter winds whip through the greying sky,
Boreas wakes from slumber here below,
As critters that on Mondstadt’s roofs do lie
Turn tail and hurry home to beat the snow.
Should the petty, squabbling gods of yore
Believe the winter’s beauty incomplete,
Little could they top the sheer allure
Of the snow that lies upon the street.
He finishes his song and takes a little bow as Lumine applauds.
“Impressive,” she says. Then she starts fumbling for her dress pockets. “Forgot to mention I have something small for you. For Christmas.”
“Awww, Traveler!” Venti exclaims. “You didn’t have to. I am a bard of simple needs; gifts are unnecessary.”
Lumine pauses and raises an eyebrow at him.
Venti manages to keep a straight face for a record-breaking five seconds before throwing himself at her. “What is it? Lemme see, lemme see!”
She laughs, dancing out of his reach. “It’s nothing big! Don’t get too excited.”
Venti puts his hand to his heart. “Anything you give is big to me.”
Her grin softens into something sweeter before she holds her closed fists out to him. “Pick one,” she instructs.
He taps her left hand and she opens it. In her palm lies a dainty little cecilia like the one on his hat, carved out of blue stone with petals that glow in the dark.
“Oh,” he breathes. “It’s beautiful.”
“The noctilucous jade reminded me of your braids,” she says. She opens her other hand and reveals a flower of Cor Lapis, carved in the shape of the flowers she wears in her hair. She presses it into his hand. “An inteyvat.”
Venti examines the carving. It glows almost the same colour as her eyes.
“To remember me by,” she says.
“Like I could ever forget you,” he says. He slips his flower into his breast pocket and flings his arms around her. “Thank you. I will keep it close to my heart, always.”
When he pulls away, his hands come to rest on her shoulders. The scars on her face may never disappear, he thinks. But at least the tightness around her mouth is gone, replaced by the softest of smiles.
“Merry Christmas, Venti,” Lumine says, reaching up to brush a snowflake off his hat.
He smiles and squeezes her shoulders. “Merry Christmas, my warrior.”