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glassworkspiderlilies · 3 years

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voilà le portrait sans retouches

Genshin Impact | Albedo/Lumine | AO3 Summary: “Sir Albedo,” she continues, and the quality of her voice changes to something more velvet, more compelling, “I’d like you to draw me like one of your Fontaine girls.” (Albedo receives a surprising commission. There's a little more than meets the eye.) Notes: significantly less sexy than it sounds aha. my friend said the line on another fic of mine and it held me hostage until i wrote it!!!! i’m baseball pitching this 18k monstrosity of a hot mess out of my sight after this took 800 years!!!

There are not many things that can surprise Albedo so wholly, but nearly every aspect of the meeting with the Lord Viatoris does.

First, the letter—hand delivered by Jean herself. It is not that Albedo is unknown as a Knight of Favonius, but even as Chief Alchemist and head of the Investigation Team, he is not a figure that often appears in public. His work tends to be very internal and he is left to his own devices most of the time, so to receive a request from the outside is…highly unusual.

And that it comes from the Lord Viatoris, who was considered a hero for his contributions in the most recent war a few years back, is not something that can be ignored.

Additionally—the Knights owe him a debt, for his service in defending the city, and to arrange a private meeting with their Chief Alchemist is hardly an equal trade. Albedo had looked to Jean for some indication of what this request could entail, but the Acting Grand Master had merely shrugged her shoulders and offered to take back his reply.

The letter was politely written and had addressed him simply—Sir Albedo of the Favonian Knights—and had not used any of his loftier titles, which previous letters in the past had when many a noble had tried (and failed) to curry his favor. But, Albedo thinks, while he neatly pens back his acceptance, that it had arrived in the hands of Jean…there was still influence and favor being pulled, no matter how friendly the request.

Second: the child that arrives at the Angel’s Share tavern where the meeting has been arranged at, a few moments before the lord himself. Albedo watches from the second floor when the door bursts open; she is a fairy-looking creature, with snow-white hair and dark eyes, and bounds right up to the bar and asks for three glasses of apple juice upfront, then rattles off an enormous list of dishes. Lord Ragnvindr—though he prefers Master Diluc when attending to the bar—seems to be familiar enough with her that he sighs and puts through her order without otherwise batting an eye, and fills up the empty glasses of juice as she drains them one-by-one.

Where’s your keeper? Diluc asks, his voice just barely audible from Albedo’s position.

Right behind me! The girl says, though with a pout at the word ‘keeper’. We have more of those dumb vials for you, too.

It is unusual enough that there is a child barging into such a place alone, but when said keeper arrives soon after her, Albedo has to wonder just who the girl is in relation to him. Surely not a sibling, with no resemblance at all between them, and likely not a noble child he is watching, with her manners and style of speech. Yet the girl is too richly dressed in her pink-and-white dress, matching boots, and dark navy cloak to be a mere servant. Why, then, cart around and cohort with a common child, of all people?

Third, Lord Viatoris himself is…a surprising man. Albedo had not made any particular assumptions about the young lord prior to this meeting, but due to the rumors, he had nonetheless developed some vague preconceived notions nonetheless. When Viatoris walks in, Albedo finds himself a little startled by his youth, and his manner of dress.

The young man is probably around the same age as Albedo himself, but the rumors had skewed his age to much older and Albedo had never sought to confirm them. The man’s suit is also not particularly striking—an average suit, for a not-at-all average noble, no matter how new to nobility he may be. His hair is also kept long, which is not strange in of itself, but it is braided neatly with a rather old-looking accessory tying the end, and a similarly battered-looking feather earring dangling from his left ear. It is those…antique (if one is being polite) to cheap-looking (if one is not) accessories that are so intriguingly out of place, so at odds with the status he bears. He wears them proudly, but it is clear that neither are worth anything, merely simple trinkets weathered by time.

What is particularly surprising, however, is the young man’s personality. Once the aforementioned vials are given to Diluc (who lets out a bark of laughter at the rather hefty pouch) and his guest’s arrival is pointed out, Lord Viatoris looks up to meet Albedo’s eyes and smiles a brilliant smile, as if Albedo were an old friend he had not seen in quite some time. It was the kind of smile that set one immediately at ease, and assured them that there was no one else he would rather be speaking with.

Oh, Albedo thinks, his elbow propped up and cheek in hand as he smiles slightly back, so, a dangerous man, in this way.

It’s the little girl that greets Albedo first when she bounds up, introducing herself as Paimon and Lord Viatoris as Aether, with the former being the latter’s assistant. There is a story here, what with the little girl addressing the lord not by his title and also extremely casually, and a certain amount of wry deference from the man to the girl, but Albedo cannot yet ask.

“Thank you for meeting with me,” Aether says, holding out his hand to shake, while also gesturing with the other that Albedo should remain seated when he half-rises. “I appreciate it, truly.”

Albedo takes the man’s hand, curious at the apparently genuine feeling of gratitude the man exudes, and watches as the man and girl sit down.

“Please, Lord Viatoris. For the services that you have rendered Mondstadt and the Knights of Favonius, this can hardly repay you for what you’ve done.”

Aether smiles, and Albedo notices that he does not immediately deny it out of politeness.

A man who knows what his aid is worth.

“Ah, but you have not yet heard what it is I will ask of you,” he says, lacing his fingers together. “And please, call me Aether.”

Albedo inclines his head.

“Well, then, please let me know. Just what is it that I can do for you?”

Aether smiles again at his forthright attitude.

And so, the fourth surprise, and the most surprising of all: his request.

“A portrait,” Aether says, as a waitress sets down various plates of food on the table and his little assistant digs in without reserve. “I’d like you to paint a portrait.”

Albedo blinks, eyes wide. Of all the things he might have expected to hear, he confesses he did not think it would be this.

“A portrait?” he repeats, incredulous.

“Yes, or perhaps several. I do not know,” Aether shrugs. “It is not I who this is for.”

Albedo leans back, blinking some more.

“My artistry is merely a hobby, Lord Viatoris,” he says carefully, and Aether gives him a sharp look at the use of the title, “It is not…a knightly service that I quite…offer.”

“Yes, well, hence the reason for this meeting and this request, Sir Kreideprinz,” Aether says wryly, taking a sip from his glass. “It took quite a while to find you. I sent my letter through the Knights’ channels because it was the only option available to me. But the request is for you, and not as a Knight of Favonius.”

Albedo stares. The man had looked for him? How odd.

“Color me intrigued,” Albedo says, and Aether grins at the unintentional pun. “But I would have you tell me more. Of all the things I can do…my paintings are not the first thing one would bring up.”

Aether smiles, setting down his drink though he does not remove his hand from the top.

“How much do you know about me, Sir Albedo?”

Albedo raises a brow.

“Of you personally, not much. I know your aid in the last war turned the tides, and that you helped defend Mondstadt. Sometime just after the war you came into sudden fortune, and bought a title as well as a manse somewhere in Mondstadt—but out of the city—with some of that money, propelling yourself into newly minted nobility. While some may clamor at your origins, more accept this state of things, and are honored to make your acquaintance. But as for the type of man you are, not as much makes it into hearsay.”

Aether listens with amusement, drawing rings on the table with the condensation of his glass.

“You have a lovely voice,” he says, and Albedo blinks, but Aether merely continues, “You may judge the kind of man I am for yourself, but what did not seem to make it into half of the stories is this: I have a twin sister, and she fought alongside me, until we were separated during the war. There was…an explosion of some kind, during that decisive battle everyone sings about, and by the time I awoke, she was nowhere to be found, and no one could tell me if she was even still alive. I was bedridden for months; there were speculations of her being a spy, but quite frankly such talk infuriated me so much that after my first outburst that harshly set back my recovery, it was not brought up again. Perhaps that was why she did not make it into the tales.”

He pauses here to sip at his drink.

“I would not be deterred, however, despite no information being available. You must understand, my sister is all I have left, as is the same for her. Our separation left me devastated, especially in such circumstances. It was Paimon who brought me out of…near ruin.”

Paimon looks up at the sound of her name, her cheeks stuffed with meat, blinking once, clearly having not listened to any of the conversation before this. Aether ruffles her hair, and she grumbles but returns to her food.

“An orphan, who’d been assisting the nurses in the camps,” he supplies absently, watching her wolf down the plates in front of her with ease, “She’s a precocious thing, but I owe her my life, in some ways. But I digress—I searched high and low for my sister and did everything I could to obtain news that could be even tangentially related. In the end, it paid off, and we were reunited in Fontaine.”

It is an abrupt conclusion to a tragic tale, and Albedo waits for a continuation that does not come.

“I…I am glad you were able to find her,” he ventures hesitantly, and Aether smiles faintly.

“Oh, please do not misunderstand, I was overjoyed—am overjoyed, to have found her. But the separation was not kind to her, and I….worry for her. Which brings us to my request.”

Albedo raises an eyebrow, unsure of where this is going.

“I will confess that I do not entirely understand. But my sister had been reading a book—Legend of the Sword, I believe?—and said, ‘ah, the same artist.’ Upon questioning, she had mentioned that she had seen your drawings in Fontaine, and offhandedly mused that she should like to see herself reflected by your hand. She did not ask me to find you—I daresay she may not remember she uttered such a thing—but this was the first thing my sister has shown active interest in since our reunion. As such, I want to do everything in my power to give it to her.”

Aether leans forward, elbows on the table as he laces his fingers together and puts his chin atop them.

“I’m prepared to give you nearly everything I am able to,” he says, his tone still entirely amicable despite the sheer force of power behind that statement, “But I also know that you are not the type to be swayed by money or power. I have done what research I can, but you are a hard man to find information about, Sir Albedo. Which brings us here, with my request for a portrait or several on my sister’s whim, and the question of what I may offer you in return.”

There is a silence between them for a while, as Albedo gathers his thoughts, wholly taken aback by the story and the reasoning behind this meeting. At the moment, he has one of the most influential nobles in Teyvat at his mercy—though he does not miss the way Aether had stipulated nearly.

“Well,” he says, “Given that, the money may simply just be easier to take.”

Aether blinks, then throws his head back and laughs, drawing the attention from other patrons and causing them to smile before they turn back to their own business. He holds a hand to his stomach, slapping the table once before he gathers himself.

“Oh, I do like you,” he says, mirth brightening his eyes. “Well, in any case, if you accept, I’d like you to meet my sister, Lumine. We have a holding in Starfell; you’ll be welcome to stay for however long the portrait or portraits take, of course. Transportation will be made available to you if you prefer to commute. If you need any supplies, I’ll order it. Whatever you need taken care of, I will do.”

“Thank you,” Albedo says politely. “It would be far more efficient to take up temporary residence. But pardon—I also have someone I consider a sister; she is still quite young. She’s looked after by the Knights as well, of course, but it would be remiss of me to leave her for so long if this venture will take an indefinite amount of time. The work for the Knights I may leave to my own assistant, Sucrose, but…”

“Then bring her along,” Aether says easily, without hesitation, “It is a big enough place.”

Albedo coughs.

“I will confess she can be…ah…rambunctious,” he says cautiously.

Aether grins, patting Paimon’s head again. The girl still does not look up from her meal.

“Bring her along,” Aether repeats, emphatically. “So are we agreed, then? I’ll draw up a contract if you’d like, open to payment of your choosing.”

Albedo hums, considering his options.

“No need, for now,” he says, “Perhaps after I better understand what your sister would like from me. But I shall formally accept your request, Aether.”

The man smiles.

“Thank you, Albedo,” he says, and means it.

Regardless of the permission he is given, Albedo does not yet bring Klee with him. It is not that he mistrusts Aether, but…he knows nothing about the household, and will not take any risks with Klee.

The Viatoris mansion is…interesting, suffice to say. It is a more rustic house, and whoever had it built clearly had a taste for the style of the old world, given the large statues that adorn the expansive garden—Ruin Guards, they used to be called. But they are oddly charming, in a way, with vines and sprouts climbing over and through their stonework, the old giving life to the new.

It is perched in the palm of one such statue that Albedo meets the Lady Viatoris, who surprises him too—not due to her presence, like her brother, but rather the lack thereof. She is something almost transient; whereas her brother draws the eye due to the charm of his attitude, she draws the eye because one is not entirely sure of what they are seeing. She is a delicate thing, at least outwardly—pale and prim in her white and blue dress, but Albedo goes not forget that she fought a war with her brother.

Aether leads him towards her, tossing an apple procured from the kitchens up and down before throwing it towards his sister with a split-second warning.

“Lumi! Guess what!” he calls, and she looks just in time to catch the apple with one hand.

She peers down at him, frowning, blinking at Albedo.

“Brought you a present,” Aether grins, and Lumine squints.

“…The apple or this man?” she asks, as she slips a small knife out of the folds of her dress and cuts the apple in half.

Albedo blinks at the appearance of the blade. Lumine holds one half of the apple over the edge of her perch and drops it, forcing Aether to lunge forward to grab it, which he does, catching it with admirable deftness.

“Both,” Aether says smugly, biting into the fruit the same time his sister does, and Lumine narrows her eyes at him. Albedo coughs, but Aether holds up his hands placatingly, still grinning. “This is Albedo,” he introduces with no follow-up, clearly drawing out the situation.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Viatoris,” Albedo greets, with a polite bow.

Lumine dips her head in return, glancing back at her brother, knowing that there’s something more to this but unable to discern exactly what.

“Likewise. Welcome to the manor,” she says slowly, tilting her head a little as she scrutinizes Albedo. “…You have a lovely voice.”

Albedo blinks at the familiar line; Aether laughs.

“Doesn’t he? I said the same. But anyway—I thought he might be of service to you, and he agreed to come after hearing me out.”

Lumine narrows her eyes at him again, scooting closer to the edge of the statue’s palm so that her legs dangle over the side. She finishes up her half of the apple as Aether does his, and they both toss the partial cores into the dirt, which Aether scuffs over.

“Did he, now?” she says, frowning, and Aether puts his hands in his pockets casually, a picture of ease.

“I thought you might like your portrait done,” he says, and she furrows her eyebrows.

“My portrait?” she asks, still confused, “When did I ever give that indication?”

She looks to Albedo suspiciously, who coughs, giving her a sheepish look.

“Perhaps I should introduce myself more fully,” he says, and Aether lets out an awwww at the game being let up so soon, “My name is Albedo, of the Knights of Favonius. But perhaps you may better know me as the illustrator for Legend of the Sword.”

The change is immediate; Lumine solidifies, somehow, and it takes a moment for Albedo to realize that it is her eyes that are the crux of the change. She lights up, her posture straightening as she leans dangerously over the edge, and a delighted laugh escapes out of her.

“No,” she breathes, disbelievingly, as she looks to Aether, “You didn’t.”

“How rude, he’s right here, isn’t he?” he says, mocking affront.

Lumine laughs again, then slides off the statue’s palm, startling Albedo. But she lands gracefully, her skirts ballooning around her before she throws her arms around Aether’s neck, squeezing him tightly.

“Oof,” he wheezes at her strength, but she steps back and shakes him.

“You madman,” she grins back, “I can’t believe you. How did you find him? How did he find you?”

She turns to Albedo, taking his hands excitedly, and as she meets his eyes, Albedo can see how this girl too could take the world by storm if she could bear to stay in it.

“Started by tracing the book’s author, followed some trails, greased some palms at the Yae Publishing house—the usual,” Aether supplies, pleased by her reaction, “Just took a little time. You won’t turn him away, will you? I’ve got another business trip in a few days, I would hate for him to be uncomfortable here. I’ve rather grown to like him.”

Lumine laughs, tugging Albedo’s hand and waving at her brother as she heads back into the house.

“How dare you,” she says, eyes sparkling, “He’s more in danger of us not letting him leave, isn’t he?”

Aether sweeps a bow to Albedo as Lumine leads him away, and does not follow.

Albedo lets himself be led, bemused, into a solarium, with Lumine calling for food and drink along the way. She sinks down onto the couch, watching as he seats himself on the sofa across from her, thanking the servants as they lay down plates of little finger sandwiches, as well as a pot of tea and a bottle of whiskey with accompanying cups and glasses.

She pours herself of finger of liquor before offering the bottle to him, but he declines and opts for the tea instead. She drains her glass then pulls out a slim cigarette case, once more offering, and he once more declining. He watches as she affixes it to a beautiful enamel holder, balancing it between her teeth as she lights it up with a match.

She then blows the match out, placing it on the table, and takes a drag of her cigarette before turning her attention to him again.

“Hmmm,” she says, as she blows out the smoke, “I confess, now that I have you here, I’m not entirely sure how to proceed. I never expected my brother to go looking for you, let alone find you, so I just find it a marvel that you’re here at all.”

Albedo smiles a little and leans back, drinking from his teacup as he observes her. The cigarette and the whiskey—her movements are easy and practiced, but almost too much so, and he wonders at this sense of discrepancy, when he barely knows her.

“Well,” he says, placing his cup back on the saucer, “I myself am curious how you came to know of me completely outside of my work for the Knights of Favonius. According to your brother, it was in Fontaine first that you became aware of me.”

There is a silence as she puffs, and she seems to dim as she is caught up in her thoughts.

“Yes,” she murmurs absently, “Fontaine.”

But the separation was not kind to her, and I….worry for her, now, Aether had said, and Albedo can see why. She is a flickering lantern, with the approaching danger of flickering out.

“I was there briefly, when I was coming home from the war,” he supplies, setting his cup down on the table, “But I’m not sure how or where I made such an impression that would have stuck with you in that duration.”

Lumine blinks, focusing on him again. She doesn’t answer straight away, tapping the ashes into a crystal tray.

“How much do you know about me?” she asks, and Albedo’s lips twitch up again.

“…You really are similar sometimes, you and Aether,” he cannot help but say, and Lumine looks startled, and then deeply amused, but says nothing in response to that in particular. “Not much, I suppose. Aether said that you were separated during an explosion, and then he searched high and low for you. And…then he found you.”

She hums, leaning back as well, and turns her head to look out into the gardens.

“I shan’t bore you with the details,” she says, though he can tell it is more that she does not wish to speak of it. Aether too had avoided detailing the last part of his story. “I was prisoner for a time…and then I was released. But I was lost and penniless and so I…drifted. I was in Snezhnaya awhile. Then Natlan. And finally Fontaine. You did drawings for the common people around a certain café, do you remember? From the elderly to the youths to the children. From the administrators to the merchants to the working girls. The proprietor of the café was quite taken with some of them; had them framed and hung on the walls.”

“Oh,” Albedo says, truly surprised. “I had no idea.”

Lumine smiles, leaning forward, crossing her legs.

“Including the nude portraits,” she continues, perfectly at ease, “Fontaine had their artistic rebirth much quicker than Mondstadt did, no doubt due to you. They were beautiful, you know—all of them. Very honest.”

Albedo is quiet for a moment, thinking back. He does recall, now that she has brought it up; there had been a span of a few days where all the battle had finally winded down, and he was desperate for…something else. Businesses were opening again and celebrations were abound for the end of the war, and so he had simply chosen a café, sat, and drawn. He’d gained some attention, afterwards, when the sketches were left with the owner or given to the customers—especially from the women. He’d consented easily to the nude portraiture of the working girls, somewhat fascinated by the opportunity, whom in hindsight were also flirting with him. But he was much more intrigued by the way they held themselves, or the shape of her hands, or the curve of her nose to pay much attention to it at the time.

He had done many a portrait before he disappeared—in their eyes, at least, for he had been something of a stir before he decided to be on his way. No one had any detail of who he was.

“The war…” he begins, slowly, staring down at his hands, “Afterwards, I wanted to find normalcy in the ways that I could.”

He clenches his fist then relaxes it, flexing his fingers, and says nothing more. Silence stretches, before he remembers why he is here, and he lifts his head again.

The lady’s eyes are distant once more, her gaze turned elsewhere, her cigarette burning low.

“So, a portrait, or several,” Albedo says, reaching for his tea, and she turns to him, “Was what Aether said. Was he speaking your wishes true?”

Lumine blinks, then smiles slowly.

“Yes,” she says, and they stare at each other for a moment. “Sir Albedo,” she continues, and the quality of her voice changes to something more velvet, more compelling, “I’d like you to draw me like one of your Fontaine girls.”

A pause, his teacup halfway to his lips, and then he raises an eyebrow.

“Clothed, or unclothed?” he asks lightly, setting the cup back onto the saucer, and Lumine lets out an airy laugh.

“Whichever you think will capture me best,” she says, stubbing out her cigarette. “Or both, if you feel the need. I’m interested in what you see of me, Sir Albedo, because I’m finding it difficult to see anything at all.”

He stares, another silence enveloping them.

“I see,” he says.

She smiles faintly and pours another finger of whiskey.

“Good,” she says, and drinks.

The conversation ends thus.

He glances back once when he leaves, but Lumine is no longer there, already gone through one of the many glass doors.

They start with the standard—clothed—portraits, and he passes some days with Lumine in the solarium or out in the gardens, sketching her simply doing whatever she feels like. Aether joins them here and there to pass the time, but true to his word, he is gone again in a few days to Liyue for a business trip.

“Mr. Zhongli doesn’t like to be kept waiting,” Aether says, on the day he is to leave, snapping his pocketwatch closed. “So I’d best be there early. Don’t let my sister get you into trouble. Look out for her, will you?”

Lumine snorts from the sofa, holding up a lazy hand in a goodbye wave.

“Give my regards to Mr. Zhongli,” she says, “And my thanks to Lady Ningguang, for the brocade and new cigarette holders.”

He promises he will, while Paimon promises to bring back local snacks.

The manor is quieter without them, and Lumine is even more prone to getting lost in her thoughts. She smokes more too, and he begins to see more reason behind Aether’s parting words.

His assignment is much more difficult than it seems; despite the days spent in her company, none of the sketches he’s done so far feel right. It is a very particular kind of portrait she is seeking, and even if he knows what she wants, it is another story to capture it properly. It is far, far more than simply drawing what he sees, even if his insight is, perhaps, a little keener than others.

He’d expected this to be a trial, however—welcomed it, even—and continues unperturbed, no matter how many pages he goes through. Lumine watches as he flips through page after page in his sketchbook and says nothing.

It takes him a little longer than he would have liked to realize at least part of the discrepancy between what he draws and what he sees.

Lumine is not…comfortable.

It’s not that she is uncomfortable around him; she likes him well enough and behaves more and more casually around him by the day. No, it’s a certain quality that she’s had since he met her, something that she’s had even around Aether. It creates a sense of distance, like a thin glass wall.

(One could break it, indeed. But the resulting shatter might cut both of their hands to ribbons.)

There’s something inhibiting her, somehow, and once again he thinks back to Aether saying the separation was not kind to her. Lumine had glossed over her history, and Albedo was in no place to push, but he thinks now, perhaps, that hearing it, or some of it, may be necessary in order to achieve what she wants from him.

But she does not want to speak of it, and he cannot nor wants to tear it out of her.

Still; she needs something else to shake her out of these doldrums, or they will remain at a permanent standstill. Now that he’s pinpointed an issue, he can start attempting solutions.

For something like this, however, he simply goes to the strongest thing in his arsenal.

He notifies Lumine of his plans, takes a short leave, and comes back with Klee bouncing excitedly up and down behind him. She spins around slowly as she walks, running a little to close the gap between her and her and Albedo when she realizes she’s gotten distracted trying to take in all the sights and unusual structures of the Viatoris mansion.

Lumine greets them with a bemused smile. Albedo notices that her dress for the day is…a little different than her standard. It is far simpler—almost rustic—with the red and white layers matching Klee’s own outfit. She has a fur stole draped over her shoulders as well, and though it is still a refined ensemble, she looks less…intimidating, somehow, more fairylike instead of ghostly. Klee sticks closer to Albedo’s back once she notices the lady waiting for them, peeking out with wide eyes as she grips her brother’s coat. But Albedo can tell that her fingers are just itching to touch the fur of Lumine’s stole.

As they near, Lumine’s eyes crinkle as she looks at Albedo and sinks down to meet Klee’s eyes, not minding her skirts touching the ground.

“Hello,” she greets with a smile, “You must be Klee. Welcome.”

Klee beams at her, instantly overcoming her brief shyness, stepping out from behind Albedo and coming a little closer.

“Hello, Lady Viatoris!” she says cheerfully, curtsying clumsily. “Thank you for having me.” She hesitates for a second, expression turning a little bashful. “May I please touch your fluffy scarf?”

Lumine laughs, removing it from her shoulders and wrapping it around Klee’s, enveloping her in its soft texture. The little girl gasps delightedly, stroking it once, then continues to do so, unable to stop.

“A present, then,” Lumine says, “For helping keep me company.”

Albedo startles a little, on both accounts, and Lumine gives him a wry smile. First, the fur must be worth a fortune, and second…he hadn’t thought she would catch on so immediately.

“Waaa…thank you!” Klee says, grinning widely, “And I’m excited to be here! I get to spend time with Albedo…and also make a new friend! So Klee is really happy!”

Her attitude is infectious, and both Albedo and Lumine smile at her.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Lumine chuckles softly, “Shall we get a snack first, before I show you around?”

“Yaaay! Yes, please!”

Klee runs ahead, with the aid of a maid to point the way to the kitchens, while Albedo and Lumine linger behind.

“You did not have to do that, but thank you,” he says, referring to the fur.

“I wanted to,” she replies, watching Klee go, “She’s an adorable thing.”

“As I warned Aether, she can be rambunctious. She often gets herself into some sort of trouble.”

“Ah, but did Aether not warn you the same about me? You may have simply created more work for yourself.”

He blinks, and she throws a cheeky grin over her shoulder before she makes her way to the kitchens too.

A spot of tea and a plate of Fontaine-style cookies called macarons later, they are roaming the mansion grounds, with Klee wide-eyed at everything she sees.

Not unexpectedly, she is fondest of the gardens, enamored with the statues that Lumine so loves to sit on.

“They used to ‘splode?” Klee squeals, when she spots the replicated mechanisms on the Ruin Guard’s back with wide eyes as she jumps up and down.

Lumine glances at Albedo, somewhat unsure if she should be telling a little girl this, but he merely gives her a wry smile. She does not yet know Klee’s history.

“Well…not quite. It’s said they would release missiles from their backs. They were meant to protect ruins, but…”

She trails off. The Ruin Guards have a more complicated history, with scholars debating hotly over the common discrepancy of the age of ruins they protect and the age of the Guards themselves. But thankfully Klee doesn’t notice, as she is far more taken with the idea of these big missile-shooting automata being things that actually existed once upon a time.

“Klee wants to make something like that, too!” she exclaims, “Like…a big Dodoco! Then she could help Klee blow up even more bad guys!”

Lumine blinks, confused on two accounts, glancing at Albedo.

“Dodoco is her stuffed friend hanging off of her bag—a handmade gift, from her mother, who took me in. And…despite her age, Klee is an expert on bombs,” Albedo explains lightly, “Her…education with her mother was…unconventional, due to unconventional times.”

Lumine blinks at him, then looks to Klee.

“Ah,” she says, sadly. “So she is a Knight, too.”

“Yes,” Albedo replies somberly. “Yes, she is.”

Lumine says nothing, and simply watches Klee circle the statue for a while before walking towards her and suggesting a game of tag. Albedo watches with some alarm as Lumine shucks off her delicate shoes and ties the up the excess fabric of her dress to the side, revealing a peek of her garters.

She looks surprised at his wide eyes, smiling as she straightens.

“Surely Sir Albedo is not embarrassed by a little flesh, when he has seen far more?” she asks, bemused, and he coughs lightly.

“The situation was more established then,” he returns, dragging his eyes from her leg to her face, “One does not expect a noble lady to hike up her skirts so brazenly.”

Lumine lets out a laugh—a bark, really, partly harsh and partly genuine, and Albedo wonders if he’s said something wrong. But she doesn’t respond, and simply goes to Klee to set the rules of the game before running off, the little girl chasing after her with enthusiasm.

In a few moments he will play a few rounds with them when Klee begs his participation, but right now, he simply watches Lumine flit about the hedges and trees, looking back occasionally to make sure Klee has not lost her entirely.

She meets his eyes, startling him, somehow, with the quality of her gaze. It is measuring, and distant, and also…doubtful, even as she mouths—

Come get me.

In the time that Klee stays within the mansion, they spend it simply entertaining her and ensuring her well-being. They play games, running around in the gardens or hosting hide-and-seek within the house, the halls filled with Klee’s laughter, softly echoed by Lumine’s own and accompanied by Albedo’s chuckles. Other times Klee sprawls on the ground of the solarium and draws with crayons as Lumine watches over her and Albedo continues with his portraiture.

Though the mansion staff largely takes care of their meals, Albedo sometimes takes over the kitchen. Klee has her favorites from him, and it’s not the same to have someone else cook them.

So at present, in the kitchen, Klee stands on a box to reach the counter as she uses small cookie cutters to cut vegetables into fun shapes, while Albedo prepares everything else. The roles are familiar between them, and though he occasionally looks over at Klee to make sure she is still doing well, he trusts her to do so as he focuses on other aspects.

It takes a while before he realizes Lumine is leaning against the doorframe. She does not tend to eat meals with them—snacks and teatime, yes, but not usually meals—and so it is unusual that she is here at this time. But here she is, watching quietly, her expression unguarded.

There is an unfocused quality to her gaze as she takes in the whole scene and not just a single part of it, as though she is trying to seep herself into a daydream. But her eyes are also tender, and longing, and the emotion she bares is so palpable that it nearly takes his breath away.

Lumine shifts after a moment, as though she is going to slip away without a word, but Albedo does not let her.

“Good afternoon,” he says, making her jump a little, “Will you join us for lunch?”

Klee turns and spots her, a wide grin stretching across her face as she jumps up and down on her box.

“Lady Lumi! Please, will you? Albedo’s making Woodland Dream, it’s my very favorite! Klee wants it to be your favorite, too!”

Lumine hesitates by the door, her hand tightening into a fist by her side, and she tilts forward a little as if she’ll take a step before she stops herself. She presses her lips together, as though there is an insurmountable wall that she cannot pass even within her own home.

Albedo steps over the threshold, taking her hand without a word and leading her next to Klee.

“Come on, then,” he smiles, “I’ll make another portion. We could use an extra hand.”

“Yay! Look, Klee will show you how the carrots become flowers!”

Lumine doesn’t look at him, all of her attention turned onto Klee as she demonstrates how she uses the little cutters to punch the slices of carrot into shapes. Albedo turns away and lets them be, the kitchen full of Klee’s chatter and the occasional returning murmur from Lumine.

Later, as Albedo prepares to sear the fish, Klee brings over a bowl of vegetables to him, and he smiles down at her.

“Albedo, look! Lady Lumi cut some into Dodoco shapes!”

He peers at the carved carrot that his sister is holding up, impressed. He glances back, where Lumine has taken a seat by the counter, her chin in her hands as she continues to watch the two of them.

“That’s some workmanship,” he says curiously.

“I know my way around a knife,” she replies simply, and he’s not entirely sure what to make of that.

He remembers their first meeting, where she had a hidden knife for the apple that Aether had brought her. He remembers her telling him but I was lost and penniless and so I…drifted, across three countries entirely alone.

Nevertheless, there is lunch to finish up. He steams the vegetables with butter and sears the fish with herbs, quickly making a sauce of reduced balsamic vinaigrette and honey in the meantime. Klee watches with excitement with Lumine, as she sings the dish’s praises.

It’s the plating, really, that is the most impressive; he has timed everything perfectly, and all parts of the dish leave their respective pans within seconds of each other. He arranges the vegetables efficiently, adding a flourish with the sauce, and delivers two plates to the table piping hot.

Lumine’s eyes widen a little, and the corner of Albedo’s lips turn up. She notices, and her eyes crinkle.

“A man of many talents,” she says, and he chuckles a little.

“Only some,” he says, and turns to plate his own.

The three of them eat in the kitchen, not bothering with the more complicated place settings of the formal dining room even though Lumine is here. She doesn’t seem to mind—on the contrary, she seems more relaxed, even though she’s reverted back to not speaking much.

Klee tries to sneak her pearl onions onto Lumine’s plate, but Albedo notices and gives her a pointed look. She grins and lets out a sheepish hehehe before taking back her fork and putting it into her mouth, chewing the vegetable dutifully.

Lumine looks amused, and offers one of her Dodoco-shaped carrots. Albedo raises a brow, and Lumine smiles.

“A reward,” she protests, and Klee looks between her and Albedo before offering one of her cherry tomatoes, which Lumine seemed to particularly enjoy.

“Me too!” Klee says cheerfully, “Klee’s good at sharing!”

“She is,” Albedo smiles, his eyes just a touch mischievous, “Which is why she’ll share her fish too, won’t she?”

Klee wilts, her eyes growing big. She hesitates, looking back and forth.

“Noo…that’s Klee’s favorite part…”

Albedo smothers a laugh.

“Honesty is also a valuable trait,” he says somberly, and gives her a portion of his fish, instead. “It is important not to let others take what you don’t want to give.”

She perks up instantly, giving him some of her broccoli, digging into the rest of her meal happily.

“This is the best!” she says, swinging her legs, beaming at Lumine, but her eyes widen a little when she catches sight of the lady’s face. “Miss Lumi, what’s wrong?”

Lumine blinks, then smiles a little tremulously.

“I….think I just miss my brother,” she says, faltering a little.

It doesn’t sound like a lie, but there also seems to be more than that. But Klee doesn’t notice, nodding sagely.

“Klee understands! I’m also sad when I don’t get to see Albedo for a long time,” she says, “So…maybe it’s not the same, but…Klee will share Albedo with you!”

Albedo raises an amused brow, while Lumine looks startled.

“Oh!” she says, laughing a little. “Thank you, Klee.”

“If you’re in trouble, Albedo will help you!” the little girl continues, eager to share the merits of her brother, “He gets Klee out of all kinds of trouble! And he’ll never ever lie to you, so you can always trust his promises! Albedo is the best!”

Lumine blinks, her eyes growing thoughtful.

“I see,” she says, her voice a little absent again. “I’ll remember that.”

Klee beams again, turning back to her food with satisfaction.

Albedo glances at the lady before turning to his own plate, and pretends not to notice when her gaze eventually slides over to him and sears with her scrutiny.

It is Lumine who suggests a walk after lunch, guiding them to the famous old watchtower in the area. They do not climb the structure, but admire the view from the Stormbearer Point.

“No storms today!” Klee reports, shading her eyes with both hands and sweeping the horizon. “All clear!”

Lumine gazes into the distance for a little while longer.

“Yes,” she murmurs. “Indeed.” She then turns to Klee with a slight smile. “Have you ever had valberries before? They only grow in these parts. They’re very sweet and refreshing.”

“Ooooh, Klee wants some!”

Despite the fact that they just ate not long ago, Lumine leads them to the berry bushes, plucking them from their vines and eating them directly. They are indeed delicious, and they make makeshift baskets with their clothes and bring as many back as they can.

Over the next few days, they continue to pick berries and spend time making them into jam, and use the jam in cookies and other desserts.

Klee stays for a little over a fortnight; though she’s enjoyed her time terribly, it is a lonely area without other children or otherwise much to do, and she misses the bustle of the city. On the day she returns, the carriage is loaded with various gifts—a huge basket of food (including fresh berries and their handmade jam), the fur stole, and other trinkets and games that she’d found an interest in during her stay. Albedo will escort her back to the city so he can check in on his affairs as well, and Lumine sees them off in the afternoon.

“Will you be alright?” he asks, and she gives him an amused look.

“You’re taking my brother too seriously,” she says, as she kneels down to speak to Klee. “Come back and play sometime, okay?”

“I will!” Klee says, hugging Lumine tightly, and the lady looks surprised before she hugs back.

When she rises, she tilts her head at Albedo.

“Safe travels, the both of you,” she says, and he nods back in acknowledgement.

Klee waves all the way until Lumine is out and sight, and Albedo watches until he cannot see her anymore.

In the distance, Lumine is still until the carriage disappears entirely.

It takes about four days for him to return; though the Knights of Favonius are not incapable, Albedo is simply too good at his job. Things are less efficient without him, and though it is not imperative that things move so quickly, it is not how Albedo runs the department when he is present. He is not displeased with how things have been during his absence, but now that he’s here, work is brought up to speed, tasks reassigned, assignments evaluated and new ones given.

No one asks much about how his own assignment is going or what the details are; the commonfolk know that he is on Lord Viatoris’ business, and do not pry. But the others—Jean, Kaeya, and Diluc especially—have a more knowing manner when he speaks to them, and on the day he is to return, load him up with various items. From Jean, a tin of tea, the nondescript container showing it is not bought from a shop. From Kaeya, a sealed envelope and a secretive smile. From Diluc, a bottle of what seems like particularly fine wine, but turns out to be grape juice. None of them say anything in particular when they hand over the items, and because they don’t, he’s aware that these are not for Aether, whom they must know is not currently in Mondstadt.

So Albedo too takes them without a word.

There is some trouble on the road—a broken wheel, and then a group of bandits—so he arrives well into the night. The manse is nearly completely dark, and he frowns as he walks in; the few servants still on duty greet him with somewhat veiled relief.

“Is everything alright?” he asks, concerned.

“Yes,” one of the maids says simply, “But it is better, now that you’ve returned. Lady Lumine called for whiskey and tea about an hour ago, on the balcony. If you are not too worn out…may we suggest you join her?”

Albedo blinks, but does not hesitate and nods.

“We’ll unload the carriage,” a butler smiles, “Perhaps you can take a fresh pot with you.”

And so Albedo is accompanied by another maid holding a tray as they go up the stairs, who leaves him by the door with the beverages.

It’s a chilly night, and the other door to the balcony has been left wide open so that the room too has turned cold, though the fireplace fights a losing battle for dominance of the temperature. Lumine has her chin propped up on her hand, but turns when she hears noise.

Her face brightens when she sees him; she smiles, leaning back in her seat.

“Albedo,” she says, his name warm and thick on her tongue. She is, perhaps, just the slightest bit tipsy. “Welcome back.”

“Thank you,” he says, setting the tray down. “May I join you?”

“Of course.”

She watches with interest as he prepares them both drinks—a mix of honey, whiskey, and lemon first, topped with hot tea, then stirred.

“Are you drinking to humor me?” she asks, and he smiles, “You needn’t to.”

“I find myself wanting to,” he says, handing her one of the mugs as he sips, and she smiles back.

They are quiet for a while, enjoying the warmth of the liquid, before Albedo remembers that there are items he is meant to convey.

“I’ve some gifts for you, from Mondstadt,” he says, “From various well-wishers.”

“Oh?”

Her tone is deceptively mild.

“Yes. I was surprised; I was under the impression you were something of a secret.”

“Are you disappointed?” she asks teasingly, “But you are not wrong. Those who feel the need to know, do.”

He tilts his head in acknowledgement, keeping his eyes on her, measuring. She blinks back at him, the corners of her lips curling up a little. There is more to it; the gifts meant for her all have a personal touch. Especially from Diluc and Kaeya—neither give easily, no matter what it is.

“You have far more of a hand in your brother’s dealings than you seem, don’t you?”

She blinks at him in mild surprise, then chuckles.

“Are you asking because you believed me nothing more than a housepet?”

It startles a laugh out of him, how wrong that impression is, even though the time he has spent with her does often involve her lounging.

“No, I am merely seeking confirmation. Though I will admit…had I known nothing at all about you, I may have thought so.”

Her eyes are amused as she swirls the drink around in her mug, but as she continues to stare into her cup, the expression fades.

“Aether is…good at socializing and negotiating. He makes a good businessman; he would not have been able to buy our titles if he were not. But now that his ventures are bigger…he lets details slip through the cracks; he’s no good at bookkeeping. And he cannot be everywhere at once, although he tries. And even now, he’s still…”

She trails off, the pause long before she finishes her sentence.

“…Too kind.”

Too soft, Albedo supplants, understanding what she does not say. It is not a failing. But it must be balanced, and that’s what she does—balances him, as he does her.

And yet…

“You’ve been uncomfortable,” Albedo says. “Haven’t you?”

It is too blunt, perhaps, but…with the chill of the clear night and the warmth provided by the alcohol, he thinks he can feel something…giving. A slight shift in the wind, a subtle turn of the currents.

Lumine’s eyes flick to his. There is a silence, and she reaches for the whiskey to pour a little more in her cup. She offers him the bottle—this time, he takes it, and she watches as he pours himself a rather generous amount with some surprise.

She frowns at herself, drinks, then leans back in her seat, tilting her head back to look up at the stars.

“Maybe,” she half-sighs, half-groans. “But he is around me, too.”

She props her head up with her arm just enough to see him, smiling a little when she sees that he looks mildly surprised.

“He doesn’t seem like it, does he? He’s good at smiling. But we’re twins. I can tell, and so can he.” She averts her gaze, staring out into the gardens. “I don’t fault him, though. As he doesn’t fault me. Too much happened in the years after we were separated. We were too dependent on each other…and then we learned to subsist…exist without. And now things are…too different. Too strange. So we just…are.”

Albedo stares, then drinks. She stares at his throat when she swallows, unfurling her other arm as though she were going to reach out for him, but she rests it on the table instead.

“Do you want what you had before?”

She blinks at him.

“You are asking a lot of questions tonight, Albedo.”

A warning? He’s not sure, but he can feel the glass wall’s spiderweb fracturing at his fingertips, and his desire to press forward itches. He’ll blame the alcohol for making him bold, even as he is ready to accept the consequences of what the results might be.

“Yes. You asked something of me. I cannot see if you do not let me.”

She blinks again. Her lip curls, at once sardonic and challenging.

Lumine leans forward, putting both arms on the table and leaning forward, as if she were going to tell him a secret—or spit in his face.

“We traveled together for some time, after he found me and I was stable enough to do so. Like we used to. It was all wrong. And it was everything I feared.”

Albedo stares at her, hard. There is a world unspoken in those words, and as he presses them into his brain to figure out what, past the alcohol and past what he already knows, a new thought filters into his mind. His eyes widen slightly; Lumine notices, and her lips thin as if anticipating a blow of some kind. But before she can pull back, his own hand clamps down on her wrist as he too leans forward.

“You didn’t look for him,” he realizes, and she breathes in sharply. “It never occurred to me until now. He spoke about searching for you, all that time. But it wasn’t the same for you. You didn’t look for him.”

There is a serrated silence; Albedo remembers when Aether recounted his story at the Angel’s Share. His deceptively easy folded hands, the restrained pain in his eyes, the curbed tightness of his voice—excellent bravado had covered it all, but that too was telling. The setback he had experienced when he was still recovering from the explosion, so angry was he at slander against his missing sister. The way he had needed saving from a small orphan in the nursing camps when no one could or would tell him of Lumine’s whereabouts.

How he had leaned forward at the tavern and offered just about anything as payment for Albedo to grant his sister’s wishes and whims.

Albedo understands better now, that the stipulation of nearly everything in his power was because he would give up nothing that provided his sister comfort, no matter how small. What loyalty! But also, the fear of losing her once more—and the latter would be something Aether would truly give everything not to happen again.

All that, and the sister he searched for so desperately…

Did not feel the same.

Lumine’s eyes grow wet and despairing the more she watches understanding flit across his face, and he can feel her hand under his clench into a fist, but she doesn’t pull away from him.

“I did, in the beginning,” she whispers, trembling, “But not for long. You must have heard the songs and tales of Aether by now. Mondstadt’s Hero is just one title among many. His name was everywhere. At first it kept me going. And then—when I couldn’t find him, when I had nowhere to turn, when I was lost and destitute…it was only his name that I heard. It was not that I wanted to share the spotlight—far from it. But the more I heard about him, without me, the further away he seemed to get. Like I was no longer able to reach him. Like I was no longer enough.”

The words spill out of her, quick but heavy, every syllable a blow, her breath coming short as though she is panicking. She doesn’t look at him, staring down at their hands, her nails surely digging crescents into her palm.

“I stopped looking. I couldn’t—it was so much just trying to survive. We were named for the light and sky, do you know? But I wasn’t…bright enough to share the same…the same sky. I couldn’t see. I couldn’t see anything at all.”

Her body is whipcord tense, so rigid that her muscles must scream for release. But she doesn’t notice, trapped in the despair of her own faults, biting her lip so hard blood pools to the surface.

“Breathe,” Albedo says sharply, “Lumine, breathe.”

She tries to, for several minutes, shuddering as she inhales. She then puts a hand to her forehead and shades her eyes. Her voice cracks with nearly every other word when she speaks again, every sound a trial, but the tears have not yet fallen.

“He found me. He never stopped looking. But I—I had nothing to offer him when he did. Not memories, not even a shell. All he found was a great yawning abyss that he once called sister. He would have given everything for me, and I could give him nothing. What kind of monster does that make me?”

Albedo stands and gently cups her jaw, tilting her head up. She is haunted hollow, looking at him the way a woman stranded at sea for months might after finally seeing a beacon of rescue in the far distance.

But he is not at a distance.

“Breathe,” he says again, more firmly, and her gaze bores into his as she obeys. “One. Two. Three. Yes, that’s right. Again. And again.”

He sees the wildness begin to ebb as she listens to his voice, counting inhales and exhales at length, and he lets go of her face when she starts to settle. He removes his other hand from her wrist as well and she shivers at the sudden lack of warmth and contact.

Lumine flips her hand over, palm-up, studying the bloody red indents she’s made on her own skin. She frowns, pressing a napkin to the cuts. When she licks her lips she tastes the blood from earlier and dabs that away too, finally seeming to ground herself with its iron tang.

There is a weighted silence.

“I’ve had too much to drink,” she murmurs—though it’s not strictly true—when the pause has drawn out too long, “It’s late. I should retire for the night.”

Albedo simply inclines his head, hesitantly acquiescing to her wishes. There is more to be said—things he could say. But her confession is too raw, the air between them too delicate, and Lumine herself still so fragile at the moment the wind could scatter the particles of her.

Lumine rises from her seat first, languid and perhaps a little dazed; Albedo follows, closing the doors to the balcony behind him. He leans against the bedpost as Lumine sinks down onto the mattress, burying her face in her hands. After a moment, he takes a chance and walks back over to her, kneeling down and putting a hand on her knee.

She looks at him.

He says nothing. She gazes back, seeming as though she wants to say something, her lips parted. But she struggles with the words and decides against it; Albedo encourages her through his own gaze, but she gives a small shake of her head in the end.

Albedo makes to get up, but she puts her hand on top of his briefly before he fully rises, and he lowers himself back down.

“Thank you,” she says instead in a tiny, feeble voice, and he smiles a little.

“I haven’t anything to show for my presence here yet,” he says, a little jokingly, and she smiles back hesitantly.

“You’ve done much, already,” she says softly.

They are still for a moment, staring at each other. Albedo flips his own hand over so that their palms meet, and after a moment, he laces their fingers together. Lumine sighs, squeezing his hand weakly.

“Should I…stay until you fall asleep?” Albedo asks slowly.

It is an innocent offer. He says it simply, uncharged, and yet it comes out very differently than the times he’s asked this to Klee.

Lumine is silent, then reaches out with her other hand to trace the curve of his cheek, feather-light, gaze unreadable. Everything seems so still, and so quiet. The awareness that it is only the two of them in this room is keener, though that has never been so significant before.

“…You should go,” she murmurs, so quietly. “I’ve have too much to drink, indeed.”

There’s—a warning in her words this time, but Albedo is not entirely sure he can discern the specifics of what it is for.

Nevertheless, he will follow her wishes. He stands, and Lumine does not watch as he makes his way to the door.

“Tomorrow,” she says, when his hand is on the knob, “Tomorrow…I will undress for you.”

Albedo turns back, but she is still not looking at him.

“Physically, or metaphorically?” he asks lightheartedly, echoing one of their first conversations.

She half-turns so that he can see the upward curve of her lips, but what he can see of her eyes is old, old and tired.

“Both,” she sighs, a little tremulously, “…Both.”

“…Alright.” He replies gently, as he turns the doorknob. “…Good night. I will see you tomorrow.”

On a whim, he turns back again as he steps of the room, and catches her eye as he does.

For a moment, he stands still, struck by the look in her eyes, almost longing.

You should go.

But he obeys her wishes, and returns to his own room for the night.

Still—he wonders, as he lays down on the cold bed.

And wonders and wonders and wonders.

The morning starts normally.

Albedo takes breakfast alone, and works on refining some sketches in the solarium. Lumine sleeps in, and meets him there by mid-morning. There is a certain amount of anticipation in the air, but things are so far as they always have been, and so Albedo carries on. He begins another sketch of her.

The only difference worth mentioning, perhaps, is that she is dressed a little more formally today. Lumine looks every inch the noblewoman in a blue gown with gold accents; she is wearing gloves, too, and floral hairpins with matching earrings. It is not so unusual, though she is often dressed more casually than this, and he wonders what this is meant to signify. She looks—doll-like, pristine, and like the day he first met her: a little intimidating, for she does not seem entirely present.

He draws. She reads a book.

They do not speak. It is only until the sun is just short of slipping that she closes her novel and straightens out before standing.

“Take a walk with me?” she asks, and he stands and offers his arm.

She dismisses the staff for the rest of the day, and the two of them walk through the gardens in silence. She leads, and on the returning path back to the mansion, she sighs and begins to speak.

“Do you know,” she begins, “I’ve been saved by children four times?”

He glances at her, and she him, but they do not stop walking, and she faces forward again as she continues to talk.

“Klee said that you get her out of all sorts of trouble, and that you never lie. Can I trust you?”

“You can,” he says easily, “But you have to decide that for yourself.”

She smiles, and says nothing else on the subject.

“How much do you know about me, Albedo?” she asks conversationally, and he chuckles a little at the familiar question.

“Not much, even now,” he says, “I know that you and your brother Aether were caught in an explosion during the war, and you were taken prisoner afterwards. When you recovered, you wandered across Snezhnaya, and Natlan, and finally Fontaine. I know that is where your brother found you, and where you first heard of me. But…”

He tilts his head up for a moment, thinking.

“Hmmm…but, I know you prefer cold drinks instead of hot. You like desserts with fruit and prefer them more tart instead of saccharine. You like napping in the sun; you like the open air.”

Lumine’s pace slows, and he slows with her. She turns to him, blinks, but he still faces forward as he continues with his findings uninterrupted.

“I think…you drink because you are used to it and it provides a distraction, and not quite because you like it. The same with the smoking—it is a habit borne from necessity. Fontaine is big on both, is it not? And I think you were telling the truth that day in the kitchens when you said you missed your brother, but that you also miss who you used to be with him, before you fought a war. I think you are afraid that your brother thinks less of you now even though he does not seem to—which, in essence, perhaps makes it worse if he does not at least think differently of you, for you are not the same person you once were, and that would mean that the person you consider your other half does not…see you, either. But I think because you lost sight of yourself, you’ve become most afraid of seeing yourself because you no longer know what to expect, and you are used to knowing what to expect—or at the least, having your brother know if you do not. And yet, if he does manage to see…you also fear that the great yawning abyss you say you became will swallow him entirely, and you will drag him down with you, which may be worse even as it hurts to not share something with him. A vicious cycle.”

He feels her trembling a little before her fingers tighten around his arm to prevent it.

“How did I do?” he asks innocently, glancing at her, and she barks out a bitter half-laugh.

“Formidably,” she says primly.

They are silent for a brief moment again, slowing their pace to almost a standstill. Lumine takes a deep breath before she speaks.

“In Snezhnaya, I met a little boy,” she starts, voice soft and distant, “His name was Teucer, and he was waiting for his brother, too, to come back from the war—but he didn’t know it was the war he was waiting for him to return from. He thought his brother was a traveling toy salesman; the elder ones lied to keep his sleep peaceful and his dreams alive. He was…so young, so innocent, and idolized his brother so dearly. And at the same time, I had never felt so far away from my own brother. But Teucer…did not let me forget that I cared about my brother still. That I still wanted to see him again…and that I wanted him to see me.”

A pause, as they halt to admire the flowers. Lumine reaches out to rub one of the petals between her fingers, catching the scent on her skin.

They continue to walk.

“It was Paimon who first spotted me in Fontaine. She ran up to me and stuck herself close and demanded that I not go anywhere, and then there was Aether following, chasing after her. The force of her words struck me even before I knew what she was doing. I was…tired of wandering, but hadn’t thought much about what it meant if I stopped.”

She looks up at the sky, shading her eyes from the bright sunlight.

“In Liyue, on our way back from Fontaine, I met a girl named Qiqi. She was a terribly forgetful thing—the result of an unfortunate accident. But for the things she found important…she tried hard to remember, even if others thought it futile. And there were still things she wanted strongly to protect. Even if it was because she wasn’t able to look back…she still looked towards the future as much as she could. In the end, I promised that I would remember for her.”

Lumine looks back down.

“And then there was Klee. Who reminded me it was important to share.” She laughs a little at that, and finally turns to Albedo as they stop in front of the mansion’s front door. She puts a hand on the knob. “So I will admit to my fears. And I will subject myself to the ordeal of being vulnerable if it means that I can come to terms with what there is to know.”

Albedo smiles slightly and puts his hand over hers.

“Shall we go, then?” he asks, and pushes the door open with her.

They step inside. It is quiet and empty; the daylight is starting to soften, the curtains stir in the wind. The idyll is like a dream, the two of the suspended between consciousness and its opposite in their stillness, but the air smells of spring—of beginning, of rebirth. Even if they step back out through the door, there is no changing what is to come.

Lumine takes a deep breath, then exhales, bringing lucidity.

She reaches up and removes her hairpins, laying them on the side table with a soft clink. She tugs on the fingers of her gloves as she walks towards the stairs, draping one over the bannister as she ascends, then the other.

“You know,” she says, as she reaches to unzip the back of her dress, “I’ve taken up quite a bit of your time. Even if this is a job…the investment is…considerable.”

Albedo slowly trails after her, not once taking his eyes off of her. There is almost something alchemical about the way she’s chosen to go about this, and anticipation begins to creep into him as though he is being led to the precipice of a cliff.

“I have my own rather vested interest in seeing it through,” he manages to say, and he feels rather than sees Lumine smile.

“Do you?”

“I do.”

“And what,” she says, as the silk of her dress cascades down her body and she steps out of the pool of fabric, continuing up the stairs in only a thin undershift, “Will you do when this is through?”

“That…remains to be seen.”

She pushes down one strap of the shift, then the other.

“Oh? I am glad that you did not say you would depart immediately and forget this ever happened.”

The second layer of fabric drops to the floor at the top of the staircase with a soft rustle, and there are only her undergarments left. But regardless, from here he can see the scars that litter her body—some thin, some large, some like red stars strewn across her back.

He did not forget she fought a war with her brother.

Nevertheless, seeing the proof is an entire experience altogether.

“I would never,” he says, a little belatedly, and she continues to lead the way back to her chambers. “How could I?”

Just before she reaches her door, she undoes her brassiere, drops it to the floor. She pushes the door open as she slides her last remaining garment off of her leg, and drops it as well.

She steps into her bedroom. The setting sun has bathed the room in gold and orange and just the barest hint of mauve; she stands in the light and stares out of the glass balcony doors. The glow clings to her, as though it wants to sink into her skin and return to where it belongs.

Albedo stands in the doorway.

“May I?” he asks, after a pause.

“If I say yes,” Lumine says, without moving, “How close will you come?”

“How close will you let me?”

She tilts her head, turning it just slightly.

“As close as you need, I suppose,” she murmurs.

Albedo takes one step forward.

“May I?” he asks again.

Lumine turns to face him, lacing her fingers behind her back as she arches, just a little.

Silhouetted against the dying light, the shadows harshen her face. There is no dream in the truth of her body, no untouchable hero looking out from inside of her, no abyssal monster assuming her place. She looks at him, and she is simply herself, so terribly, unapologetically present for once, and he aches with the answer of her, so clear, so corporeal.

“Come in,” she says.

Albedo takes another step forward and closes the door behind him.

Their sessions are quiet for the next few days, as he refines his sketches and transfers them onto canvas. Lumine is still bare under his scrutiny, remarkably composed and unaffected.

Some days later, as they are taking a brief break, he comments on her naturalness.

“You’re used to this,” he states, as she reaches for the bowl of valberries resting on the side table.

She glances at him before popping one into her mouth.

“I was penniless for most of my travels,” she answers, her eyes still on the bowl as she considers her next berry, “I found work however I could. And as I mentioned…Fontaine was experiencing their new art movement. It was…easy enough work.”

He looks at her.

“Was it?” he asks.

Her lip curls.

“…After a fashion. They were not…seeing me, anyway. So sometimes it was easy to forget that there was attention on you.”

He leans back.

“Sometimes?”

She looks at him, a berry halfway to her lips.

“Yes. Sometimes.” she repeats, then looks at the fruit in her hand. “…I will confess I did not enjoy it. The…paintings were fine. Many were well done, even if I felt nothing about them at all. But I would not want to return to a parlor of eyes again.”

“And now?” he asks, his tone mild. She returns her gaze to him. “Do I make you uncomfortable?”

He does think not he does, at least not anymore, and he is only one set of eyes. But he also recognizes the gravity of her decision to allow him to see her like this.

It is significant, this trust, and within it there is another thing unfurling like the petals of isotoma.

And there is also…something different in her manner—not quite shy, and yet somehow unsure. With the barrier broken between them, there is new ground to be navigated.

“Well,” Lumine says, as she walks nearer, “I do wonder.”

She has not yet put on her robe. He has seen her up close already—numerous times, to study her scars, to consider the colors he wants to use for her skin, to examine the lines of her joints and palms.

And yet it is only now that the air feels—a little warm, despite the slight breeze that comes through the open balcony doors.

“And what do you wonder?” he says after a pause.

“I wonder what your opinion of me is, after all this time,” she murmurs. “You have told me what you know, and what you think. I suppose I am curious about what you feel.”

She steps back, finally eating the berry in her hand and returning to the bowl to select another, and the air seems to cool again.

“I’ve fought a war. I’ve been accused of being a spy. I’ve been a vagabond. I’ve crawled through dirt and mud and I’ve stood in a room naked full of men for a handful of coins. I am a woman of scandal.”

Albedo watches, leaning forward a little to rest his arms on his knees, folding his hands.

“I feel,” he begins, “That you are very brave.”

She turns, and he catches the brief surprise on her face before she smooths out her expression.

“Do you?” she murmurs, walking back to him.

She offers him the berry. He reaches for it, only to realize that his hands are stained with paint, and he looks for something to wipe them with.

Before he can, however, Lumine moves first and gently presses the berry to his lips.

“I am not uncomfortable around you,” she says, answering his earlier question. “But are you uncomfortable around me?”

They stare at each other, gold and blue, the ocean meeting the shore.

In answer, Albedo parts his lips to accept the fruit.

“Tell me,” she says quietly, her fingers now resting against his lips, “How comfortable are you?”

She strokes her thumb across his lips, pressing lightly into the corner of his mouth, leaning closer.

“About the same as you,” he murmurs, their noses touching now.

Lumine smiles. She traces the curve of his jaw and down his neck, over to his shoulder.

She leans her body forward, putting a knee between his legs as he leans back to accommodate her.

“Ah—mind the paint,” Albedo warns absently, tilting his head up to keep his eyes on her.

His hands hover over her waist, hesitating to mar her, but she leans into his touch, streaking color under her ribs.

“No,” she says, amused. “I don’t think I will.”

She presses him into the cushions and he can think of nothing else but her.

Not much changes, afterwards, which is false, but Albedo has not gotten the proper chance to study the specifics of what has with the attention that such a thing needs.

The current painting is coming along wonderfully, but when his attention on this one flags he starts on another. And another. He does not need Lumine to sit for him for hours on end for reference anymore, though sometimes she lounges in his presence anyway to make the job easier (to some extent)—or simply because they both enjoy the other’s company. Some days he works on the details alone while Lumine goes into the study and pens her way through paperwork, or disappears into the garden for the day.

Time seems to move quicker—the…stimulation was…informative, in various ways, and there is a particular ease between them now, a perhaps surprising lack of awkwardness. They eat dinner together, and in bits and pieces Lumine will tell him more about her wandering days. The searing cold of Snezhnaya, the bitter heat of Natlan, the deceiving coolness of Fontaine…and the sometimes unbearable loneliness in between. Towards the end for her solitary journey, she made the acquaintance of a traveling musician. Sometimes she loaned him her not-expert-but-passable voice to accompany his lyre, and sometimes he spun the bits of her history she was willing to part with into tales that made her feel like she had a place in the world after all. It was he who recommended her the more respectable establishments to look for work in, and who recommended her Mondstadt if she could bear to settle down.

And so it was Mondstadt she chose, after Aether had found her, and put all the choices and all the power he had into her hands.

“Is it to your liking?” Albedo asks, as they finish with dessert. “Mondstadt?”

Lumine picks at her mille-feuille, the already flaky dessert falling further into pieces.

“It is,” she says at length, “It is…peaceful, here. Idyllic.”

“And yet you do not set foot into the city.”

She smiles, a little dry, a little genuinely amused.

“Mondstadt is…gentle. It lives and breathes togetherness, regardless of any assumed disparate parts. I find it difficult to…incorporate myself into that. Sometimes, too much freedom is just as suffocating.”

Albedo finishes his own pastry and sets down his fork, folding her hands together.

“And yet a few of the leading personnel of Mondstadt send you gifts. The Acting Grandmaster sends you a personally blended tea. The Uncrowned King sends his favorite beverage. And I know not what the Cavalry Captain send you, but I will guess that it is information, which is what he deals best in.” he tilts his head a little. “So nor are you completely absent.”

Lumine’s smile is certainly more amused now as she puts her elbows on the table, laces her fingers, and rests her chin on top.

“What are you trying to say?” she asks, eyes bright.

Albedo smiles back.

“That you could do anything,” he replies, “And have anything, I presume.”

There is a pause, the both of them staring at each other from across the table. Lumine drops one hand and rests her chin on the other.

“Well,” she says, eyes crinkling, “There are only a few things I want.”

“Oh?”

“Oh.”

“I see.”

“Hmm…you won’t ask what they are?”

“No, I prefer to find things out for myself.”

Lumine laughs, and Albedo smiles at the rare sound.

“It’s a nice night for stargazing,” she says, as they wrap up their dinner. “Will you come with me?”

“I will,” he replies, and they rise from the table together.

They walk out side by side, their shoulders bumping, still smiling at each other as they go out into the night.

The next time they have drinks on her balcony during the night, it is only a tea service of chamomile and lavender. It is an impromptu meeting, suggested on a whim after Lumine has had her bath. Albedo comes soon after his own, his hair flatter and straighter due to the damp.

Lumine stares at Albedo over the rim of her cup, eyes lingering at where the ends of his hair is beginning to curl at his neck, so pointedly that Albedo eventually lets her bait him.

“Have I still got paint on my face?” he queries, holding up a hand to his cheek.

“No, I’m just…” she tilts her head. “Considering how much I know about you.”

He smiles.

“And how much do you know about me?”

“Disappointingly little,” she says, almost with mild annoyance, “I’ve heard ‘calm, collected, and incredibly talented. He’s the type everybody likes, some more than others.’ Most are to that effect. You’re seen as a genius, and spend most of your time in your workshop…though you have your admirers nonetheless.” Her eyes crinkle. “Ah, and of course, you’re a very good big brother.”

Albedo pauses to look up at the sky, his teacup hovering at his lips before he takes a sip.

“I don’t think I’m any genius,” he says, finally, “And I’m not aware of any admirers. Of my work, certainly, however.”

Lumine blinks, then smiles.

“You don’t pay much attention to other people, do you?”

He gives her a rather rueful smile.

“I…confess I cannot say I do. Relationships are…quite troublesome. Once you establish a relation, you must maintain it…if you lose contact, you must reestablish it. It is a rather taxing cycle, and one that requires quite a bit of time that I find best focused on other things.” He pauses. “But I will admit that sometimes…well. It feels a little like being in the eye of a storm, perhaps. I watch various things change around me, while I remain the same.”

A pause.

“You have changed, you know.”

Her gaze is direct.

“Have I?”

“Indeed. For instance, if you say that you did not pay attention to others…well, now, you are looking at me.”

He laughs, though her words are true.

“Should I be looking harder, to change to a greater degree?”

“Well…it would depend on what you’re hoping to find, wouldn’t it?”

Another pause.

“The change in me would be because of none other than you, so…how should I go about finding the cause?”

Lumine pretends to think.

“Between the mind and the heart, which will you deign to probe for your study?”

He sips his tea with deceptive casualness.

“Well, since I’ve already probed your mind…will you give me permission for the heart?”

She lets out a soft laugh.

“Sir Albedo…do you know what it is you’re doing?”

His expression is amused even as he smiles innocently.

“I can’t say I do.”

She gets up and rounds the table, reaching out to lay a hand on his chest, over his heart. They both feel his pulse quicken, just a little.

“Well, if you’re going to make a study of it…are you acquainted with your own?” she murmurs, perhaps a little fascinated with what she feels.

He takes her hand in his own.

“And if I say no…are you going to enlighten me?” he asks, meeting her eyes.

The stars are bright. The air is cool, but there is a warmth and languidness between them as a result of the tea and the herbs within it.

“You partook of the fruit the first time,” she says, tilting her head, “So do you think I can provide you with what you seek?”

“Some enlightenment was obtained,” he replies, “Though I haven’t the time to properly consider it.”

“And how will you consider it?”

He meets her eyes, the corners crinkling.

“Shall I count your heartbeats, to start with? They say the pulse is telling.”

Lumine laughs, turning her palms up and grasping his hand.

“Alright,” she says, conceding, “Pass the night with me, then, and tell me the results in the morning.”

He smiles.

“Ah, so the permission is obtained. Well then…don’t mind if I do.”

(In the morning, he wakes first. He watches her breathe, face unburdened and peaceful in sleep. It is not long before she stirs and her eyelids flutter open; she is still groggy, but once she focuses on him, her lips curve into a dazed smile.

“G’morning,” she mumbles, half a sigh.

There is a truth here within his grasp, in the striking roughness of her voice, the unhurried softness of her waking. He is still able to be surprised, and in that there too is a delight.

You have changed, you know. You are looking at me.

What are you hoping to find?

Do you know what it is you’re doing?

His heart beats steady, steady, a tenderness welling up inside him, so fond it hurts.

Albedo reaches out and takes her hand.)

The showcase of all of his work is done on a rainy day, the solarium illuminated by daylight dimmed by clouds and an array of candles. It is a vaguely haunting atmosphere, but it is, perhaps, a bit fitting for the occasion.

There’s no real ceremony or gravitas. It is not necessary.

Albedo sits on the sofa, relaxed with a pot of tea. Lumine stands, the covered canvases positioned in a semicircle, piles of sketches and smaller works on the table.

She starts where she pleases.

With a backwards glance as her hand hovers over one of the paintings, she unveils it with a simple tug. She stands in front of it for a moment, silent, then moves onto the next one.

Then the next.

And the next.

She goes through the sketches after. When she finally sets down the last one back onto the neat stack, she folds her hands and stares at them.

It is not that she was afraid, necessarily, when Albedo had already scoured her raw with his words alone. But she supposes there was still a bit of inherent fear mixed in with her anticipation anyway, in not knowing what to expect, in knowing Albedo could still squeeze out the dregs from some deep recess she didn’t know she had.

Capturing what she was looking for in a single portrait was impossible. Albedo had known from the beginning, which was why he was so often sketching instead of painting full works as he considered which he wanted to put to canvas. And in the handful that he did, Lumine sees the fractures and fragments and facets of herself, supplemented by all the sketches.

Here, the fey, distant look in her eyes, the lifeless throw of her body, the dismissive lift of her head. There, the sharp, forbidding curl of her lips, the tense defensiveness of her posture, the deceptive delicacy in which she holds her whisky glass that she might drink from—or shatter to pieces.

She is a wreckage, in the early days, but she doesn’t remain so. In later paintings, the colors are warmer; in later sketches, the lines are more fluid. Here, her face serene and fond mid-sigh; there, her eyes bright as she grins, mischievous.

In one she is on full display, caught between light and shadow, both terrible and beautiful at once. She is almost ethereal there, if she did not recognize her own mannerisms reflected in such a grounding manner. In another she is half-curled amidst soft fabrics, the quirk of her lips both teasing and musing.

It’s change, that he’s documented, a narrative with such startling clarity. It is almost difficult to believe that they are all of the same person, and yet they can be nothing but.

She hovers a hand over a sketch of herself laughing, so carefree. It is hard to see herself like this—or what is meant to be her, rather. She remembers being adrift in Snezhnaya, lost and cold in more ways than one, her mind swirling so black and bleak, so terrifyingly alone. Even in Natlan and Fontaine, even after she made certain acquaintances and perhaps-friends along the way, she could not imagine herself like the girl in the sketch. Even now it is difficult to come to terms with. Surely it must be an exaggeration.

Surely it is merely a pleasant lie.

But Albedo has been unsparing thus far, and…and—

And he’ll never, ever lie to you! Lumine remembers Klee saying. And she…she believes in the little girl; she cannot help but believe in Albedo.

Perhaps—perhaps…perhaps, then, she can bear to admit that she is happy now, or happier; that she wants to root herself here in Mondstadt, that she is loved and can love, even after everything.

And…Albedo is not quite a sentimental man, but the latter paintings, the ones that make her feel like—dare she think so—something precious…

“Are you telling the truth?” Lumine asks quietly, without looking up.

“Would you like to see?”

Silence again. And then she finally lifts her eyes to his.

He is smiling gently, his eyes kind.

“Are you going to make a liar out of me?” he asks teasingly, and she lets out a wet laugh as the tears prick at her eyes.

She walks over to him, holding her hands out, and he opens his arms for her; she sinks into his lap, buries her face into the crook of his neck.

“No,” she says, voice muffled, “Of course not.”

He wraps his arms around her, and she cries quietly onto his shoulder for a long time.

They are under no delusions, and the reality is that with the showcase, their time together is coming to an end.

Albedo was commissioned for a job, and now that job is done, all that’s left is to receive his payment and leave.

The timing works out—they’d received a letter that Aether and Paimon were on their way back by ship, and should arrive as early as a few days, at latest another week. It is Aether who is his actual employer and therefore Aether who will render payment for his services, and it is this excuse that has Albedo stay at the mansion with Lumine to await his return.

(Neither of them bring up the point that Albedo could always collect payment later—it was not as though either of them were unreachable by any means.)

The few additional days are harmless, but both know that he cannot extend beyond that without proper reason—already he’s been away too long, and he has a whole city awaiting his return, nor is this where he truly thrives. Lumine can rule from the mansion but Albedo cannot, and it was always evident this day would come in due time.

Still—Albedo finds his heart curiously heavy as he begins to pack up his things, cleaning out the solarium of his belongings, and Lumine watches him with unreadable eyes.

The final portraits have been moved to Lumine’s room for now, as she decides which ones will go up for display and which ones are for her gaze only. The sketches will be bound up in an album, though she might choose to collage some of them.

Lumine curls up on the sofa and leans her head against the arm as Albedo carefully packs away his brushes. Normally at this time he’d be sketching, and while he still could, there’s simply no need for it, now.

Strange, he thinks, to have this routine disrupted, even though coming here had initially been a disruption of routines established for far longer.

“I could keep you here,” Lumine says idly, “I did say in the beginning that you’d be in more danger of us not letting you leave.”

Albedo quirks a smile, closing the case of his brushes.

“But you won’t,” he points out mildly.

“But I won’t,” she sighs in agreement.

It shouldn’t feel like such a final parting, but it has an air of it anyway. There is nothing strictly of forbidding obstacle preventing them from seeing each other again.

But there is still the sacrifice of time.

Though they are not unwilling to invest it, it is a fickle thing. Albedo has his work, as does Lumine. Travel between the city and the Viatoris manor requires planning. Lumine does not enter the city, and Albedo is not hers to call upon her whims. All the while, time can slip and slip until the memories it used to wrap so tightly and prettily unravels and means nothing at all, even if they do not forget.

And so Albedo and Lumine watch each other, weighing and considering.

For Albedo, he is not used to considering such things. Maintaining relationships has always been taxing, and most of those he does maintain at present began due to consistent exposure to proximity, and remain so. Rarely, if ever, has he sought out new relationships of his own accord, and if they wane, rarely if ever has he chased them.

And yet…

Lumine pats the space beside her as he finishes up gathering his things. He sits, and she raises her head and switches to her other side to lean against him. He reaches for her hand, and she flips her palm up so that they can interlock their fingers.

“You did not…and do not need an answer from me regarding this,” he begins, and she blinks up at him curiously. “But it felt remiss to not answer at all, that day. On the balcony.”

Lumine smiles faintly.

“Because you are a man of answers,” she says, a little teasingly. “Nothing is uncovered under your scrutiny, no hypothesis unconfirmed.”

He smiles faintly back.

“Just so.” He leans his cheek atop her head. “You are not a monster simply because you could not offer what you wanted to give.”

Lumine goes tense, though it bleeds out of her slowly, and she sighs. Albedo continues.

“It is not monstrous to give up what you had before to survive, to want to survive. Nor is it monstrous to change. It is…alchemy.”

She lets out a soft laugh at that, squeezing his hand.

“Transformation,” she acknowledges, her eyes distant.

Albedo inclines his head.

There is a brief pause before Lumine sighs again, more deeply.

“So?” she prompts, “The question. Even as Aether scoured the world for me, I stopped looking for him because I couldn’t bear even the imagined weight of his presence. And when he did find me, I was not the same sister he’d known since birth. What does that make me?”

“Human,” Albedo says simply.

Lumine blinks at him.

“Just like him,” Albedo adds.

Another pause.

“And you,” she murmurs, unclasping her hand from his to trace the lines on his palm. “And all the rest.”

“Indeed.”

A long silence.

“When Aether returns,” Lumine sighs, “I’ll talk to him.”

Albedo smiles a little, as does Lumine.

They continue to sit together in companionable silence as the sun slips from the sky.

Albedo senses a presence and peels open his eyes to see Aether’s face smiling down at him.

It is the early, early hours of the morning, the sky barely light. Aether has his arms resting on the back of the sofa, chin propped up by his hand, looking down at Albedo and his sister curled up on the cushions together.

Lumine is still sleeping, her legs tangled with Albedo’s, breathing peacefully against his chest. Albedo has her loosely wrapped in his arms, hand against the dip of her back. Both of them are still in their day clothes, having fallen asleep entirely by accident.

When Albedo registers what it is he’s seeing, he starts.

“No, don’t get up on my account,” Aether says, cheerfully but quietly. “We got in not too long ago. Paimon was dead on her feet so she went to bed immediately, but the light was still on here so I came to check it out.” He grins, holding up his fingers to make a frame as he peers through the center. “I regret that I never took up the visual arts myself. This would have made a pretty picture.”

Albedo blinks, and though he doesn’t know it, his cheeks dust with pink.

“Lord Viatoris,” he begins, and Aether waves his hand.

“Oh let’s not go back to that,” he says, looking vaguely annoyed. “Besides, you can’t call me that now.”

He looks pointedly to Lumine.

Albedo is unsure of what to say or do, and simply looks discomfited. Aether smothers a laugh, but sobers as he looks down at Lumine.

There is a long silence, but Albedo watches Aether watch Lumine. There is something bright in his eyes, and not just from amusement.

“Thank you,” Aether says after a while. “I’ll confess I didn’t entirely expect this in particular, but…I’ve nothing to protest, there. She looks…a lot better.”

Albedo raises a brow, but the two are twins, and so he supposes it shouldn’t surprise him that Aether can tell there is a difference in his sister in such a short amount of time, and with her not even awake. He goes to protest, but Aether shakes his head with a smile before he can say anything, and so Albedo closes his mouth.

“I…do not know what to do with…this, exactly,” Albedo confesses. “I have…not been afraid of the outcome of something, before.”

The corner of Aether’s mouth quirks up.

“Do whatever you want,” he says airily, but his next grin is sharp. “But remember she will do whatever she wants, too.”

Albedo smiles, and looks down at Lumine in his arms, cradled against his chest.

“I would expect no less,” he murmurs.

Aether smiles at him, and for a moment, all is quiet. And then—

“LUMI!” Aether shouts, violently startling Albedo too, “LUMI, WAKE UP! I’M BACK!”

Lumine groans, burying her face deeper into Albedo’s chest, mumbling something angrily.

“I can’t hear you!”

“Are you kidding me?” she says, turning her face just enough to snap clearly at him.

“Lumi, just because we think he has a nice voice doesn’t mean you were supposed to make him sing for you,” Aether purrs.

Albedo blinks, confused.

Lumine slowly realizes what position she’s in, then snaps her head up, looking into Albedo’s startled eyes first, then turning at her brother with rapidly reddening cheeks.

“Aether!” she yells, lunging off of the sofa to swat at him as he laughs loudly.

As he does, she freezes, staring at him in something like surprise. Aether stares back at her as he calms, giving her a wry smile.

“Welcome home,” he says.

Lumine hesitates.

“I should be saying that to you,” she says quietly. “Welcome home.”

Aether smiles, bright as sunlight.

“I’m home!” he says, holding open his arms.

She reaches over to hug him, tightening her grip as he hugs her back. A sob cracks the air.

The sun begins to rise.

Everyone sees Albedo off, including Paimon and the servants of the house. He’s loaded up with gifts—some for Klee and some for their mutual friends and acquaintances. He also has part of his payment—various ingredients and materials from Liyue or beyond, imported to Liyue’s famous ports. The mora will be wired to his bank; he had tried to decline, as he was given much during his stay at the manor and the work was pleasurable, but neither twin would hear of it.

“Do what you will with it,” Aether had shrugged, “Finance the city with it, or give it to Klee. At the very least, you could use it to procure more ingredients. But a service is a service; a contract is a contract.”

Albedo acquiesces.

“Don’t be a stranger, you hear?” Aether grins, slapping him on the back, and Lumine takes Albedo’s hands with a smile.

“As he said,” she says, eyes crinkling.

There are still things to be said. But he cannot find the words, does not know what he wants to say at all. Lumine seems to understand, but she does not assist him by broaching it first.

They’re out of time, for now; he is already set to leave, all his things packed and his departure imminent.

“I will not,” is all he can say, and the twins smile at him.

He gets into the carriage, his head buzzing.

When he looks out the window, just once, he sees Lumine and Aether walking back into the mansion, the former shoving the latter after he says something.

Albedo leans back in his seat and tries not to feel like he’s leaving a dream behind.

Time does its thing.

Days pass, then weeks, and Albedo throws himself into his work both because he needs to and because he wants to. He had certainly lost track of time, both at the Viatoris mansion and also in catching up upon his return to the Knights of Favonius. Already the Windblume Festival is nearly upon them, and preparations must be made to secure the city for safety and festivities.

It is wrong to say that he didn’t spare a thought about Lumine during the frenzy, but it is true that by the time he has enough time to allow him to truly think about her, it is already Windblume. He should have sent a letter, an invitation. It is not technically too late, but…as he knows, Lumine does not step into the city, and he cannot leave the city now while he is so involved in the festival’s processes with all of the other knights.

(He should have sent letters beyond this, too, he realizes. People did that—more casual exchanges, speaking about their daily lives or thoughts. But most letters Albedo penned were of the business sort, any missives otherwise short and to the point; he had no practice in such things, and so it had not occurred to him so naturally to begin a regular correspondence. But then again—nothing had arrived for him either, had it? Though he supposes even if it had…he would have neglected to respond in a timely manner amidst all his work.)

Albedo sighs, rubbing his forehead. He cannot say why this bothers him so; previous Windblume Festivals have never meant so much. At most he and Klee would walk around for a bit and offer flowers as was custom, but while she went off with other friends, Albedo would simply return to his workshop to continue his projects.

As he grips the sides of his crafting table and stares down at its intricate patterns, it takes a while to realize someone is knocking at his door.

“Please, come in,” he calls hastily, and Jean promptly walks in.

She stops short when she sees his hunched posture and the slight frustration creasing his brow. How rare, for their Chief Alchemist to express his feelings so openly.

“Have you hit a particularly tough equation?” she questions politely, and Albedo looks faintly surprised.

“Does it seem that way?” he murmurs, then sighs. “Perhaps. But I digress…what may I do for you, Acting Grandmaster?”

Jean smiles a little.

“Lord Viatoris will be arriving for the opening ceremony soon,” she says, “I came to ask if you’d like to greet him. I was under the impression you two had become friends.”

A pause, just for a heartbeat too long.

“Of course,” Albedo says, straightening out, “I’ll come with you.”

“Let us go, then.”

He follows Jean, the two of them making polite conversation about the festival, inevitably straying towards work and going over details of the festival to make sure everything is in its proper place. Both are too diligent for their own good; any true break they took was always at the intervention of another.

There’s a slight commotion at the gates as they near. Many citizens have already gathered, news of the famous hero coming to Mondstadt having not exactly been kept a secret.

But he does not come alone.

Albedo slows at the top of the stairs when he catches sight of the figures at the entrance.

Lord Aether Viatoris is impeccably dressed for the occasion is a well-tailored dark brown suit.

At his side is his sister, a bouquet of cecilias propped in the crook of her arm, resplendent in a dark blue gown.

Lumine looks up and meets Albedo’s eyes, the corners of her own crinkling.

“Welcome,” Jean greets, descending smoothly without hesitation, Albedo following with slightly jerky movements behind her, “Lord Viatoris, Lady Viatoris. Mondstadt is pleased to receive you.”

“Hello, Acting Grandmaster Jean,” Aether says with a polite bow. “We are pleased to come.”

“Will your sister be participating in the opening ceremony as well?” Jean asks, looking to Lumine and inclining her head in greeting, but Aether shakes his head.

“No, it is her first Windblume Festival and that would certainly overwhelm her; you must unfortunately make do with just me,” he grins, “But I’m sure she is looking forward to enjoying the festival itself.”

“Is that so? Well, then—the ceremony is not for a bit, perhaps Sir Albedo could offer her a tour?”

Oh, a conspiracy.

“I would be honored,” he says, just a touch belatedly, and Lumine smiles.

It turns out the flowers in her arms are two bouquets, and she hands one of them off to Aether—presumably for the ceremony—before taking Albedo’s offered arm. They walk away from the crowd into one of the lesser occupied streets, and finally Albedo gathers his wits and speaks.

“You’re in the city,” he marvels, and Lumine laughs.

“Such observational prowess.”

“I thought you found the city suffocating.”

She smiles.

“There are spaces to breathe,” she says, leaning a little closer before she pulls back again, satisfied with his momentarily widened eyes. “And I thought it was about time I came to you.”

He smiles.

As promised, he wanders the streets with her a little, pointing out this and that. They do stick to the backroads mostly, as despite her bravado, he can tell that she is indeed a little overwhelmed at the noise and bustle.

When she tires, he escorts her to his workshop, apologizing for the mess. She looks around with interest, fascinated at being in his space for once. It has a crisp floral scent, mixed with the more metallic air from synthesis, the culprit a batch of windwheel asters resting in an inelegant pail of water. Klee’s choice of Windblume, leftover from this morning’s gathering.

“I’m sorry,” Albedo says, clattering around to make tea, squinting and looking closer at mixtures in tins to see if they will make something palatable, “I should have sent word or…something, sooner.”

Lumine’s smile is genuinely amused.

“We knew this might happen,” she says amiably, “I was just faster at…not letting it. I’m impatient.”

Albedo turns to her, eyes crinkling.

“You are braver than I,” he says humbly, and Lumine laughs.

“You were the one who said I could do anything and have anything I wanted,” she says, “If I dared.”

“And I recall you saying there were only a few things you wanted.”

“Yes. And you didn’t ask what they were.”

She is still smiling, and his workshop feels too small to contain that expression.

“No,” he agrees, “I didn’t. But I think I’m about to find out one of them, aren’t I?”

Her smiles deepens, bright sunlight into molten gold.

“We’ll miss the opening ceremony,” Albedo says quietly, without any fight.

“I don’t think the God of Freedom would mind,” she whispers, “And anyway, it’s Windblume. Besides for Barbatos, it’s a festival for lovers, isn’t it?”

Albedo hums, his pulse jumping at the word, jumping even more when she finally hands him the bouquet of cecilias. How fresh they are is even more apparent in the smaller space; already their scent is heady. Albedo glances about for something to put them in, which is simply the same pail as the windwheel asters are in. He extracts an aster, trimming off its damp stalk before tucking it into Lumine’s hair.

She leans into his hand before it leaves her face.

“On the off chance he is a little miffed…well, I think I’d fight a god to have this moment,” Lumine whispers, and Albedo half-laughs at the declaration.

“How terrifying,” he says, and she smiles.

“Are you afraid?”

“Should I be?”

She hums.

“Maybe. What do you do when you stare into the abyss?”

“I figure out its secrets.”

She laughs, unfettered and unburdened. He smiles, pleased.

“Is that what we are, by the way?” he asks, and she tilts her head in question. “Lovers?”

She puts a hand to his chest, over his heart.

“What do your deductions tell you?” she asks innocently.

“That I’d like it very much if we were,” he replies, without hesitation.

She laughs again.

Outside, fireworks light up the sky, and flower petals of all kinds whirl in the winds.

Lumine presses Albedo back against the window, lacing their fingers together as they kiss, and for the moment, there is nothing that can touch them—not pain or ceremony or even the gods, so bright are they, so present, so hopelessly, delightfully human.

#genshin impact #albelumi #genshin lumine #genshin albedo #kreideprinz #genshin aether #fanfiction #title translation is 'here is the portrait unretouched'!!#why is this so fucking long my god

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