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moonshine-nightlight · 1 year

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Nothing's Wrong with Dale - Part Twenty-Five

It’s been a week, but you’re fairly certain your fiancé accidentally got himself replaced by an eldritch being from the Depths. Deciding that he’s certainly not worse than your original fiancé, you endeavor to keep the engagement and his new non-human state to yourself.

However, this might prove harder than you originally thought.

Fantasy, arranged marriage, malemonsterxfemalereader, M/F

AO3: Nothing's Wrong with Dale Chapter 25

[Part One][Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six] [Part Seven] [Part Seven.5] [Part Eight] [Part Nine][Part Ten] [Part Eleven] [Part Twelve] [Part Thirteen] [Part Fourteen] [Part Fifteen] [Part Sixteen] [Part Seventeen] [Part Eighteen] [Part Nineteen] [Part Twenty] [Part Twenty-One] [Part Twenty-Two][Part Twenty-Three] [Part Twenty-Four] Part Twenty-Five [Part Twenty-Six] [Part Twenty-Seven] [Part Twenty-Eight] [Part Twenty-Nine] [Part Thirty] [Part Thirty-One] [Part Thirty-Two] [Part Thirty-Three] [Part Thirty-Four]

You’d thought the galas had been uncomfortable, but apparently they are nothing compared to the three Northridges in an argument.

You’re all in the study Grandmother’s been lent for your stay, Dale and yourself at a table with Dale’s paperwork spread out around him while Grandfather paces having long vacated his own chair. You wish you could occupy yourself by reading his notes, but they’re in a shorthand code you don’t know. Probably for the best for secrecy purposes, but unhelpful as a distraction. You wonder if Dale will teach it to you once you have the time.

“Unacceptable,” Grandmother says, frowning at Dale. You think it’s the sternest she’s ever looked at him given her usual soft spot for her grandson. “Pride is no excuse not to use every advantage at your disposal to locate these enemies.”

“Unnecessary,” Dale corrects. He presses his lips together before he forces himself to take a deep breath. You appreciate how he keeps his frustration contained, his eyes trained on his notes and waiting to respond when the original Dale would not have. You want to comfort or show your support for him, but you’ve no idea how. So you keep your hands clasped in your lap and hope that when the moment comes for you to assist, you notice it. “All the combatants were defeated; we need to focus on who paid them. I doubt any of the true architects behind the attack would be found out by exorcists. Such people would only be useful at locating the mercenaries.”

“You cannot be certain that the skinwere is truly vanquished,” Grandfather insists, not pausing in his pacing.

It’s challenging to know when you should speak up and when you should keep silent in this argument, particularly when it is not yet your family. Your inclination during verbal fights is nearly always to remain silent. Your eyes dart to Dale, whose expression does not give away that he is by far the most knowledgeable regarding whether or not he has killed a demon or merely removed a possession. Unfortunately, that would not be a helpful interjection.

Grandfather continues, “It might have simply returned to the Depths. What will you do if it returns? In a new body, it will already know your strength and will be more prepared. It will have all the knowledge it gained prior to the attack. It could take you by surprise. An exorcist—”

“Is unnecessary,” Dale repeats. He finally looks up from his papers to meet first Grandfather’s and then Grandmother’s eyes in turn. “I know that it is vanquished. An exorcist will only waste money to confirm the same thing. Many of them are charlatans regardless, no more able to identify and banish a demon than anyone else and only able to part the gullible from their coin.”

“I know plenty of competent and qualified exorcists, Dale,” Grandmother’s tone is arch, clearly not thrown off by Dale’s rebuttal. “The persistence of the demonic is not to be underestimated.”

“We have been dealing with these threats longer than you have, my boy,” Grandfather says, a paternal and condescending tone to his voice. “We have the experience. We have the contacts. We should be leading this investigation and yet you are willfully keeping vital information to yourself.”

“Yes, and I shall continue to do so,” Dale replies, eyes back on his papers while you resist the urge to fidget under Grandfather’s intent and frustrated gaze. He had shared some of the information he learned about the employers of the mercenaries from his separate, second fight with Two with you, but nothing with his grandparents beyond his confirmation of Two’s defeat. You’re not sure that his grandparents realize he’s told you even a word or two more than them and are not sure if you even want them to find out. “I was the target of this threat and I shall be the one to see it ended.”

“Now is not the time to act too big for your britches,” Grandfather snaps.

“If this is a bid for maturity, for lordship, it is misplaced,” Grandmother’s voice is clearer and sharper. “Only the childish attempt to do things in isolation, mired in a false sense of independence, in pride, in hubris. There is no need to prove yourself, Dale,” her voice gentles here, at the end. It is interesting to hear them make points that would be valid, if only they were aimed at their grandson and not the present Dale. They don’t know they are arguing against a stranger, that their words are aimed at a ghost. “There is nothing to prove. There are only enemies of Northridge to deal with, with everything we have at our disposal.”

You wonder how the original Dale would have handled this argument, if he even decided to have it. The point might have been moot given how much this Dale needed to draw on his nature to win it. Maybe instead you and his grandparents would have been here, reading a ransom note. Maybe you or grandmother would not have survived the night.

“You expect us to trust your judgment,” Grandfather says, strain in his voice as he attempts to rein himself in, “but there are actions that speak against such rational thought. I still cannot believe the utter foolishness that you demonstrated, chasing after one into the night. Do you know how many of those demons have powers over darkness?”

You look down at the papers on the table, just in case your eyes or expression otherwise give away how ironic you find that statement. Picturing Dale’s control over shadows and darkness brings back memories of the fight. It also brings up memories of the dream you had last night. The dream’s images conjured to your mind by the sight of this new Dale, with his humanity an obvious after thought, to be contemplated while asleep. Darkness poured over the estimate of the human form, his bright eyes, the strength and speed he possessed in those moments.

You feel your cheeks heat at how the dream had diverted from the memory it began by rehashing. Of how it was routed in the manner of his hand on your chin after the fight had ended. In your dreams, his grip had once more been delicate silk over wrought iron strength. He had done more than look as he checked you were whole. His voice had that same reverberation of feeling and affection you heard near the end of the fight, when your name on his lips had evoked such emotion.

“I was not acting out of immature pride or foolishness then and neither am I now,” Dale replies, snapping you back to the present. His jaw is set as he puts his pen down to give them his full attention. “I am acting as I see fit, based on the circumstances at hand. I had received the training required and the knowledge to hold my own in such a fight. I had observed my opponent and knew the limits of his capabilities as well as my own.”

Dale’s confidence in the fight, even more so than in the tournament, had been obvious. Even now it was a comfort to you, to know how strong he truly was. This Dale’s strength is an asset, not the concern it had been originally. You still might have advised him to include his grandparents, if you didn’t know what you knew and how dangerous such a thing could be to him now. He must be walking the line between those who know who hired the mercenaries and those who can tell what he is very carefully indeed.

“My estimation was correct as I returned and they did not. It was not luck or coincidence and I’ll not discuss in maybes,” Dale adds at the end when it was clear Grandfather was going to add something more. “We are already here, now, and we are not discussing the actions already taken, but those yet to occur.”

Dale clears his throat and shifts in his chair before continuing when neither of his grandparents spoke, allowing him the time to do so, despite their misgivings. It was interesting to watch, and unlike many such discussions in your family, but perhaps the circumstances that were different here resulted in the older relatives not simply talking over the younger ones. “Those circumstances are clear: the attack was directed at me personally, the attack was a coordinated effort of fellow nobility, and they did not see Northridge as capable of defending herself from such threats. I have corrected them on the final point. They will be unprepared for such an eventuality and will need time to re-group and plan, as well as raise funds due to the amount paid in advance to the assassins. They will see the wedding as too distracting to us to move quickly now, which I am also subverting.”

“Most likely, they don’t even know that the assassins have failed,” you chime in with a glance at Dale, glad to have thought of something to add. Some of this you’d discussed with Dale the other night while you and the doctor bandaged him up. Unfortunately, since you’d been joined in the dressing room by the doctor and Dale’s valet, you’d not been able to continue your more private conversation. Since then, the only time you’ve been alone, have been short walks between meetings which has been the time to discuss much at all. “From what we overheard, it is unlikely that they had other team members. It will take time for their lack of communication and lack of success to reach their patrons—who might even think they simply took the money paid upfront and then left, if we’ve managed to keep word of the attack properly stifled. That confusion and uncertainty is something we can take advantage of as long as we are subtle.”

Dale is clearly trying for patience, but he’s also frustrated when his grandparents don’t seem particularly persuaded by these arguments. “We all agreed that keeping the news of this attack as quiet as possible and painting it as a minor event was for the best. Have either of you changed your minds regarding that decision?”

“No, of course not,” Grandmother replies, frowning.

She tries to continue speaking, but Dale continues instead, “Your primary resources are the full might of the law and those at your disposal in Northridge, your contacts in the realm of the law throughout the country and beyond, and your prior experience dealing with similar attacks during the height of your senate career.” Dale is exclusively addressing Grandmother at this point. “The majority of those resources would require bringing in a great deal more people and would undermine our decision to keep this attack quiet.”

“And my experience?” Grandmother asks, arching a brow.

“Which I have listened to extensively over the years,” Dale says, a mild tone of long-suffering grandchild in his voice, likely a mix of the original Dale’s familial condescension and his own exasperation given his personal greater experience. “As well as in the past few days as you recounted more details that had been omitted from the stories you told in my youth. If there is anything further you wish to share, please do so. However, throughout your tales, you worked exclusively with a small network of those loyal to you and involved only Grandfather in our family.” The implication that this is what Dale was doing by excluding them and including you was obvious.

“That is no reason not to share your strategy with us, Dale,” Grandmother says, disapprovingly. “My parents were unable to provide helpful advice in this arena, not in the manner your Grandfather and I can. I cannot recount every detail of every experience I have had. Sometimes the smallest details are most relevant and yet do not come to mind until the moment of connection is made. I cannot provide such insight if I am blinded.”

“I appreciate that,” Dale replies. “But the danger posed by making you a target, is greater in my mind than the value of that minute insight might afford. If I were struggling on my path of discovery and response, I would agree share further, but I am not.”

“And what of my resources?” Grandfather is agitated by Grandmother’s considering silence and at being ignored.

“My understanding of those you have at your disposal are primarily contacts for exorcists, demon hunters, mercenaries. Additionally, given the speed at which such lives are lost and won, I expect many are outdated. I mean no offense, but, you last actively utilized them over a decade ago. I think you certainly have solid relationships you could pull on that would steer you in the right direction to active members far quicker than the average person. But that it would still take time. And they are not who we need at this time. The assassins are all dealt with, I do not believe new individuals will be contracted with soon, and so the patrons are my focus.”

“I have contacts among the peers,” Grandfather says defensively. “Many who might have heard of who would use such an underhanded move such as this or who could discover such tactics. I am not so far removed from the game.”

“And this is the crux of the matter, is it not?” Dale’s frowning and for the first time in a long time, he reminds you of the old Dale. Your heart races with anxiety over his disapproval, even if it’s aimed at his grandparents and not you. You’d forgotten how much he’d made you nervous in the beginning, perhaps because this Dale makes you nervous too, but the difference in why has never been more stark.

This Dale worries you because of how much you still don’t know about him, about what he wants and what he plans. The conversation you were hoping to have that night never occurred, your time together interrupted by servants and doctors and Grandfather. You haven’t been alone since, except for short spans in the halls, where anyone might overhear and so you are both careful to remain vague. The lack of clear communication has become a larger and larger source of frustration for you. Sometimes he makes you feel as if there is more at stake because you believe there is more to gain from his partnership.

That Dale had worried you because of what you did know of him, rather than how each new hint you discern for this Dale reassures you. The original Dale, his arrogance, his moods, his overconfidence, his heavy handed assumptions, and his temper—his clear ability to hold grudges—all caused worry and nervousness to creep through your veins.

And in the split second Dale reminds you all that, he also helps wash it away. Because it is so clear, that while he’s frustrated and displeased with this conversation, obviously tense from the subject and the line he has to walk regarding what he knows and needs to do with his grandparents, you are not afraid. Not of him.

He takes a deep breath, his stare intense, but his jaw unclenched, his hand open on the table. “I also have such contacts,” Dale points out. “Fresh contacts from my travels and time in court. I am the one who moved directly in these circles that the ones targeted me have come from. I am the one most able to deal with this threat. You must know that, even if it worries you.”

Grandmother frowns, but doesn’t look away. “I cannot approve of you keeping us out of this investigation, especially given my involvement already, but I do understand why you wish to, however much I wish I did not. None of my fears lie with your capabilities, my Dale.”

“I know,” Dale replies, leaning back in his chair. His arm moves to the armrest and the back of his hand brushes against your own, just a touch too strongly to not be deliberate. You startle a little at the pressure, enough that Dale retreats, his fingers curving around the end of the arm rest. You hasten to correct yourself, not able to explain that you were surprised, nothing more. Carefully, you place your hand on his forearm, fingers loosely wrapping around his wrist and giving a, hopefully, comforting squeeze. A reminder he’s not alone.

He continues to look at Grandmother, but he turns his arm over and you slide your hand into his. It's grounding in the same way your embrace had been and you’re all too pleased to be able to do so now. “However, I believe it to be the right move, the one with that will grant the greatest chance of success with the least complications. And I will stand by it.”

You look over to Grandmother and find her staring at your joined hands. Your instinct is to let go, like a child caught doing something naughty, but while your hand spasms, you’re able to calm your racing heart and keep your hold on Dale.

Grandfather opens his mouth with a frown, but Grandmother cuts him off, “Very well. We will let you handle this, for now. If another attack occurs, we will not be kept to the sidelines.”

“Understood,” Dale replies, but you can feel his relief in how his hand relaxes in your own.

“And the moment you believe that you can use our help, you must promise to ask for it,” Grandmother continues, not looking away to Grandfather who’s come to stand beside her.

Dale nods, but she continues to wait and you give him a look. He blinks in surprise before realizing what she wants. “I promise that if I believe further aid from you would be warranted, I will ask for it.”

“See that you do,” Grandmother says before her demeanor lightens, her smile nostalgic as she says, “You have grown so much, my boy.”

Dale looks startled. This time his hand twitches in yours. It's clear he has no idea what to say and so he merely nods, looking back down at his papers. He tries for casual as he replies, “Yes, well, that is what tends to happen.”

Grandmother’s smile only widens and Dale reaches with his free hand to straighten the papers. Something written catches his attention, though you’ve no idea what given his shorthand code. “Actually, I was hoping to get your opinions on one part of my investigation.”

“Of course,” Grandfather says gruffly, still obviously displeased with the turn the conversation took, but not enough to disagree with Grandmother.

“I would appreciate your impressions of the two primary candidates I have for one of the patrons,” Dale says after a glance at you. When you walked over with him to the study and discussed this part of the conversation. You shared your impression of three primary patrons, which he confirmed having received the same information from Two: the Duke, the knight, and the heiress. You have no thoughts on two of them but you did express your suspicion of the knight from Eastmont, due to both his animosity and his knowledge of demonics, which Dale agreed with.

Dale seemed to have his own suspicions about the heiress, but the Duke, he’d only been able to narrow down to a short list. Hopefully, not only would Grandmother and Grandfather be able to advise on who to look at first, but also should mollify them regarding Dale more or less shutting them out of the rest of the investigation and action he planned to take against these conspirators.

“He was referred to as ‘the Duke’, which I believe to be literal,” Dale says. “Between that and the reference to gambling, I suspect either Duke Gaelole or Duke Karihas. Both I played at cards and won substantial amounts from, though of course no cheating was needed on my part.”

Grandmother cackled. “I taught you too well, sweetheart. I am also surprised that those two are still playing as they did.”

You’ve only heard these names and not had any personal interaction with either of them. It begins to get harder to follow certain family connections, when not bragged about, and so it's possible you went to school with a grandchild of one of them. That’s likely the only connection you could have had, sheltered as you had grown up.

“Duke Karihas,” Grandfather rubs his chin as he speaks. “He is arrogant, too fond of the drink and I can only guess, more susceptible to it than before. However, it is not his style to hold grudges. His memories tend to fade quickly with time, no matter the size of his losses. His children fund such vices these days as he still breaks even more often than not. Duke Gaelole on the other hand…”

“He plays the gallant and generous lord, but in truth, he would gut his own grandson in an alley over disrespect or a lost bet,” Grandmother pronounced. “He plays the amiable host, the graceful loser on those rare occasions he loses, but he is cold as a fish and as ruthless as a demon.”

“I had thought, even though the loss was smaller, that he might be the true enemy,” Dale admits, the frown deepening on his face. “There were repeated losses and he grew both more charming and more insistent as time wore on for rematches. There was a look in his eyes when I finally refused to play anymore hands and collected my winnings. A dangerous one.”

You wonder how the original Dale’s memories appear to him now. You wonder how he grew to learn how to read human expressions. You hope this Dale isn’t inclined to gamble, no matter what skills Dale used to possess. You feel now is not the time to bring such a matter up, but you feel buoyed that you likely will try to discuss it with him, because you feel you can.

“He’s got deep pockets, Dale,” Grandfather warned. “And he does not hesitate to dip into them as he pleases. He’s notorious for holding grudges and acting on them. Notable careers ended or reputations ruined, if he so desired. Tread very carefully with him.”

“I understand,” Dale replies gravely. He looks back and forth between them. “All I ask is that you allow me to take the lead on this matter and to trust that if I can use your assistance, I will ask for it. I know you would wish to do the same. Trust I would not put my faith in empty pride if I truly did not feel I had the resources required to bring these enemies of our family to rest.”

“I do not like this,” Grandfather says. “I do not think it is necessary.” His shoulders slump, ever so slightly, “But I would do the same, and have done so in the past.”

“You have a year or until another attack,” Grandmother warns, “before we act, with or without your leave. It is only in consideration of your determination and persuasion that I allow you this freedom to deal with the threat as you will.” Unexpectedly, her eyes find yours, “And I also trust that you are not conducting your investigation alone. That you are involving your soon to be spouse as well.

“Yes, Grandmother,” Dale replies dutifully, you echoing him only a beat behind. He smiles at you in response, resting his hand over your own and giving it a comforting squeeze.

“Pardon my intrusion, my lords, my ladies.” You turn to see Grandfather’s valet opening the door to come in. “In addition to alerting you that it is time to begin preparing for this afternoon’s gala, I also have a letter.”

“Our thanks for the reminder,” Grandfather says. “Who is the letter for?”

His valet walks over to you, rather than any Northridges. “It is addressed to the family, but to my lady’s attention.”

You accept the letter, frowning at the handwriting of the address. It doesn’t look familiar and you’re not expecting any mail. Are you? After these past couple days, anything unexpected makes you nervous. You quickly break the plain seal, wanting to get past this new tension as soon as possible. The message inside is short and in a hand you do recognize. “Oh.”

“What is it?” Dale asks, leaning closer and clearly as on edge as you had been. “Is something amiss?”

“Oh, nothing like that. My family has arrived.” You don’t know why the thought is so foreign, so disconcerting. And yet everything that has happened in these whirlwind days seems so far removed from your life before Northridge, that your family seems like an unexpected intrusion. You knew that they had to be arriving before the wedding ceremony, but Mother had said travel was more unpredictable than she’d expected and hadn’t been able to provide an estimate for their arrival. “They will be joining us at the gala tonight.”

[Part Twenty-Six]

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m1d-45 · 2 years

Note

More unrelated Bird Xiao blurbs because this idea has me in a chokehold.

Xiao always felt guilty about the scar he left on your hand when he but you. He nuzzles that scar with his little feathered head every chance he gets.

Zhongli noticing Xiao is in a much better mood these days. When the former archon asks the yaksha about it, he swears he saw Xiao give a small smile before he left to pray to the creator.

Xiao gets hurt in his bird form. He can't fight back in this little body and ends up with a broken wing. When the true creator finds him, he can only chirp sadly and apologetically. 'I'm so sorry,' he thinks, 'I just wanted to find you.' But instead of leaving him there like he expected, you oh-so-carefully pick him up and use what little powers you have to heal him. His heart aches for you when he hears you murmuring comforting words to him while you hold him close. He never wants you to let go of him.

-sibling anon, who is currently fixated on all the fluff+angst material of this idea

honestly i could probably post this stuff as like. a Genuine Post. but i wanna answer this now and also have a really sad post right after valentine’s day (which is already q’d) so… here’s 800 words of bird xiao :)

xiao’s fond of sitting in your palm, head resting on the small scar on your finger. he feels so bad for it, always, the glimpse of blue engrained in his memory, but he hopes by covering it you won’t hate him for it.

you don’t hold it against him (honestly, you probably forgot) and treat him as you always do: with kindness. you pet over his wings and give him your almonds, and in return he sings you a gentle song.

he’s seen at the inn less and less often, it’s so quiet on the balcony that verr ends up calling zhongli over. the consultant knew the yaksha, somehow, and she hoped he could find out what was wrong. zhongli wasn’t expecting anything serious, but when the balcony was empty even after he called for him…

(across liyue, xiao stiffened in your hands. you frowned, but he only flapped up, up, and away, leaving you as suddenly as he arrived)

xiao appears a moment before zhongli was going to call again, seeming… almost relaxed.

they talk, and though xiao swears he’s keeping up with his duties… zhongli knows he isn’t lying, but he can see how his debt has lessened. his shoulders are straighter, he isn’t as hunched over, and his hands aren’t balled at his side.

zhongli eventually shrugs it off. hes not surprised xiao hasn’t been hanging around as often when the traveller recently went to sumeru; love does strange things to people.

xiao’s only seen you in his mortal form once, and it was entirely by accident.

he’d been traveling from one hilichurl camp to the next, and your paths had crossed. he’d frozen, unused to seeing you when he want the size of your palm, but even from a distance he could see the terror in your eyes.

he hated it.

he couldn’t move for you if he wanted to—he did, he wanted to stop and hold you like you’d held him, wanted to brush his hands over your skin and assure you you had nothing to fear—as you turned and fled, leaving him alone on the trail. he couldn’t blame you, in truth, not when his spear was drawn and his face was taught with irritation. it made sense you’d be afraid of him, just… he wasn’t prepared for it to hurt this badly.

he’s been careful to only approach you in his smaller form ever since, no matter how far he had to fly. it wasn’t worth scaring you.. not after he’d already hurt you once.

he was distracted as he flew, not seeing the hawk that was diving for him until it was too late. the claws of the larger bird slammed him into the earth with a sharp crack, and he let out a cry. he couldn’t shift, not now, not when it was the time when you were usually walking about-

“hey!”

the bird didn’t pay attention to your call, only pressing xiao down further, but he did. he tried to wriggle from the hawk’s grip, to avoid the sharp beak that could spell his death in this smaller form. all he needed to do was get out, to slip free- but what if you saw him? would you still be afraid of him?

a large stick hit at the hawk, knocking its beak from xiao. you’d picked one up, one of the many splintering sticks scattered in liyue. you.. were protecting him.

the hawk cried and let him go, flapping backward, but you continued to jab at the dirt in front of it until it caved in and flew away.

xiao tried to flip to his feet, but one of his wings was hurt badly, pain shooting up his shoulder when he tried to move it. another weak chirp slipped out of him without his meaning to, and you turned, worry on your face.

you knelt—you shouldn’t be doing that, not to him, not when he was so dark and you were such a bright light—and carefully picked him up, cradling his small form in your palm. the warmth from your hands quickly covered his body, seeping into the definitely broken bone and easing some of the pain.

you carried him back to your messy camp, carefully hand-feeding him bits of almonds. if he weren’t covered in feathers, he’d surely have flushed a bright red, but he couldn’t deny that the food did help slightly.

for the rest of the day, he sat in your palm in a quiet half-sleep, weakly chirping whenever you checked on him. other birds came and went, but you kept him sheltered in your hand, wiping away any dust on his feathers.

by the time morning came, his wing was barely even sore.

#m1d : [chats]#m1d : [secrets]#sibling anon #bird!xiao shenanigans #i could genuinely make this into a post like /srs but like…. why do that…. too much work…..#n my fated diluc post is already set up n q’d…..#i didn’t fistfight tumblr to get that to work to delay it by two days yk?#would i like Internet Numbers of course but like… this is our littol secret….#also the line abt the traveller is meant to be like. zhongli thinks xiao’s with the traveller. he’s not. but.#man idk i need to shut up #1k research paper = cringe but 800 words of xiao = i’d love to #bird xiao **cradles him gently**

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