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Even after Varka confirms his relationship, rumors don’t cease. Perhaps it’s because this is his first time dating publicly, or maybe it’s because Flins is only truly known by Varka and the expedition team, but stories about them keep circulating for many, many months after they return from Nod-Krai.
Then, something happens that pours oil on the fire. One of the nuns at the cathedral is the first to notice, but she brushes it off. Then another person catches wind, and another, and another, and people start coming up with theories to explain this phenomenon, and it snowballs from there.
Here’s how the story goes:
The Grand Master returns from his expedition with a lover. In the following months, Mondstadt has its biggest baby boom in recent history.
As the city learns just how many people are suddenly getting pregnant, rumors run rampant. One is that the Grand Master's joyful spirits have infected the whole city. Another, that his romantic union is so popular with the Anemo archon that their god is now raining blessings on his people.
This second theory is particularly popular, thanks to the story of Flins’ arrival. Everyone already believes the Anemo archon has blessed him, and shown support of his relationship with Varka.
But the rumor that lasts the longest is one pertaining to Flins alone: That he is a Nod-Kraian deity of fertility, whose presence has blessed the lands of Mondstadt.
It doesn't help that the knights who went on the expedition have been sharing stories of Flins' prowess in battle, because they only lend more credence to the theory. As does the giant fire that happened in Wolvendom: Though witnessed by few, word travels fast.
Varka himself doesn’t hear much, of course. People are hesitant to gossip in front of him, though they do try to needle him for information, very transparently: “How did you and Flins meet?” “What’s his background?” or anything at all about fighting – where did he learn to fight, does he have a vision, has Varka ever sparred against him…
Still. They do fall into a sort of casual routine after a while, even if people stare at Flins like he’s a divine incarnation.
“That’s the third pregnancy announcement I’ve heard this week…” Varka mutters as he tips his drink back, sitting together with Flins on the outside serving of the Cat’s tail.
His eyes flicker to Flins, who’s holding his own mug with a watchful expression. A bit further up the street, they just heard shrieks of excitement from yet another woman announcing a baby. Varka knows about the baby boom, of course, but he hasn’t had a chance to bring it up with Flins until now.
“So”, he starts, and Flins’ yellow eyes turn to him, “I know you’re no fertility god, but you’ve told me your succubus magic can have certain effects…”
“You’re wondering if I have anything to do with the present situation?” Flins catches on quickly, and his lips turn up. “I can’t assuredly say that I do. But I can’t assuredly say no, either.”
Varka follows his gaze toward the woman, who is now being embraced and congratulated by her friends.
“We see her boyfriend at the tavern every time we go”, he points out. “He would’ve been around you a lot.”
Flins hums. “Maybe so.”
“This whole thing started after you came to the city, you know. Maybe it’s a coincidence, but you’ve gotta admit, the timing’s a little funny.”
“Don’t say that where others may hear.” Flins glances at him, cautious, but mostly amused. “I have heard the rumors. People aren’t as subtle as they think.”
Varka reaches across the table, clasping Flins’ free hand.
“Is it bothering you?” he wonders. “I can try to shut them down if it does…”
“Oh, not at all.” Flins’ eyes twinkle as he interrupts, quick to halt that idea. “I find it quite humorous. I’m only saying that we needn’t fan the flames. I wouldn’t wish to mislead anybody with false hope that I have power over issues that I do not.”
“But it’s possible this is because of you”, Varka points out. “So it wouldn’t be false.”
“Possible, yes, but my presence doesn’t magically solve all issues related to fertility, and I wouldn’t wish for couples struggling with such issues to be misled.”
“Oh, right.”
They both look across the street again, where the woman and her friends are now leaving, arms intertwined.
“Even if this baby boom isn’t because of you”, Varka begins, “I think everyone is glad that you’re here. That’s why they were all congratulating us, and so many merchants want to give you gifts, and all that.”
“They barely know me.” Flins sounds bemused as he turns to Varka.
“Maybe not yet”, he concedes, “but they know me, and they can see that you make me happy. That’s more than enough.”
–
In retrospect, Varka fears he may neglect Flins a little in the weeks leading up to Windblume. He’s thinking of Flins near constantly, of course, even while preoccupied with work, and he puts in twice the usual effort for this year’s festival.
At least Flins doesn’t seem too upset. Sometimes, when Varka returns late, he’ll be waiting on the couch with a knowing look, but rather than demand an explanation, or reproach Varka, he simply meets him in the hallway, and after a hug or kiss in greeting, drags him to the bedroom.
He also, to Varka’s great surprise, starts learning to cook.
“But you can’t eat?” Varka questions the first time he catches Flins in the kitchen, one of those aforementioned nights where he’s home well past dusk.
“It isn’t that I can’t eat”, Flins says without looking up, very focused on frying vegetables. “But that my body would burn the food to ash, rather than absorb nutrients from it.”
“And then you throw up, because there’s ash inside your body”, Varka finishes, one eyebrow raised. “Which sounds to me like you can’t eat.”
“Perhaps. But that does not prevent me from cooking.”
Varka doesn’t need to hear him say it to know why he’s doing it, so he simply embraces Flins from behind, pulling them flush together, his own chest to Flins’ back. He pecks his neck, then rests his chin on Flins’ shoulder. “Thank you, darling.”
Other times, it’s like Flins is conspiring to sabotage his plans, although Varka knows there’s no way he’s doing it on purpose. One of these is when he’s arranging an order with Flora, the young florist on the market street, and suddenly Flins appears out of nowhere, with two tagalongs in tow.
“Flins!” Varka exclaims, instinctively standing up a little straighter, watching half in delight, half in alarm as his partner stops on the cobblestone road only a few feet away. “What’re you doing here?”
“Just passing by”, Flins replies, a knowing glint to his eyes as he scans Varka and the marketstall he’s standing by. “We happened to recognize you from a distance, and decided to say hello.”
As if on cue, two younger voices chime in, each very distinct:
“The fates have brought us hither!”
“Hey, Grand Master!”
Varka’s eyes drift to the figures behind Flins, and he jumps at the chance for a distraction.
“Oh, Fischl and Bennett!” he greets, grinning. “I had no idea you knew them, Flins. You’re out on business, or just chaperoning these two?”
But Flins’ eyebrows raise, almost imperceptibly, and he turns his back to Varka, looking at the kids instead.
“Only two? Where did Miss Klee go?”
“Oh…” Bennett’s eyes widen, and he turns left and right, searching the road. “She was just here, I swear!”
“The magus knight has fallen prey to the polestar of farther desires”, Fischl informs.
“Do you know which ones, Prinzessin?” Flins asks, and Varka raises an eyebrow, both at the address, but also at his easy understanding of Fischl’s speech. Then again, this is Flins they’re talking about. It shouldn’t be surprising.
“The feline pet which surpassed us upon our traveling path!”
Flins just shakes his head with a small sigh.
“She’s safe within the city”, he comments, “but for peace of mind – and the safety of its other inhabitants – we ought to find her, don’t you think?”
Fischl’s appreciative expression almost makes Varka laugh, but he supposes a 500 years old, inhuman ex-noble was bound to get along with Fischl. If anything, he should’ve introduced them sooner.
“Thou speak the truth!” she proclaims, and Flins gestures both kids along, not even offering Varka another glance before taking off again.
“See you later!” Varka calls after them, grinning. He’s glad his partner is fitting into Mondstadt so well.
He does keep an eye out as he finishes up with Flora, just in case Flins returns. Sure, he could blame Windblume for being here, but he wants Flins to know as little as possible.
The most precarious part is his visit to the jeweler. It’s the only errand he doesn’t have an excuse for, so he takes extra care to go when Flins is out of the city, and they won’t bump into each other. Even then, it feels like being on a secret mission.
Somehow, despite his planning, when he crosses the plaza on his way back, after finishing with the jeweler, he still ends up running into Flins, who spots him near the fountain and immediately heads in his direction. Varka’s eyebrows raise when he notices that once again, Flins has two kids with him.
“When did you become a babysitter?” he asks, stopping in front of Flins with his arms crossed, right as a small, red figure beelines for him.
“Uncle Varka!” Klee exclaims, and it’s from pure experience that Varka manages to catch her, crouching down and grabbing her before she can crash into him.
“Klee!” Varka returns just as enthusiastically, lifting her off the ground, and Klee shrieks in delight. He settles her against his hip before turning back to Flins, who’s watching with a small smile. “I thought you said you were going to Starfell Lake?”
“We have been”, Flins confirms. “I never said we would stay the entire day.”
Beside him, barely as tall as Flins’ shoulder, stands Durin, fiddling with his fingers nervously.
“Hello, Grand Master!” he greets when he notices Varka looking. “Uh, I hope we didn’t interrupt any plans…?”
Varka can’t answer that honestly, so instead he laughs, dismissing the concern. “Nah, don’t worry ‘bout it! I was just surprised. I thought you’d be out longer.”
“And I thought you’d be in your office”, Flins counters, looking pointedly at Varka. There’s something knowing in his gaze, and Varka wonders for a moment if maybe Flins saw him leave the jeweler, but no. There’s no way. Surely they weren’t back that early…?
“Ooh!” Klee exclaims. “If you’re not at work, then you can play with Klee!”
“Not really how it works, unfortunately”, Varka says apologetically. He glances at Flins. “I’ve gotta get back, but if you kiddos haven’t got dinner plans…”
“We’ll come find you as soon as you’re off”, Flins replies quickly, a little too eagerly, and Varka thinks he might be coming home late too often, if this is the reaction it warrants.
He’ll remedy that later. For now, he’s more surprised by Flins’ plans for the day.
“You really are babysitting, huh?”
“Uncle Flins said he’s gonna teach Klee and big brother Durin how to make magic paper animals!” Klee tells him excitedly, and Varka raises a questioning eyebrow at Flins.
“Arts and crafts”, he translates with a small smile. “Though, between the three of us, our magics are more likely to set the paper on fire…”
Varka doubts he has to tell Flins not to let the kids use their pyro visions – or his own inherent magic – on flammable materials, but there is something decidedly mischievous about the look on Flins’ face, and Varka suspects he’s better off staying out of it.
Klee gasps. “Uncle Varka! You have an anemo vision!”
“He’d be perfect for bringing your creations to life later, wouldn’t he?” Flins hums, looking at Varka with some amusement. “Let’s hope work doesn’t delay him overly much this evening.”
With those words, how could Varka possibly keep his partner and kids – not his kids, mind you, but kind of – waiting?
It’s awfully domestic. Varka considers if, maybe later, he should see how Flins feels about adopting a kid together. But he has another pressing question to ask before there’s time for that, which means he’s got to focus and make sure everything about Windblume is perfect and ready.
–
Then, tragedy strikes: Varka falls sick.
“You’re being dramatic”, Flins huffs as he sets a tray on the bedside table, taking a seat on Varka’s side of the bed and reaching to feel his forehead. His hand is cool, and Varka leans into the touch.
“I’m not”, he mumbles, fully aware of how petulant he sounds. Flins just huffs again. “Windblume’s in three days. I can’t be sick right now…”
“I do not believe your body cares about such things, Varka.”
It’s even more annoying, because he’s barely been sick for a whole year – sure, he’s felt a little under the weather, but well and truly sick? No. Not since before he met Flins, which was a long time ago. For his immune system to fail now, of all times? Varka wonders if fate hates him.
Flins reaches for a mug and two pills on the tray, handing them to Varka, who lifts his head and blinks, disgruntled. After all, the only thing worse than being sick three days before your own proposal has to be making the person you’re proposing to sick.
“Hey, no”, he mumbles, trying to gently push Flins away. “I can’t get you sick, too…”
But Flins just rolls his eyes and doesn’t budge.
“Calm yourself. I may look human, but my biology is too different to contract your human illness.”
Varka pauses, digesting the words. Then he accepts the mug and the pills, swallowing them obediently and taking a few sips of the tea, before handing the cup back to Flins.
“In that case”, Varka says, and scoots over to make room on the bed. “Stay?”
Flins smiles, reaching out to brush Varka’s hair back. Then he climbs up next to him.
“Of course.”
Flins reclines, urging Varka to lay down, but he doesn’t rest on the pillows. Instead, he scoots down and encircles Flins in his arms, dropping his head onto his belly. It’s perfect to rest on; cushy and soft and warm. Much better than a pillow. Flins himself simply huffs and cards his fingers through Varka’s hair, the light scratches encouraging his eyes to slip shut.
“Rest, Varka.”
And he does. For several hours, in fact, up until Flins tries to slip out from beneath him, to go and prepare food.
He feels slightly better the second day – his fever goes down, according to Flins – but infinitely more congested. By that point, he’s getting stressed that maybe his plan won’t work, not with how nasal his voice has become, or how every other sentence is interrupted by a cough.
Flins is none the wiser to these anxieties. At least, that’s what Varka tells himself. Realistically, Flins is way too good at reading people – Varka, in particular – to miss it, but the same way he’s good at picking up on such signs, he also has an uncanny ability to tell when to bring up, and when to leave Varka alone.
Not that he actually leaves Varka alone. He just never asks what Varka is so worried about.
Varka knows he’s not the best patient: easily bored, unwilling to sit still, little regard for his own limits. Anxieties about the upcoming Windblume only make it worse. He honestly expects Flins to have enough of his antics within the first day, because as soon as the worst of the tiredness passes, he’s constantly on his feet, trying to wander off, but Flins never tells him to sit down.
The first time, he makes it to the living room before Flins appears in front of him, and snakes his arms around Varka’s waist. It isn’t suggestive, but it’s not innocent either, and they end up embracing on the couch.
It takes about five times of the same thing happening – Varka gets up to wander, when suddenly Flins is there, hugging or kissing or riling him up some other way, and they end either on the couch or in bed – before Varka puts it together.
“Hang on”, he says, halting Flins, who had just been pushing Varka back onto the bed. He grips Flins’ wrist. “Have you been seducing me into resting more?”
At first Varka thinks Flins freezes because of guilt, but then he realizes that his expression is way too calm. Thoughtful, with no hint of shame.
“I suppose you could say that.”
Then he pushes Varka back against the pillows – Varka puts up no fight at all, too surprised to react – and climbs on top of him, straddling his thighs and lacing his arms around Varka’s waist, resting his weight on him, chest to chest. Without thinking, Varka’s own arms encircle Flins to hold him, even as his mind is whirring.
The third day of Varka’s illness – and the day before Windblume, as well as Varka’s grand plan – he insists that he’s well again.
Is he actually? Arguable, but Varka would say so; he’s had more than enough rest.
When a knight knocks on their door in the morning, with a missive saying that a shipment has gone missing, Varka is all too ready to check on it himself. It’s perfect, really, because he could stop by Windrise on his way, just to make sure there aren’t any issues for tomorrow.
Unfortunately, Flins is not so eager for him to go.
“And if the shipment has been interrupted by monsters?” he questions, arms crossed as he stares Varka down.
“All the more reason for me to go!” Varka insists. “Everyone else is plenty busy with preparations, and I’m more than capable.”
Flins huffs.
”Sir Knight, you are still sick. If you so much as try lifting your blade, I will personally tie you to the bed until you have recovered.”
Varka almost wants to summon his blade right now, just to see whether Flins will make good on that, but the look in his boyfriend’s eyes stops him. It wasn’t meant as an invitation, but from the glint in Flins’ eyes, he knows what Varka is thinking.
“I’m not that sick anymore, I…”
A sneeze interrupts him, perfectly on cue, and Flins arches an unimpressed brow.
“A walk would be fine”, he says, surprisingly. “Beneficial, even, so long as you do not overexert yourself. I am not trapping you indoors. Though fighting is off the table.”
“Wait. You’re saying you’ll let me do my job?”
Flins rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitches.
“I never forbade you from it. But yes, I am perfectly okay with you promenading to check on the shipment.”
“And what if the delivery really has been taken by monsters?” Varka wonders. “Am I just supposed to ask nicely for it back? ‘Cause you just said I can’t fight.”
“I stand by that.”
Varka throws his hands up. “Then what?”
Flins smiles, that scheming smile he has, usually when he’s about to do or say something Varka won’t like, but will be unable to say no to, an expression both attractive and concerning.
“Simple. Take me with you.”
It’s not a bad idea. Whatever monsters might’ve happened upon the delivery won’t be a match for him, and he has been itching for a fight recently, if not outright asking. Only problem is, Varka can’t take Flins with him on the second, secret part of this task. He can’t very well show Flins his own surprise.
“Alright”, Varka agrees, shelving those other thoughts for now, too eager to get outside to worry about the rest. “I’d never say no to your company, darling.”
–
Finding the delivery isn’t difficult. In fact, it can’t have been missing in the first place – they come upon a broken cart as soon as they step outside the city, on the other side of the Mondstadt bridge, though it’s been ransacked.
“It’s concerning that monsters would come so close to the city…” Varka mutters, inspecting the cart. “Especially this close to Windblume, when so many people are on the road.”
“I do not believe hilichurls celebrate the holiday”, Flins remarks, standing a few feet behind Varka. His eyes are on the surrounding environment rather than the cart. “They must be nearby. Stay here, I’ll handle them.”
“Aw, you’re not even gonna let me watch?”
Flins just gives him a look, before taking off, disappearing into the trees beside the road.
Varka huffs, but does as asked. It’s lucky that this spot is perfectly visible from the front gates, because a group of people seem to be setting out from the city, and his vantage point gives Varka a chance to hurry over and stop them. He’s not sure how far Flins has gone, or where the monsters are, but just in case those reach the road, civilians can’t be passing through.
“Hey there!” Varka calls out as he approaches – it seems to be a mismatched group of merchants, about seven or eight in total, most of them familiar.
“Grand Master”, the fruit seller Quinn greets him, a few others echoing their own sentiments. Quinn frowns at Varka’s demeanour. “Is something wrong?”
“Nothing we can’t handle!” Varka assures, stopping in front of the group, inadvertently blocking their way forward. He glances over his shoulder at the cart. “But if you could just wait a few minutes while we finish up…”
Another merchant – Matthaus, Varka thinks his name is – looks at the road ahead with a frown.
“But there’s no one else here?”
As if on cue, several hilichurls run out from behind the trees, onto the road, in a great commotion, as though their very backs were on fire. That isn’t too far off, because blue fire chases them, first as trails on the ground, then the flames roar upwards, growing into the shape of a person – a person made entirely of flame and shadow, with a forked tail and dark wings.
The figure throws its arm out, and the first hilichurl turns to dust. He takes a step forward, or perhaps glides is more accurate, with his fiery constitution, toward the remaining three hilichurls, all of which turn to flee, but aren’t given a chance.
Like a dance, the creature of blue fire – Flins, because that’s who it is – steps forward, elegant, poised, with none of the rush of the fleeing monsters, and a simple flick of his finger has another one of them swallowed by flame. His tail flickers languidly as the flames roar.
The final two are taken care of so quickly, Varka almost misses it. Flins’ polearm comes out of nowhere, slashing rapidly, with flames bursting forth from the blade, until the last hilichurls are nothing but ashes, scattered to the wind.
The entire group of merchants has gone deadly silent behind him, save a couple of shocked gasps. Varka, meanwhile, is trying very hard to restrain himself.
The blue flames retreat, falling into the shape of a solid person, almost human, but not quite. Though the tail and wings fade, Flins’ long, indigo hair stands out even more, the tips seeming to glow with remnants of blue fire. When he turns to them, his eyes glimmer golden for a moment, even with the entire length of the bridge separating them. He dusts off his shoulder, then approaches.
“Wha– you can fight!?” Quinn exclaims.
“That was hardly worthy of being called a fight…” Flins murmurs as he comes closer, stopping next to Varka. He smiles. “Regardless, the road should be safe now.”
“I… what…”
Flins, unbothered by the merchants gaping at him, turns to Varka. “How do you feel?”
He can’t very well say ‘horny’ in front of all these near strangers, even though it’d be the truth…
“So fucking turned on.”
Someone chokes in the background, another bursts out laughing, but all Varka can focus on is Flins, whose eyes narrow in understanding, lips quirking up.
“You have been very good”, he comments. His eyes trail down Varka’s chest, and he reaches up to adjust the neckline of his shirt. Varka nearly shivers as Flins’ fingers brush skin. “Not a hint of a weapon. And you haven’t extended yourself once…”
“Right.” The more Flins talks, the more difficult it becomes to not just drag him somewhere out of sight, and devour him whole. “Then, how about we head back?”
Flins licks his lips, and Varka’s eyes lock onto the movement.
“Certainly, Sir Knight.”
As though he had just been waiting for permission, Varka intertwines his arm with Flins’, urging him along as they walk around the group of merchants, all staring as they pass, but Varka doesn’t spare them any further attention. All of his is on Flins.
Maybe it’s been too long since he saw him in battle. He’s sure he used to have better self-control than this.
Or maybe it’s Flins succubus form; the flames only come out when he’s fighting, but the wings and forked tail could be visible any time, if Flins so chose. Unfortunately, they aren’t conducive for the low profile Flins wants to keep, so Varka rarely gets to see them. Sometimes, in bed, but not often – they both get tangled in the sheets too easily.
“You’re still sick”, Flins mumbles as they pass through the city gates, interrupting Varka’s musings with a most unwelcome reminder, and he pulls Flins closer to his side, almost possessively. When Flins glances up at him, he looks pleased. “But I suppose, since you cannot infect me… As long as you take it easy.”
His eyes sharpen at these last words. Varka isn’t going to start anything in public, but he moves his hand to Flins’ lower back, grinning.
“Of course, darling.”
–
Flins isn’t sure what to expect.
He expects something, of course. Varka isn’t nearly as subtle as he thinks. He is, however, great with secrets, and so Flins cannot say much about the specifics of what his partner has planned. It will be revealed in due time, and until then, Flins plans on enjoying this holiday with Varka to the fullest.
For this occasion, he even has a new outfit, something much lighter than his usual garbs. The white dress shirt is ruffled, with long puffy sleeves that flutter in the wind. His pants are still black, though they are so flowy that they could easily be mistaken for a skirt, with flowery decorations in silver and purple running down the length of each side.
The whole city is decorated with flowers. From the moment Flins steps foot out the door, hand in hand with Varka, he is taken with the sight. Windblume is a lover’s holiday, and the tradition is that you give flowers to a person you love. Flins finds it fitting that the entire city would be adorned with them.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” Varka asks as they walk toward the town center.
“Very much so”, Flins agrees, but he is watching Varka; how the light reflects in his eyes, how they crinkle with laughter, hair golden under the sun.
They spend the entire afternoon amidst the bustling celebrations. Plenty of game stalls are set up around the main road, and there’s music in the plaza. People are playing, and dancing, and eating, and everywhere you look, the atmosphere is joyous and bright.
To Flins’ mild disturbance, quite a few people recognize him, and try to load him with food – perhaps they want to appeal to him because of recent rumors, or maybe it’s like Varka said, and they’re just happy that he’s making the Grand Master happy, and trying to give back.
“Is it because of my appearance?” Flins mumbles as he returns to Varka’s side, after failing to find an excuse to accept a bowl of fruit. “Does my body give the impression that I enjoy food? Because if so, I blame you.”
Varka just laughs, throwing an arm over Flins’ shoulders and accepting the bowl Flins offers.
“If anything, you’re lucky that you’ve put on weight, or else they’d probably be giving you even more. And, uh, not to stir shit up, but it’s pretty common to offer the gods food. Maybe less in modern times, but you know, it’s a traditional gift.”
“Don’t say that”, Flins protests. “I’m no deity.”
“Hey, I’m just trying to explain what others might be thinking!”
Flins sighs heavily, shaking his head. He gestures to the fruit bowl in Varka’s hand.
“Just eat, please.”
After that, they drift around the venue a little longer. Many familiar faces greet them, knights and captains and townsfolk alike. At one of the game stalls, they run into Klee, who Varka helps win a shooting game. At the plaza, Flins ends up leading Captain Eula through a waltz, after they overhear her complain that no one here knows any proper ballroom dances.
As the sun sinks lower in the sky, taking on hues of orange and pink, they separate from the crowd. Varka leads Flins up a staircase, away from the main event, almost as though they were heading to work, and pauses at the base of a windmill.
“We’ve got a few game stalls and merchants outside the city as well, so I’ve gotta check on a patrol out there”, he announces offhandedly.
Flins stares at him. At the faked casualness, the forced levity in his tone, how out of place the duty seems – the statement is true enough, he assumes, but that they would suddenly require the Grand Master’s attention, after almost a full day of no concerns?
“Alright”, Flins agrees slowly, thinking it best not to question it. “Should we meet up afterwards?”
“Actually…” Varka hedges. “Could you pick up a file from Jean’s office and bring it to me while I’m out?”
A smile threatens to break out on Flins’ face, but he holds it back. The excuse is transparent. But, he supposes, that might be half the point.
“Alright.”
Varka seems to relax. Flins can’t resist swooping forward to press a kiss against his jaw, delighting in Varka’s surprised face as he pulls back, and he giggles.
“Got a lot on your mind?” he teases. “Too much to focus on what’s right in front of you?”
The tips of Varka’s ears turn red, and he huffs.
“Too much to focus on you? Never!”
“Well, then. Go do whatever it is you need to, and I’ll be there soon.”
Varka watches for another moment, eyes searching Flins’ face, then he nods once, decisively. It certainly seems more serious than a perfunctory duty. Flins isn’t going to ask, because Varka never lies needlessly, which only makes him more curious about where this is going.
They separate, Varka heading down the stairs, while Flins continues to the Favonius building, wondering what he’ll find there. He doubts the file is real.
As he pushes the grand doors open, he hears a scurry of motion, some whispers, but when he steps in, there’s nobody around. The entire hall is strangely silent, especially with the liveliness outside, but Flins continues toward the Acting Grand Master’s office, knocking before entering.
Jean rises behind the desk, before Flins is even over the threshold.
“Sir Flins”, she says. Then she seems to make a conscious effort to shed the formal demeanour, and she smiles. “Did the Grand Master send you?”
“Indeed.” Flins’ eyes flitter around the office – nothing looks out of the ordinary. “Though, I suspect he lied about his reason for doing so.”
“Most likely.” Jean doesn’t look bothered by the accusation, and moves on swiftly. “He didn’t say how he wanted me to do this… How much do you know about Windblume traditions?”
“A fair bit, I’d say.” Flins tilts his head curiously. “Is there anything in particular I should be aware of?”
Jean straightens her shoulders – an impressive feat, considering how impeccable her posture was to begin with. She doesn’t answer the question.
“I think”, she starts, “that I can speak for everyone in this city when I say that it’s obvious how happy you’ve made the Grand Master.” She relaxes a bit, expression softening. “And, if I may speak as a friend, it really is wonderful to have you around, Flins. Not just as Varka’s partner, but as a person. It’s traditional to give flowers – windblumes – to your loved ones.”
She steps around the desk, and Flins notices that in her hand, she’s been concealing a flower, with white petals and prominent stamens. Now, she holds it out to him.
“Cecilias only grow where harsh winds blow”, she tells him as he accepts the gift carefully, almost reverently, staring at the flora. “They’re said to be as intangible as the true heart of an unbound soul.”
Flins looks up.
“What does that mean?”
“Honestly? I have no idea.” That brings a chuckle out of Flins, and Jean continues, smiling: “You should go find Sir Varka.”
“Thank you for your kind words, Miss Jean.” Flins inclines his head again, heart full from the unexpected affection. “I suppose you won’t tell me where?”
Jean just smiles. “I don’t think you’ll have any trouble finding him.”
Interest piqued, Flins turns and leaves the office with another thank you. To his surprise, the hall is no longer empty. Lisa stands near the entrance, and when Flins approaches, she smiles sweetly at him and holds her hand out – another flower. This one purple.
“The Sumeru rose, despite its name, isn’t actually a rose”, she says as he accepts the flower with a grateful bow. “But it’s pretty, and smells wonderful. Suits you perfectly, don’t you think, cutie?”
She even winks at him, and Flins lifts an amused eyebrow.
“You are too kind, Miss Lisa.”
She giggles, gesturing toward the grand entryway.
“Hurry along, now. I’m far from the last person you’ll see today.”
With those curious words, Flins expresses his gratitude once more, and continues outside, now with two flowers in hand. One white, one purple. The Sumeru rose, just like Lisa had said, is pleasantly fragranced, and he breathes in the scent as he steps into the evening air. The sky has gone orange.
Before he can continue further, a young woman clears her throat right beside him.
“Excuse me.” Her voice is high, and when Flins turns, finds the maid, Noelle, looking up with round eyes. She holds out a flower and curtsies. “I wish you a happy Windblume. Oh, and the Grand Master sends his regards.”
Peering at the gift, Flins recognizes a snapdragon, with a gentle orange color, more often used in cooking than bouquets. He accepts it gratefully.
“Thank you, Miss Noelle. I’ll admit, I hadn’t expected to see you here.”
Now that they’re free, Noelle clasps both hands in front of herself.
“Oh! We haven’t spoken much, but you mean a lot to the Grand Master, so I was very happy to help.”
The snapdragon makes a pretty addition to his growing bouquet – Flins hopes that Varka isn’t too far, or it won’t fit his hands much longer.
“I am most grateful, Miss Noelle.”
Flins offers another bow, and Noelle’s cheeks flush.
“Please! It wasn’t much.” She glances behind Flins. “Oh, and you should make sure you pass the fountain on your way.”
The walk down toward the festivities, now audible in the background again, gives Flins a brief respite, though he is much too excited and surprised to get caught up in thoughts. His Windblumes both look and smell wonderful, and he’s curious to see where this leads, where Varka is waiting, and what will happen once they reunite.
People are celebrating in the main square, and as he comes upon the central fountain, Flins makes eye contact with the Cavalry Captain, who seems to have been waiting, if his reaction is anything to go by. He approaches Flins with one arm behind his back, and Flins pauses, watching curiously.
With a flourish, Kaeya bows, revealing what he’d been hiding.
“A Calla Lily for the gentleman who has captured the heart of our Grand Master.”
“How gracious of you, Sir Kaeya.” All this attention is making Flins’ face feel warm, and yet he is delighted to see all that has gone into this. He accepts the flower, adding it to his collection. “Thank you.”
Kaeya straightens, and his teasing smile mellows a little.
“No need for thanks. Go on, he’s waiting for you.”
With a gesture toward the main road, he steps back to let Flins continue, one flower richer. He crosses the plaza, head turning to take in all that’s going on – children playing games, couples dancing, families having dinner – and a few catch his gaze, grinning and greeting him, and he returns the gestures just as happily, heart warm and full to the brim.
The next familiar faces are waiting near the end of the street, beside the Adventurer’s Guild. Two young adventurers, who had been leaning against the wall, hurry to stand up straight when they see him.
“Quick! He’s coming!” the girl nudges the boy, then clears her throat, right on cue for Flins to make his way over. “Blessed be thee, beloved of the Northern Wind! We hereby present you with a tribute in the name of your affections, as honored and sacred as your perdurable bond!”
“Here! We got you this Windwheel Aster!”
Before Flins has a chance to say anything, the boy drops it on the ground, though he’s quick to retrieve it, and he’s no less enthusiastic the second time, grinning brightly all the while.
“Prinzessin, Mister Bennett”, Flins greets, accepting the flower with a small bow. “My sincerest gratitude.”
He is torn between wanting to stay and talk, and the curiosity pulling him ever onward, to whatever awaits next. Luckily, the adventurers make the choice for him, urging him to go on, and he laughs, but does as asked.
By the city gates, he expects to see the usual knights guarding the entrance, but instead, a figure steps directly into his path, hand almost in Flins’ face as he extends his Windblume.
“Don’t ask me how I got this”, Lohen says. When Flins leans back, he identifies what the soft colors add up to: a Winter Icelea, and he raises his eyebrows, surprised to see it so far from its home. “These things – I mean, flowers – are supposed to be warriors of the Winter Icelea King, but you probably know that already.”
Flins thanks him, wondering how Lohen might’ve gotten hold of this, but as requested, does not ask. His collection of flowers is now a proper bouquet, with a variety of colors and textures, a little wild and unruly, and all the more beautiful for it.
“I appreciate the gift, however you may have acquired it”, Flins says with a small smile, and Lohen nods, satisfied. Then he nods to the bridge, beyond the gates. Even from this distance, Flins can see people waiting there.
“There’s only a couple more to go.”
The evening breeze is pleasant as Flins leaves the confines of the city, and the sun is teasing the horizon by now, painting the sky in hues of orange, gold, and pink. He slows his pace, breathing in the floral scents and looking over the bridge at the glittering lake. The people up ahead are watching, so he hurries his steps, not wanting to keep them waiting.
Three of them are standing at the halfway point, in the middle of the bridge.
Klee is vibrating in place, eyes darting between Flins and the two people next to her, and the only thing keeping her from rushing forward is her brother’s hand on her shoulder. She holds a flower with both hands, a hooked stem, almost like a lamppost, with a softly glowing, blue bud.
“Miss Klee”, Flins greets, smiling at the girl. Then he nods at the two boys next to her. “Mister Albedo, Mister Durin. How nice to see you.”
Before either of them can respond, Klee blurts:
“We got you Windblumes! Can Klee put one in your hair? Pretty pleaaase?”
“Klee…” Albedo mumbles, but he sounds amused. He meets Flins’ gaze, offering a small smile. “I hope you’ve enjoyed the celebrations today, Sir Flins.”
Then he reveals his other hand, but the flower isn’t one Flins recognizes: A vibrant dark pink, almost red, with long stamens at the center.
“A Dendrobium, from Inazuma”, Albedo adds. He extends it toward Flins. “Happy Windblume.”
“Happy Windblume!” Durin echoes, revealing the flower he’s been holding behind his back. This one, Flins recognizes at once: A Frostlamp flower, yet another plant native to Nod-Krai, resembling a candle lamp. The dual colors are beautiful, pink and blue.
All of them step forward to hand over their flowers, and Albedo helps arrange the bouquet so that it’s easy to hold, and Flins thanks them most gratefully, heart once again overflowing with affection.
Then Klee insists that he put at least one flower in his hair, and after carefully inspecting his collection, decides that the most suitable is the Cecilia. Flins crouches to let her do as she pleases, which ends with the flower behind his ear, and as he stands again, Klee claps her hands.
“Now you really look like a prince!” she exclaims, delighted.
Flins chuckles and thanks her once more.
“You should go toward Windrise”, Albedo tells Flins softly, steering him back onto the objective at hand. “You’re almost there.”
Flins’ heart beats faster in anticipation, and he nods, offering his thanks yet again. As the siblings return toward the city, Flins goes in the opposite direction. Without the sun beaming down, the air has gotten cooler, offering pleasant relief as wind brushes his skin. He almost feels like a bride, walking the road toward Windrise, with his flowery, skirtlike pants, and the bouquet in his grasp.
The last stretch of road is where he meets the last people, and receives his final Windblumes: Razor and Rosaria are standing together, the Windrise tree rising behind them, and as Flins approaches, they turn.
Rosaria hands him a Windrest flower. Razor a Sweet flower. There isn’t much pomp or fanfare, and yet something about these two in particular make the moment that much more significant.
“He’s waiting for you”, is all Rosaria says, with a gesture toward the great tree, once he’s accepted her flower.
“Lupical”, Razor adds with a solemn nod to Flins, which he returns.
These paces are perhaps the most peaceful – the hustle and bustle of the city far behind – and yet each step feels like it’s counting down toward zero. He can see the statue beneath the tree, and in front of it, an unmistakable form, intimately familiar, even from a distance.
The figure stands up to meet him as he gets closer. Klee may have compared him to a prince, but in Flins’ eyes, the comparison does Varka more justice. The light of the sunset paints his skin golden, wind tousling his hair, eyes bright with life, and full of emotion as they watch Flins.
On the grassy plain ahead of the tree, and ahead of the statue, under the boughs, Flins comes to a stop, and Varka steps forward to meet him. Flins’ breath catches in anticipation.
For a moment, all they do is stare at each other. Then, Varka inhales. Seems to hold his breath.
“Did you like your Windblumes?” he asks, and even with his naturally gruff tone, he manages to make it gentle, much softer than Flins is used to.
Flins glances at his bouquet again, at the blend of colors and scents, all coming together to paint a somewhat disorderly, but stunning image.
“Very much.” He smiles, turning back to Varka. Before he can ask anything – how long he’s been planning this, why – Varka speaks, rushed, almost, though it doesn’t lessen the veracity of his words, with an air of purpose lending further credit to how much he means it, in spite of the slight nervousness:
”I love you.” Varka reaches for Flins’ free hand, the one that isn’t holding the bouquet, holding it in both of his. “I would’ve prepared a speech, but I’m hoping you’ll let me tell it to you every day for the rest of our lives instead. So, well, what I’m getting at…” He exhales. Meets Flins’ gaze, head on, eyes softening. “Flins, will you marry me?”
Even with the buildup, the entire journey to get here, their conversations over the past few weeks, the question still takes Flins’ breath away.
His answer is obvious; it needs no thought. He just needs to get his mouth working enough to speak it.
”Yes”, he breathes, the only word he can remember how to say, and Varka beams. He squeezes Flins’ hand, seemingly subconsciously, and is about to move forward, presumably to sweep Flins into a hug, but then he pauses.
”Will you marry me right now?” he adds.
Flins’ eyebrows shoot up, truly and genuinely caught off guard: He had expected a proposal, at some point. Had even suspected that it might be today.
He had not expected they would get married today.
“Here? Right now?” Flins echoes, mind spinning with the prospect.
“I mean”, Varka still looks ecstatic, happiness radiating from him like beams of sunlight, even as he amends the offer, “it’s up to you. If you want a proper wedding, we’ll do that, but I…”
“No.” Flins tightens his grips, and his resolve settles – it isn’t a momentous decision, not really. It’s been a long time coming. “Let’s do it now.”
Varka’s eyes wide, but the stringing of a lyre cuts in before he can reply.
“May your love flow as freely as the wind, two souls forever en-twinned”, a bright, melodious voice cheers, and when Flins turns to look, finds Venti sitting on the base of the statue with closed eyes, lyre in hand. Flins could’ve sworn he wasn’t there a moment ago, but Varka doesn’t look surprised. “May your hearts beat in unity, your coupling blessed be!”
Flins glances at Varka again, only to find that the knight never looked away. Bright, blue eyes meet his.
“Venti can officiate”, he says softly, then his eyes flicker to something behind Flins’ back. The smile on his face widens. He nods. “And we’ve got two witnesses right there.”
Flins looks, and to his surprise, finds that Razor and Rosaria must’ve followed him to Windrise, because they’re standing nearby, seemingly waiting to be invited closer.
“You really planned this all out…” Flins murmurs. Love and affection course through him, awe and wonder at how much his beloved prepared, filling him with so much adoration that it hardly feels like it’d fit within his heart, and yet magically, it does. “I have never, in all my centuries, felt a love like the one I feel for you, Varka. There are no words to capture your brilliance.”
Varka grins, even as his cheeks flush red.
“Trying to upstage me at your own proposal, hm?”
“It isn’t about upstaging”, Flins says softly, tilting his head. “If you find my words flattering, know that the sentiment behind them is a hundred times greater than they could ever express.”
And so it is that they marry under the tree at Windrise, in the light of a setting sun, to the string of a lyre and the scent of plentiful flowers.
–
Flins is only stopping by With Wind Comes Glory in passing, to see if she has any arm braces – Varka’s got lost recently, and he’s been meaning to replace them – and it’s as he’s chatting with Marjorie that it comes up.
“…it’s nice, I think your fiancé would like it–”
“Hm?” Flins hums, still eyeing the goods on the shelves. “You mean my husband?”
He delights in the way Marjorie gapes, and as he leaves the shop, he can already imagine how this news will spread through Mondstadt like wildfire.