Work Text:
It may not have started quickly, but it certainly did end quickly. With time even the strongest structures of basalt and granite could be eroded, and then would collapse with the force of gravity and the finality of destruction.
And so it was that Morax was brought down to the ground before the Hydro Sovereign, weapon cast aside, soaked in golden fluid that even the enduring onslaught of Neuvillette’s water could not chase away. A collapse into the finality of defeat, with barely the strength now to lift his head, to look up at the victor, at this dragon that had outlasted him, with the greater patience, with the greater intensity, until the smallest chink of a crack in the armour had become a vulnerability to be exploited.
In his favoured human vessel now, to preserve whatever energy still drained between his fingers-cum-claws, Morax’s breathing was fractured, staccato, spine curved and slumped. Whatever Neuvillette would do to him now, he would not be able to prevent. Whatever judgement would be passed upon him, the battered ex-Archon of Liyue, the shattered Warrior God, would be only at the discretion and decision of the Hydro Sovereign. Whatever control, or autonomy, or providence Morax had had - lay before him, rivulets of gold, draining into the ash and the dirt.
Neuvillette landed some distance away, too dispensing of his dragon form, to better communicate with the fallen God, this usurper. The first of the Seven to withstand judgement; the first of the Seven to break, to chip away, into nothing.
“Your judgement awaits, Morax.”
Morax did not trust his voice to speak with any steadiness nor clarity, and therefore he did not respond; he did not resist when the weight of water slammed his back against the nearby cliff, carved once with his own hand, for they had chosen a distant area of Liyue to be the arena for this contest; he did not prevent the water from then materialising around his wrists and waist as restraints, to hold him fast, to hold him steady.
The might of the earth, trapped by water.
Would Neuvillette execute him, for his crimes against the Sovereign kind? He trusted that his city, and the innocents within, would be protected - for they had had no say, and it did not appear that the Hydro Sovereign was cruel or unnecessary in his attacks. His anger for Morax was justifiable.
Morax had taken that which was most valuable to the Sovereign, after all. They all had, something that had never been theirs to take.
Neuvillette took two measured and large steps toward him, and Morax now pressed his head back against the jagged rock, tasting heat at the corner of his mouth. He would not cower before the Fates, he would not cower before whatever demise was promised to him by the eyes that observed on high. He had always served their will so very well, and now they would not intervene to save him, to grant him reprieve from the battle that had shaped him for so many millennia.
No rescue, for their puppet of gold?
“Neuvillette!”
Except.
“Do you not remember my vow?!”
With speed that could not be considered even vaguely human, and surrounded by crackling purple energy, a figure placed themselves between him and Neuvillette. “Sorry I am late, xiansheng! Finding you was difficult.” Polearm in one hand and bow in the other, the Eleventh Fatui Harbinger, youngest Vanguard to serve the Cryo Archon, and the secret sworn mate of Morax himself stood before the Hydro Sovereign with composure and poise. “If you want Morax, then you will have to get through me, first!”
Morax tried to speak, but his voice did not work.
“Stand aside, Tartaglia. My quarrel is not with you, and you certainly have no reason to defend a traitor to the natural order from before you were even conceived.” Neuvillette’s response was as calm as Tartaglia’s was fierce, purple eyes a narrow gaze on the near human’s face.
“I will not. I will protect him.” Tartaglia shot back, “You will do him no further harm.”
The powerful weapon that masqueraded as a cane came to point at Tartaglia, to indicate him, “I have defeated you in a mere breath before; you crumpled at my feet like you were nothing. You would do so once more in front of your fallen god?”
Tartaglia’s hand curled far tighter around his weapon, “I am far stronger than I was back then; you pale in comparison to what I have defeated in the Abyss, upon the battlefield, in her Majesty’s name. Stand down, and I shall let you leave.”
Neuvillette raised one eyebrow. “Share your last words with your lover, Tartaglia; you will not be able to speak them, when you fall before me.” He turned his back, the picture of etiquette, and instantly Tartaglia whirled to face Morax, first looking at the restraints, and then kneeling by his side. “You look dreadful, Zhongli.”
“Ajax.” Morax finally found whatever was necessary to speak, “Do not do this. He will destroy you.”
“Have more faith in me, laogong. He has defeated you only because you have given so much to the battle for Teyvat, one he has keenly avoided - he is a coward, a viper, waiting you out with patience.” The touch of a gentle hand to Morax’s jaw, cupping that face and lifting it to Tartaglia’s, “I will fight to free you, my love, and then we can be so forever.”
“Ajax.”
“Believe in me.” He pressed a kiss to Morax’s forehead, avoiding the jagged cut that leaked gold past a tired amber gaze. “Watch me fight for you.”
“Ajax, I - “
“Ah!” Tartaglia rested a single finger over Morax’s lips, “Not now! Tell me that when I have triumphed. Just sit here, and don’t do anything - you are too badly injured - stay alive, for me.” Now Tartaglia’s own mouth replaced his finger in the tenderest of kisses, and Morax returned it, and still tried to whisper those gentle words into that gesture, but Tartaglia did not seem to hear - just a beam of a grin, “Look at us, together, as always.”
Morax shook his head - but Tartaglia simply faced Neuvillette, and as he did so, his expression hardened into the mask of the furious warrior, the determined fighter. “You made a mistake, Neuvillette, injuring the one I would sacrifice everything else for. He dropped his bow to the ground, “Allow me the opportunity to fight you in the form you so discourteously prevented in your courthouse - the form that, I will remind you, saved your nation from ruin.”
“Ajax - no - “
Neuvillette gestured in very much a ‘go ahead’ communication, but where once that transformation would have taken time, the severity and criticality of the situation made the transformation from Tartaglia to Foul Legacy near instant. Yes, it would shred muscles and extend bones far more quickly and therefore caused more pain, but never again would he be caught vulnerable before an enemy that would not give him the time before striking true. With the increased height now, he certainly towered over Neuvillette and even more so over the captured Morax, who watched him with amber eyes narrowed not with the intent of Neuvillette but with the fear of one who could see precisely how this situation would play out.
“Then it is only fair that I should use my ultimate form too, no?” Neuvillette countered, to a gleeful laugh of delight from Foul Legacy, “Most certainly - allow me a true battle, Hydro Sovereign!”
Morax watched as, after taking a moment to evaluate, Foul Legacy seized the offensive against the dragon-form of Neuvillette. Both were capable of flight and therefore the battle did not last long on the ground, Foul Legacy sensing that he had no advantage when Neuvillette could build momentum and power simply from manipulating the air around him. Even in the air, Neuvillette was far more graceful, a curling and whirling mass of Hydro energy and muscle that could slam easily into the form of Foul Legacy and send him back to the ground, if he were able to make contact.
But where Foul Legacy did not have size, he had deftness and dexterity; he could move without thinking, purple explosions sometimes the only evidence of his presence, the fraction of a second needed to aim and strike a blow with the massive polearm before zapping away again, his attacks not powerful enough with such speed to be mortal but certainly enough to irritate and frustrate Neuvillette.
And perhaps that would seem as though Foul Legacy had the upper hand, for so many little injuries was he able to strike against those scales and occasionally beneath them, the death by one thousand cuts. This would be true, if this were not the exact same strategy that Neuvillette had used against Morax.
The false sense of security, for the attacker.
“Ajax - “ Morax shouted, but if Foul Legacy heard him, so did Neuvillette, and then there was sudden water in his mouth, choking him, drowning him, coughed out before him even as more replaced it -
“Stop!” Foul Legacy bellowed, “What are you doing - “
“To throw the battle,” Neuvillette’s voice in his dragon form sent trembles through the earth with its depth and volume, “Is a mighty injustice.”
“He did not say anything - I stand as his champion - you cannot kill him before this duel is finished!” Foul Legacy landed back upon the ground, “That is the rule of a duel!”
Morax could breathe freely once more, dark spots clearing from his vision, allowing him to see Foul Legacy more clearly, how that helmet with the illusion of one eye was trained on him, and that almost gave Neuvillette the chance to strike in his distraction -
— as if looking at Morax was ever a distraction —
— looking at Morax, his crumpled, defeated, bleeding Zhongli - that was not a distraction, it was a motivation. And how that motivation seized Foul Legacy’s chest, and his movement away was so swift that Neuvillette and his tail and his claws struck only at the dirt instead, and the Electro infused polearm slashed upward and outward to bury the blade with a heavy delivery of the purple energy to a vulnerability in Neuvillette’s exposed flank. The Hydro Dragon roared in what was most likely pain, as Foul Legacy ripped the polearm out and attempted now to steal whatever momentum he had gained.
Back and forth now, equals, for Foul Legacy had proved a dangerous opponent, and also seemed to have realised the strategy that Neuvillette had been practicing. Claws struck weapon; tail struck armour; polearm struck scales; thundering deposits of Electro struck mane and head.
A stalemate, then?
Not so.
One was vulnerable to the length of the battle not from the potential to make more mistakes, but from the sheer matter of his vitality being tied to the powers that he drew upon to create this form, to steal and channel the powers of the Abyss without giving himself over to them completely.
Morax knew this; he could see, with his practised eye, who had duelled with Tartaglia in this form many a time to hone both their abilities, the unravelling of the form. He, who knew his lover so well, could see the signs of wear starting to creep in; though Foul Legacy could still attack well enough, the might of the attacks took the sacrifice of defence, and Foul Legacy had never been one to prioritise defence. A little less time in the air, a little less accuracy when energy catapulted down from the heavens, a mocking laugh at Celestia on high when it originated from the Abyss; a little more heavy on the landing.
And with time, Neuvillette was sure to notice.
Foul Legacy needed to finish this, and soon. There was a route to do so; Morax had seen it, now, with the distance of a captive spectator against his will. Immediately behind Neuvillette’s crest was an area of weakness; one blow there, was sure to be sufficient to severely disable the other - and if Neuvillette were forced to return to his humanlike vessel then this battle would absolutely fall in Foul Legacy’s favour.
Foul Legacy continued to look for an opening, as Neuvillette continued to look for an ending.
Sharp claws glanced a blow to strip Foul Legacy’s armour away from back and side; something else, now, for Morax’s lover to worry about - fortunate that it was nothing more than that, considering Neuvillette’s claws were the length of the human Tartaglia’s forearms.
Foul Legacy countered with a slash that ripped scales from the dragon’s arm. When Neuvillette lashed out in retaliation, the Harbinger lifted himself up above the dragon to protect himself - and had he been in his human appearance, Morax knew that he would have seen a gleam in that brilliant blue gaze based on the way Foul Legacy paused, enraptured by the route to bring this fight to an end.
He would just need one more opportunity like this, and the energy to see it through.
Just one more opportunity.
And just like that, Neuvillette presented the opportunity to Foul Legacy on a plate. A shift in position, a bowing of the head, entirely too fortunate.
Entirely too convenient.
Entirely too constructed.
Before Foul Legacy could strike the weak point, Neuvillette’s claws thrashed out and made contact with the Harbinger with impeccable force. Sharp keratin ripped through vulnerable flesh across Foul Legacy’s back, and with a stutter of a cry laced with pain Foul Legacy lost concentration and with that his levitation and with that too, his control of his form.
“No - “ Morax’s shout was barely heard, even to himself, over Neuvillette’s roar. Tartaglia hit the ground, hard, and lay still, apparently stunned, curled on his side. His Electro weapon dissipated into the ground, Vision on his belt losing much of its glow. Blood spurted onto the rock and grass beside him.
Morax struggled against the restraints, but of course they held fast.
He watched as Neuvillette, back in human form, landed some distance away from the struggling to regroup Tartaglia. “Ajax, Ajax - get up - “ He was too far away for Tartaglia to hear him, but he said the words anyway, and then realised that they sounded a little bit too much like a prayer. “Please - “
Tartaglia tried, rolling himself onto his front and pushing himself up to his hands and knees, exhaustion clearly setting in heavy as he raised his head to watch Neuvillette.
Neuvillette had retrieved Morax’s weapon, from where it had fallen.
He turned back to Tartaglia, casually moving the polearm from left hand to right, testing its weight, testing its balance.
Hurried by the threat of being prey, Tartaglia found the energy to leap back to his feet, heavily off balance, attempting to summon his Hydro blades but being met only with hands of dripping water.
“Neuvillette - please!” Morax tried a different tactic as Tartaglia backed away from the advancing Hydro Dragon wielding the weapon that the Harbinger knew only too well, in the hands of his beloved Warrior God. “This is not his fight!”
Again, Tartaglia tried to materialise his blades; again, his Vision failed him.
“He can surrender.” Neuvillette reasoned. “I would be gentle.”
“Surrender!” Tartaglia’s voice was strange, gleeful, apparently uncaring, “And surrender Morax to you - I think not - “
“Ajax - just - “
“Your lover pleads with you to surrender, Tartaglia. Your sacrifice will do nothing to spare him from his judgement.”
“My lover forgets that when death looms; it is my time to shine!” With that, Tartaglia lunged forward, leaning into his stronger side, seeking to grasp the hilt of the polearm from the surprised Neuvillette. Who did Tartaglia not surprise with his penchant for lurching into deadly situations, sometimes enough to gain the upper hand?
Sometimes.
Not always.
Though he did grab the wood encased in metal, he also put himself straight into the clutches of the Hydro Dragon, who pulled the polearm back toward his own body, and the Harbinger with it. Carrying such injuries, Tartaglia’s instincts were just a little blunted, and therefore Neuvillette was able to spin him, to trap him in a tight grip with the tip of the polearm resting above Tartaglia’s stomach, directly between his ribcage.
Enough to subdue him.
Neuvillette pushed forward; Tartaglia resisted, attempting to root his feet into the ground. This lasted only as long as he had any strength to do so - before Neuvillette was able to bring him within a closer distance of the imprisoned Morax. Far enough away that even a burst of power from the fallen god would not be enough to rescue Tartaglia from the deadly blow Neuvillette could inflict; close enough so that Morax could see, everything.
Could see the sweat stains on his lover’s forehead; the dripping blood down his back, the soaking of the tears in his tattered uniform; the uneven rise and fall of shoulders and the tightening of fabric where the tip of the polearm pressed with barely a little pressure into his stomach. Those dull blue eyes were reddened and a little hazy, perhaps with pain, perhaps with tiredness.
“Beg for your lover’s life, Morax.”
Morax continued to watch Tartaglia, the frown, the tiny shake of the head, the desperation in that expression.
“Beg for your lover’s life, and I may yet spare him. As you said, it was not his fight.”
“It is my fight. My fight is alongside him.” Tartaglia managed to spit, and when he did so, blood specked the saliva that stained Neuvillette’s almost pristine robes.
“No.” Morax answered. “I will not.”
He would not dishonour his Ajax in that way.
The tiniest smile of gratitude; of triumph. Somehow even in this situation it warmed Morax’s heart, for the fraction of the second with which he could see it.
For then, Neuvillette dropped Tartaglia to the floor before Morax’s feet. A kick to the crumpled form forced Tartaglia to his back, and Morax observed in slow motion as his own weapon shifted position, and impaled, straight through the left hand side of Tartaglia’s chest, with aim so true that he felt it in his own heart, a sudden shattering fracturing agony that left his throat as nothing more than a cry of denial, even as Tartaglia managed only a stuttered gasp.
Morax attempted to pull away from the restraints, as fruitless and as futile as it had been for the entire battle, and he looked to Neuvillette wildly, “Let me comfort him - “
Neuvillette raised his gaze from the dying Harbinger and the weapon of his enemy to Morax, and seemed to consider this request. “No.”
“Neuvillette - “
“I pass judgement on you, Morax. Watch, as I have watched. Watch, as what is precious to you, is stolen from you.”
“Please!”
Neuvillette walked away.
“Ajax - Ajax - “
Tartaglia turned his face to Morax at the desperate call of his name, and tried to speak - but only blood bubbled from the corner of his mouth -
“Ajax - I love you - Ajax - please - let me - no - Ajax - please - “
“Zhongli!”
There was a shout, close to him, above him, and sudden movement on his body - no, not on his body - of his body - someone or something was shaking him, jolting him, with some force - and he lashed out with a hand to push it away, he needed to get to Ajax, he needed to pick him up, to comfort him, to heal him -
“That’s what I get for waking you up?!” A voice, familiar, if not worn by sleep. “Thank you, now I’ll have a bruise to explain - “
Ajax?
He opened his eyes and found himself to be lying down, so he sat up with speed. Dim light gave him no understanding immediately, so in a pique of fury he summoned golden energy to the hand before him, and with that he could see more - blankets, and ceiling, and Ajax who was sat before him, shielding his eyes now from the Geo light and touching the heel of his palm to his right cheekbone.
There was rapid breathing in the room.
That was Zhongli’s.
“Ajax?”
“Hello.” Ajax lowered his hand, blinking, “You had a nightmare. I couldn’t wake you up.”
“A…a nightmare…” He struggled to comprehend the words, and then realised that the light in the room was trembling so violently because his hands were shaking so badly, and he knew then that this was fear, and he did not understand how it all felt so very real if it was just a nightmare, “You…you are here…”
“Yes I am.” Ajax moved a little closer, reaching for Zhongli’s hands, “I am right here. You were calling for me, so here I am.”
Ajax’s hands were warm against his, as they always were; Zhongli’s body generally running cooler than that of his hot blooded mortal lover.
Mortal.
Blooded.
He saw again the red trickling from the corner of Ajax’s mouth, and reached out to stroke it away, looking at his thumb and finding it to be clean. “Neuvillette.”
“Neuvillette?” Ajax appeared confused, “Should I be concerned about you calling the name of another dragon in our bed?” His voice was easy, relaxed, teasing, but his face could not hide the concern.
“Neuvillette killed you. He killed you, before me - left you - left you to - and I could not -” This was not like him, this was not like him, he was always the composed, always the calm, he was never so easily fractured, so easily flustered.
“Zhongli. It was just a dream. I am right here, see. Come here.” Ajax tugged where their hands were still connected, pulling Zhongli toward him, and even with the twisted blankets Zhongli practically fled to the sanctuary that his lover offered, burying his head in the crook of Ajax’s neck and shoulder and closing his eyes to inhale the scent of pine and fresh snow and rust.
The moment he closed his eyes, he saw -
Gone was the gentle teasing when Ajax spoke again, now clearly worried beneath a shadow of reassuring. “Laogong, whatever you saw, it is not real.” He moved to kiss Zhongli’s forehead where his hair was not particularly well kept, “Neuvillette is not here, and as far as I know is not planning to assassinate me.”
“You…you threatened him…”
“Yes, but, you know, amicably. And if he were to attack you, well, of course I would step in to - “
“No!” Zhongli sat back and up, wildly, out of Ajax’s arms, looking straight into his face, “No, you will not! Promise me - promise me now - on your word - that you will not.”
Ajax frowned, “That is a promise you know I cannot make - and I will not make just to pacify whatever you have seen tonight.”
“You will make it, because I will not see you murdered by him in my name - make the promise, Ajax - “
“Zhongli.” Ajax reached out to cup Zhongli’s face, but Zhongli flinched away. “Shall we talk about this more later, it is still very early.”
“I will not lose you to him.”
“I do not intend for you to lose me to him, but you cannot ask me not to defend you should it be necessary. You would protect me if our roles were reversed, after - “
Something in his words, so tender, so trusting, brought sudden agony to Zhongli, not physical pain with a physical cause, no, but a crippling sensation in his chest that seized him, caused him to inhale and stutter over the breath that caught there.
Panic.
“Hey - hey - “ Ajax knew panic, moving back against the bed's ornate headrest and pulling Zhongli to rest on his chest. “You are safe - just - just focus on my breathing - breathe with me.” He stroked his fingertips over Zhongli’s temple and the side of his head and hair, and Zhongli tried to follow the feeling of that touch, and instructed his mind to think about the feeling of his cheek against Ajax’s sleeping shirt and bare chest where it was unbuttoned, and the softness of their bed beneath him, and the curve of Ajax’s body around him, the rise and fall of his breaths.
He swallowed, and relaxed, just a little.
“Good.” Ajax whispered, but he did not stop stroking the little rhythm, lips still very close to Zhongli’s forehead. “You’re safe. We are both safe. We are at home in Liyue Harbour; we had dinner at Wanmin and once again you refused to try the truly excellent crystal shrimp; tomorrow we are going to Wangshu to see Xiao. Well, later today, really. Liyue is peaceful, and your Harbinger is on two weeks of leave and will not part from your side. Neuvillette is in Fontaine, and there are no threats here. All is calm and quiet, Zhongli, love. Practically boring.” He finished the sentences with a quick kiss, and Zhongli raised his head at that to look into those blue eyes. “I understand.”
Ajax smiled, soft, tender. “Good.”
Zhongli moved the hand that had been trapped between his chest and Ajax’s to stroke his lover’s jaw, down the bridge of his nose, and along his lips. “I am sorry for hitting you.” He touched the small red mark. “I did not mean - “
“I know. You just are incredibly strong, even when asleep, it seems. Do not let it trouble you. Nothing a kiss won’t fix.” A raise of an eyebrow, and despite himself and how groggy and unpleasant he felt, Zhongli did lean over to kiss the mark gently. “Better?”
“Always.” Ajax ran his hand down Zhongli’s spine. “You do not have nightmares very often.” They had slept together often enough now for him to know that nightmares were Ajax’s domain, of his times in the Abyss, and Zhongli tended to sleep particularly heavily and without much disturbance - unless Ajax were disturbed, in which case he provided the care and comfort that Ajax offered so freely now.
“I rarely dream.” Zhongli replied, returning his head to the pillow that Ajax’s chest had become. “Even if I do, it is of times past. Never…never what could come to pass.”
“Do you want to tell me? I have gleaned enough, but I am curious as to what has unsettled you so very greatly. Perhaps I can reassure you.” Along with his words, Ajax tightened his curling grip around Zhongli, “Only if you want to.”
Silence fell between them, Ajax knowing that he did not need to speak to break it; Zhongli considering the question. What had unsettled him so greatly, beside seeing his lover ripped apart in front of him, impaled in front of him… “He did not let me go to you.” He murmured finally, as if speaking the words in such a low volume meant that they were not real, or would not be real. “He…would not let me comfort you.”
“But you were there.” Ajax replied gently. “That would have been enough for me.”
“No. That was my judgement. To see that which is precious to me, be stolen away. Unable to do anything. Powerless.” Zhongli closed his eyes. “To not be at your side.”
“You may not be at my side, when my time comes.” Ajax said after a moment, having weighed up the consequences of speaking the words aloud.
“I will be.” Zhongli replied, with finality. “I will not be powerless.”
“Zhongli - “
“No, Ajax. I will not be powerless to comfort you. I may be powerless in the face of losing you, but I will not allow you to die alone.” Zhongli curled his fingers into Ajax’s shirt. “This is a vow I make most solemnly. The trials of a mortal lover.”
“…What does that mean? Trials of a mortal lover?”
“You will never feel the pain that I will feel. Your loss is inevitable to me.” Zhongli opened his eyes when Ajax tensed, and then moved, lifting Zhongli’s face, “You are immortal, not invincible, Zhongli. I could lose you, so easily.”
“It is more unlikely, than I am to lose you. Though I will do what I can to prevent it. This is why you will not battle Neuvillette. Neuvillette is one of few in Teyvat with the power to best you, and therefore I cannot allow it.”
“Allow it?” Ajax prompted, his tone gaining sharpness. “I am not a weapon for you to command, Zhongli; you do not choose which battles I face, and which I do not.”
“I shall if it means you survive.”
“If you wanted someone to stand beside you for the test of time, Zhongli, you should not have chosen me.” The sharpness now was more akin to hurt, but not to hurt Zhongli, but perhaps of evidence of Ajax’s hurt.
Zhongli sat up properly, which disconnected them, “You would choose your thirst for battle over the heart of your lover?”
Ajax narrowed his eyes, “I was not aware I had to choose.”
“You are choosing, now. You are choosing an inevitable defeat at the hands of Neuvillette over allowing your lover some sanctuary in the knowledge that such a death would not happen.”
“That is wholly unfair. These options are not laid out before me, Zhongli. It is not a binary choice. I can choose you, and I can choose to fight; you have always allowed me to do that.”
“That is before I saw you impaled before me, your heart bleeding out before me, in a battle that was never yours.” Zhongli reached for his robe, half hanging from the bed, “I will fetch - “
“ - Some tea, I know!” Ajax shot back, taunting now instead of teasing, and Zhongli gave the petulance no response to preserve whatever tattered and shattered honour he had left.
“Why were you not able to protect me?” The voice came from the doorway to the small kitchen, a good half an hour after Zhongli had gone to ‘make tea’. Ajax’s tone was gentle, not quite an apology, but certainly an attempt at a negotiation.
“Neuvillette had bested me and restrained me. You arrived to intervene. I…could do nothing.” Zhongli spoke in return from where he was stood by the sink, staring out of the window, hands on the wooden surface and bare feet cooled by the slatted floor.
“I was late, you mean?” A little humour. “Then I shall learn to be more punctual.”
“Ajax…”
Ajax came into the kitchen and opened the cupboard above Zhongli’s head, reaching for the cups and the kettle. “Grab me some tea leaves, will you?” He gestured with his chin to where Zhongli was stood in front of the ‘tea cupboard’, which was the only practical place for the vast amount of teas that Zhongli seemed to collect and sample. “You did say you wanted tea, yes?”
Still not particularly roused from his spiralling thoughts, Zhongli did at least step out of the way and open the cupboard door. Ajax tutted and pulled out two identical bags of tea leaves. “This should do, for us going back to sleep. Are you going to do it, or are you going to let me ruin more tea?”
“I will do it.” Zhongli muttered, which he did - boiling the water on the stove, where they both watched the kettle in quiet togetherness, before steeping the tea leaves. Zhongli observed the steam as it rose from the spout. “I am afraid to lose you.”
Ajax was some distance away even in the small kitchen, but he certainly did not miss the quiet words. He also chose to leave them hanging, to see if Zhongli qualified them with anything else. The ex-Archon did not, and instead he turned his attention to straining the tea and pouring it into the cups.
“I’ll take them.” Ajax went to pick them up, but then Zhongli turned to face him. His expression was haunted. “I have never loved, like I love you. I do not know how to exist, when the threat of losing you hangs so easily over us both. I have always had the power to shape the outcomes - I have ensured I have the power and the strength and the might to overcome all that has challenged me, and Liyue, and that which I care for. Not…this is different.”
“So different that you would like it to end?” Ajax prompted, and Zhongli shook his head instantly, “Of course not! It is just difficult for me.”
“You cannot choose just parts of our relationship, Zhongli. It is a mosaic; all is needed, for the whole to be seen.”
“I know.”
“You nearly lost me in Fontaine.”
“That was different.”
“Why?”
“I was not there. I did not watch.” Zhongli hesitated. “It was not my fault.”
“Well, that at least is a step forward from when you were blaming yourself for not knowing. Also, in your dream, was it truly your fault? Did you encourage me? Did you say, “oh, mighty Tartaglia, please, throw yourself into a battle you cannot possibly win on my behalf”?”
Despite himself, Zhongli half laughed at the affected high pitched voice Ajax had adopted. “Of course not. I told you to absolutely not, and you - “
“Let me guess, I told you I’d be fine, and kissed you instead?” Ajax chuckled, moving to Zhongli. “Come here. I do not like being so separate from you.” He wrapped his arms around Zhongli when the other stepped into his embrace. “Silly dragon.”
“Fear of losing a lover is not silly.”
“Of course not. You think I dream only of falling into the Abyss as a child? You think, since I have met you, that my dreams have not been invaded by being unable to save you, being too late to save you?” He rested his chin against Zhongli’s hair. “You think I have not woken in a panic and looked to see you sleeping soundly beside me, and vowed that I shall never let that future come to pass? You think I do not dream of losing you?” He tipped Zhongli’s head back with a gentle touch, so their gazes could meet. “You do not think I fear that, too? That I will not be enough to save you, and that I will lose you?”
“You have never told me…”
“Why would I? It is inevitable that one of us will lose the other. The odds of us dying simultaneously are small, and even then would we reunite in whatever awaits us next?”
“I will find you.” Such determination.
“I know you would try. In the meantime, why would I let those thoughts pollute that which we have now? These little moments, and the bigger moments, like when you were waiting for me at the Lantern Rite. It will be those I think of at my end; not the nightmares.”
“I do not like inevitability.”
“I know. You seek to avoid it where you can. Alas, unless you plan to reanimate my corpse - please do not do that - then you will face a reality eventually without me. So let’s make the reality with me special, yes? Anyway, dying for you would be a spectacular ending for me. Far more than a child who fell into the Abyss could ever have hoped for. And let’s be honest, I imagine I was pretty outstanding as a warrior in your dream, correct?”
Zhongli narrowed his eyes, and Ajax laughed. “See. Absolutely. And do you know what else we could do?” His voice dropped three notches in volume and at least the same in octaves, and Zhongli tried to pretend it did not send a shiver down his draconic spine. “We could change the ending of your dream.”
“In what way?”
“Well…” Ajax pushed Zhongli back one step, so his back was against the cupboards. “Restrained, you said? Neuvillette has good taste.”
“Ajax - “
“I haven’t finished yet. Close your eyes.”
“What are you going to -”
“Close. Your. Eyes.” Ajax enunciated each word perfectly, pushing Zhongli’s hands back to the wood behind him. Tentatively, Zhongli closed his eyes. He did not find himself plunged back into the images of the dream - in fact, his eyelids seemed rather empty, with only the glow of shadows and light through them. Ajax’s breath stirred against his cheek and kept him grounded, as the other leaned close to his ear. “Tell me where I went wrong, mighty Warrior God.”
“He tricked you. False opportunity.” Despite knowing he was wrapped up in Ajax’s embrace, and that it was Ajax that pressed against him, he could not help the tensing of his body.
Ajax hummed against his ear. “Yes. This is most certainly something I would do. But this time, I have learned from you. So I don’t fall for it, and then he is off balance, so I quite happily strike at whatever weak point I have most certainly identified. So he crumples to my feet, this Hydro Sovereign who would dare to threaten my mate, who would dare to cause him harm.” His voice was so warm, so heated. Zhongli felt it twist and steep in the pit of his stomach, as he allowed his mind to wander where Ajax so directed, the image of his enemy before Tartaglia, his protector, his Harbinger. “And I would show no mercy, obviously.”
“Use my weapon.” Zhongli whispered.
“Naturally. It has fallen out of reach from you, but I will use it with pride, to defend you, to protect us. Tell me, Morax, is he permitted any last words?”
“No.” Zhongli breathed, remembering the cruel casualness of how Neuvillette had allowed Tartaglia to die before him in the dream, how his pleas had fallen on only the most deaf of ears.
“Then allow your Harbinger to destroy the only one who could threaten you, and all you have built. I would turn my head, to await your command - of course - or I would spare him, if you so commanded. I do not wish to, but I would stay my hand, for you.”
“You are not my weapon.”
A curve of a smile. “Ah, but here I choose to do as you wish.”
“Through the heart, then.”
“Watch me, Morax.”
Morax watched with casual detachment as Tartaglia brought the weapon back, and then struck true at the centre of Neuvillette, at this dragon’s core, at his heart. His Tartaglia, his Ajax, stained with blood and sweat and carrying the burden of his Foul Legacy transformation, but still his, turned to face his lover, turned to face his fallen god. The slightest smile, before he crossed to Morax, interlocked their fingers where -
Where Zhongli’s were pressed back against the cupboard.
And then Ajax kissed Zhongli. Kissed him hard, kissed him deep, kissed him so that he took the god’s breath away, stole it for his own. The heat of the kiss, the sear of the lips on his, the push of the tongue to force a parting, which Zhongli gave, tasting salt and warmth, tasting pounding blood and steeping arousal. His body arched and curved toward Ajax’s when the other demanded it with posture and hand, chest and thighs pushing together, and at the centre of them both, their cores, responding to the song of the other, the singing of desire and want.
Ajax broke away, to breathe. “You enjoyed killing Neuvillette a little too much, darling.”
Zhongli knew his eyes heated with amber flare, “He is an enemy dragon. Allow me to defend my territory. Speaking of excitement…” He tried to move his hand, his meaning clear. Ajax chuckled, dark, deliberate, “I thought you wanted tea.”
“Take me back to bed.”
“For tea?”
“Ajax.” Zhongli growled.
They were entangled together, nightclothes forgotten and unnecessary on the floor beside them where Ajax promised he would pick them up later in the morning. Ajax dozed, one hand behind his head and the other keeping Zhongli close to him.
Zhongli did not sleep.
He had not taken his eyes off Ajax throughout their interlude, not when he had looked up at the other, not when he had reached that point where even divinity itself could crumble, and not when the other had pulled him close and made sure his breathing returned to normal.
And certainly not now.
His chin rested on the back of his hand, palm protective over Ajax’s heart. Underneath, what had been an elevated rhythm had slowed to that of rest, and Zhongli had felt every shift. He could feel where Ajax’s still spread legs pressed back against him, inner thigh to outer thigh, a further cradle to the embrace that promised to keep the immortal lover with the many flaws safe, close, held. He thought perhaps he was too much weight on the other’s pelvis and stomach, but Ajax had never complained - saying it was like a blanket, all of his own. He reached up with his free hand to trace strands of copper hair where they fell over a forehead that had been sheened with sweat, touched where flush had stained cheeks with only the prettiest shade of pink, along eyebrows and down the bridge of Ajax’s nose, along jaw and where throat was exposed. Those lips, that had so recently delivered in single breaths a litany of praise and a smattering of vulgarity and a flood of affection and protection, were still, in sleep, parted just slightly, and here Zhongli’s thumb lingered until he could only resist so much and he leaned up to kiss, knowing them to be lax against his own. He could taste himself, all of himself, and he could taste all of Ajax, and there he wanted to stay.
His mortal truly was beautiful, particularly in the soft light of the night.
Six thousand years had shown Zhongli, had shown Morax, that beauty could not last; but this, his Ajax, would shine, always. He could count every heartbeat, he could count every breath. He would cherish each and every one, and he would find a way to rationalise his fear of being powerless, his fear of losing control, with the inevitability that there would come a time when he would not be able to save Ajax.
His chest contracted at the thought.
He was a long way from understanding.
“Zhongli.” A little murmur, that caught his attention.
“Ajax?”
“Go to sleep.”
“I would rather look at you.”
“You are keeping me awake, with the intensity of your stare.” Ajax’s blue eyes fluttered open. “Please refrain.”
“You are so very precious to me, Ajax. You do understand this, yes? More so than anything has ever been before; than anyone. There is nothing I would not do for you, there is nothing I would not offer to you.”
“Zhongli.” Ajax leant forward and kissed Zhongli’s forehead. “There is only one thing I would ask of you, right now.”
“Name it, beloved.” Zhongli made to sit up, but Ajax simply caught him in his arms and rolled them over so that he was curled along Zhongli’s side, snuggling his head into Zhongli’s shoulder with a contented exhalation. “Go to sleep, and dream sweetly.”
And Zhongli had promised that he would do anything for Ajax.
So he went back to sleep, and his dreams were sweet.