Chapter Text
“Her Majesty the Tsaritsa declares as follows;-”
Her stomach dropped.
Lyney seemed so small in that ill-fitted, suffocating Harbinger coat that was swallowing him whole. His eyes were devoid of all light, tear-stains tainting his face. He looked so much younger, more fragile, just as terrified as the day she took him in.
Fear, a feeling that had almost become obsolete after years of suppression, now rampages through Arlecchino’s body like a forest fire, threatening to destroy her from within.
“-I bestow upon you a new name.-”
Their eyes met when the dooming glow of a delusion dirtied her son's face.
Primal instinct took over as she lunged forward to snatch it from his hands.
The room expanded suddenly, sending Lyney flying out of her reach and knocking Arlecchino back with enough force to make her stumble.
The sound of something splashing under her heels forced her gaze down to the floor for just a split second.
“-This title and its legacy of bloodshed are now yours to bear.-”
When she whipped her head back up, the banners decorating the walls had dissolved into steady waterfalls of blood pouring into the cathedral.
Her heart stopped, her fear bloomed into pure terror. The crimson liquid had already reached up to Lyney’s chest.
“Father?” His voice came out shaky and broken, eyes open wide in horror and glistening with tears he fought to hold back just like she had taught him.
Arlecchino paced through knee-deep blood as fast as the rules of the world allowed.
The ceremonial coat was heavy; too heavy for him. She could see how Lyney struggled to move as the soaked through, stained white fabric weighed him down like an anchor.
“-My poor, mad, ■■■■■ Knave.”
The steady blood flow quickened, coming out in violent spurts as if a dam had broken. The liquid reached Lyney’s chin in an instant.
She pushed harder. It didn't matter whether it was her curse or the strain on her body that burned from within.
Lyney struggled to keep his head up, his movements filled with nothing but panic as he tried to thrash around and swim.
“Father-”, he managed to choke out as he gasped for air.
Words had failed Arlecchino. She offered no verbal comfort, no reassurance nor command. Her throat closed up as she attempted to sprint to him.
Blood had risen above his nose, splattered out of his mouth as he became trapped in an unsteady back and forth between coughing and sharp inhales.
“Father!”
His head disappeared under the surface for just a second before he reemerged with a fleeting burst of energy. His blond looks clumped together with a crimson tint, the mixture of tears and blood had smudged his carefully painted theater make-up.
He already looked like a corpse before he disappeared below the surface.
Arlecchino dropped to her knees the moment her son went under again. She reached into the sea of blood, her movements growing more and more frantic as she tried to pull him back up. The sound of liquid splashing around and her labored breathing echoed off the walls.
She could only feel the cold tiles beneath her fingers as if Lyney had disappeared below the floor.
In a mindless act of desperation, she looked over her shoulder to the only people she could pretend would be her allies. The people who had called her children their nieces and nephews. The only ones who ever treated them like they were people instead of pawns in the Fatui’s twisted game.
And yet-
Capitano turned away, Signora averted her gaze.
Her heart sank, her eyes remained glued to Rosalyne a second longer than she should have allowed them to.
A red hue replaced the soft moonlight illuminating the building. The wet sound of heels meeting the liquid’s surface echoed through the cathedral at a deafening volume. “How disappointing…I thought I raised you better.”
Arlecchino tried to ignore the way her body tensed at the sharp, disapproving words to no avail. Even after so many years, ‘Mother’s’ voice carried a crushing amount of power over her.
“You know they won’t help you.” Crucabena’s tone turned sickly sweet, more akin to comfort than a reprimand. She shook her head slightly like she was watching a child play some silly game. “They didn’t intervene then, they won’t intervene now.”
Her movements were almost feral as Arlecchino returned her attention to the pool of blood Lyney had disappeared into.
A sigh, a loud click of ‘Mother’s’ tongue. “You should have seen this coming.”
Her heart pounded in her head. Her breathing became more ragged and uneven.
“Isn’t this kinder than to let him suffer in a role he wasn't fit for?”
A sound between sorrow and frustration left Arlecchino’s throat before her fist came crashing down on the tiles beneath her.
“This is what you get for not preparing him for bloodshed.” Crucabena leaned down to run a hand through her hair in a soft, mocking gesture of sympathy that made Arlecchino pause for a moment. “You know mercy and empathy aren’t what allowed you to survive in this world.”
Blood started to rise again.
She doubled her efforts as she felt the tiles crack under her knuckles, broken pieces digging deeper and deeper into her flesh with every hit.
Maybe, if she went under, she could pull Lyney back up. Or maybe she, too, would drown.
The hand in her hair tightened suddenly. “Peruere.” Her name was spoken like a thinly concealed warning as Crucabena yanked her head back and above the crimson liquid. “Let it go.”
She wished her ‘Mother’ would just let her drown the same way she had let her son.
But Crucabena wasn’t like her.
Because, unlike Arlecchino, Crucabena had control over when her children died.
“You can stop playing the part of the concerned ‘Father’ and accept he wasn’t fit to be your chosen king”, ‘Mother’ reprimanded, her blood red lips twisting into a snarl.
Arelcchino wanted to scream, to fight back, to be defensive. But she did none of those things. She could only stare back at the other woman standing on the surface of the crimson sea like a false, blood-soaked saint. The artificial height difference made her feel like a child again, a weak, helpless child silently begging for mercy that wouldn’t come as her ‘Mother’ held her head steady.
“You’ve tolerated weakness for too long.” The venomous bite in her ‘Mother’s’ voice had sunk into her body like a well-maintained blade.
Arlecchino’s gaze was forced back to the sea of blood. “This is the fate that all your children will meet.”
Crucabena leaned down to whisper in her ear, her voice returning to something sickly sweet that made Peruere’s skin crawl. “You failed them.”
.
Arlecchino awoke with a gasp, suddenly feeling as if all the air had been sucked out of her lungs. Her body burned from within, unbearably hot and aching.
Her curse had made her all too familiar with chronic nightmares, but that– that was different. The way her body was reacting was far more severe, far more visceral.
She moved on instinct rather than waiting for her brain to process it all as she hastily stepped into a pair of boots. It was too hot, too hard to breathe– the irrational, still panic-stricken part of her felt as if she’d die if she didn’t make it out onto the balcony and into the cold night air.
None of it had been real, she forcefully reminded herself as flashes of Lyney going under replayed in her mind.
It wasn’t an image born from pattern recognition or prophecy– it was just a scenario born out of suppressed paranoia.
It wasn’t real – she was aware it wasn’t real.
Before she knew it, Arlecchino found herself clutching onto the railing of the balcony, desperately trying to catch her breath and calm her heartbeat. Frozen metal hissed under her palms as she clung onto it to stay on her feet, the snow around her melting in an instant.
“I thought I raised you better.”
Her shoulders shook with the effort it took to keep her body from hunching over. The internal heat and gradually worsening pain made her dizzy, the lack of oxygen made her weak and unable to focus. The cold wind had no chance of taking the edge off the burning within her veins.
If anyone were to see her in such a state-
“You tolerated weakness for too long.” She swore she could feel ‘Mother’s’ breath against her ear and the weight of a hand pressing against her shoulder.
Crucabena was right. Arlecchino had allowed weakness to fester, not in her
children but in herself.
The telltale, mind-numbing pain of her curse progressing up her arm pulsed in sync with her heartbeat.
‘Mother’ was right.
One of her hands mindlessly clutched her chest to try to ease the crushing pressure.
Lyney’s lightless eyes had burned into her brain.
She would fail them one way or another.
The silent night being interrupted by the sound of fingers snapping made her straighten up to the best of her abilities and clench her jaw shut to quiet her breathing. A different type of panic shot through her body like lightning.
Frozen mist closed around the balcony like a curtain.
Arelcchino prayed her eyes weren’t filled with visible terror as she turned around to look at the Fair Lady. Cryo swirled around them, promising both the mercy of being shielded from prying eyes and a trap.
Signora’s silence was far worse than any direct threat or mockery. The older Harbinger merely glanced at her with an unusually unreadable expression before she sighed and stepped closer.
“She won’t help you.” The phrase sounded more mocking now.
Arlecchino had to stop her body from jerking back.
The hands grasping her shoulders were firm, commanding, but Rosalyne lowered herself down with Alrecchino instead of just pushing the younger woman to her knees. Panic reignited in her chest as one of the hands resting on her shoulders moved to the back of her neck. She waited for cruelty the same way she waited for reprimands. The way ‘Mother’ had taught her.
“Breath”, was all Rosalyne said, voice just as firm as her touch. Cryo flowed from her palms at a steady beat, biting into Alrecchino’s skin without any restraint. The cold only replaced the pain of her curse flaring up instead of easing it.
Her body tensed. The more rational part of her mind refused to allow her to follow the order, even if it came at the cost of her well-being. Signora wasn’t kind, she wasn’t merciful, she never helped anyone if it didn’t further her personal agenda- Arlecchino knew that, and it was all her brain decided to focus on.
Signora would use this against her. If others found out about just how powerless she was, her children would be the ones to bear the consequences; Lyney would be the one to bear the consequences. If she was lucky, the 8th would only use this as blackmail to extort favors from her and keep it between them.
“Alrecchino”, Rosalyne spoke her name the same way Crucabena had. “Drop the act and breathe .”
It felt as if her lungs had been constricted. Every conscious part of her violently fought against breaking the facade she was fruitlessly trying to keep up, as her body vehemently tried to go against all she stood for and submit to instinct and impulse. She was just like a helpless, weak child surrendering to the demands of someone with authority over her, just like ‘Mother’ had trained her to be.
A part of her yearned to suffocate, another was desperately trying to return to her senses and find a way to get out of this situation.
“There you go.” Signora held her head steady as she hastily gasped for air, still, her voice held nothing but bitter cold.
She hated how readily she started to give in, even when the phantom sensation of ‘Mother’ holding her head was still so fresh in her mind.
A gloved thumb gently stroked half circles against her neck and whipped away the drops of melting ice trickling down her skin. “Good. Just focus on the cold.” Her voice still held more strictness than comfort, as if she were commanding soldiers instead of talking to someone in distress. It shouldn’t have brought Alrecchino as much peace as it did.
As primal panic faded, it slowly made way for self-hatred. The burn of her curse was replaced by deep-seated disgust at just how easily Signora was able to take control of her body, at how futile her short-lived attempt to appear composed and in control had been.
She must have made for a pathetic sight. The 4th of the Fatui Harbingers, reduced to a hyperventillating mess on the balcony by a nightmare and relying on someone else to save her because she was too weak to pull herself together.
“I thought I raised you better.”
That disappointed echo shouldn’t have hurt more than the fire under her skin.
Rosalyne’s face remained distant, didn't betray her true intentions. Peruere missed ‘Mother’s’ disapproving remarks that were purposefully easy to read.
But neither Rosalyne nor La Signora was like ‘Mother’.
Because Signora didn’t pretend to be a saint bringing her salvation, and Rosalyne didn’t speak as she draped her cape over Alrecchino’s shaking shoulders before rising to her feet and pulling out a cigarette.
If they were two other people, the fact that the Fair Lady didn’t offer a hand to pull her up would have been incredibly rude, but Alrecchino was more thankful for it than anything. At least staying on the floor like a pitiful excuse of a Harbinger was fully due to her own choice and temporary mistrust in her legs.
The smell of a burning mix of tobacco and roses filled the air.
“Those aren't your usual.” Arlecchino couldn’t have helped the accusatory tone of her voice, even if she tried.
She could tell the difference because that was the brand Crucabena had smoked. She could tell because Rosalyne usually smoked something far stronger, something that didn’t make Arlecchino feel that sickening, misplaced nostalgia.
“What I smoke is none of your concern.” Her voice was a lot colder now. “If you want one, you should ask with proper manners.”
“What?”
“This is the brand you used to smoke, is it not?” It didn't sound as accusatory as Arlecchino's earlier remark, and yet, it felt as if a poisoned blade had struck the young Harbinger.
Of course, Rosalyne remembered; she was the one who caught Arlecchino smoking outside the palace after a particularly difficult meeting, after all.
Gathering whatever little dignity was left in her body, Alrecchino rose to her feet with a huff. “I quit years ago.” It wasn’t by choice. She wouldn’t have stopped if she hadn’t overheard some of her children whisper about how she smelled like ‘Mother’.
Tense silence stretched between them from then on, Signora too occupied with taking long drags of her cigarette, and Arlecchino too caught up in her own mind to attempt any form of communication.
Her head was pounding, and the burning ache in her arms hadn’t receded to its usual level yet. A conversation was the last thing she wanted to be engaged in at that moment, so instead, she quietly observed the Fair Lady for a moment. Signora looked just as withdrawn as she had in her dream; eerily silent and exuding more cold than what Arlecchino had learned to be normal. But, unlike in her dream, the older Harbinger didn’t actively avoid her gaze.
“I understand your silence has a price-”, Alrecchino eventually started.
“Oh please ”, Signora cut her off with a scoff, almost offended at the all too logical assumption before taking another slow drag of her cigarette. “Don’t be so full of yourself; you're not the first person hyperventillating on this balcony.”
She almost made it sound like a bi-weekly occurrence. Almost .
“You know she’s lying.”
Arlecchino knew to agree, but a foolish part of her wanted to believe otherwise.
A frown edged itself into her face as she absentmindedly pulled the fur edge of the cape tighter around her shoulders. The smell of Rosalyne’s perfume was far better than that of the smoke around them. “That doesn’t change the fact that keeping this between us comes at a cost”, she insisted, because why would it change anything?
Annoyance flashed across Signora’s features. Not the usual huff and roll of her eyes, but something deeper , more serious. “Didn’t I tell you to cut the act?” Her words had more bite than her cryo powers, and Arlecchino wasn’t sure whether or not she could have stopped herself from flinching if that tone had been used a few minutes ago.
“If I wanted to blackmail you, I would have done so years ago .” Either way, she knew better than to argue.
The cigarette bud was frozen and shattered into a thousand fine pieces of crystals with a small squeeze of Signora’s fingers. “Now go and get some rest. We’ll have an early morning tomorrow.”
“We?”
“Yes, we ”, the Fair Lady declared matter-of-factly. “I’m going to Fontaine, the Captain will be passing through before leading an expedition in Sumeru, and you’re coming with us.”
Arlecchino frowned up at the other Harbinger. It was more confusion than irritation. “I’m not supposed to return to Fontaine for another two weeks.”
Signora waved her off without further thought, just like she always did. “I pulled some strings. You’re welcome.”
“Why?” The question slipped from her lips before she could stop herself. She still acted like a child.
“Because the children could spend some quality time with their ‘Father’”. In an instant, the previous annoyance was fully replaced by pride and glee, the temperature around Rosalyne shifting into something more tempered. “Oh, and I have tickets for the twins’ next show. You and Capitano will be coming along.”
If she didn't know any better, Arlecchino would have assumed her curse flaring up made her hallucinate that last sentence. “I beg your pardon?”
She didn't– couldn’t understand any possible reason behind such a senseless, sentimental action. Signora liked attention from the children, but that alone does not make up for the cost that rearranging a fellow Harbinger's schedule behind their back would have. Was it supposed to soften her up to whatever schemes Signora would need her help with? Was this another attempt to bribe her children?
Arlecchino tried to read whatever could have been hiding behind that placid smile to no avail. If the Fair Lady was playing tricks on her, she must have switched up her strategy.
But the 8th didn't play mind games, so why -
“I believe the words you are searching for are ‘thank you’. ” Signora reached over to fix the unevenly scrunched up cape with a smile that was too warm for her features and lit flames of anxiety in Arlecchino’s body.
“Thank you, Rosalyne”, she somewhat reluctantly repeated. And yet, even as she was fighting back that contradictory mix of anxiety and acceptance, there was an edge of sincerity to her words.
‘Mother's’ voice returned for the final time that night, her tone neutral and calculated instead of reprimanding or sweet. “She’s playing you.”
Arlecchino thought the same.
Peruere didn’t want it to be true.
An icy hand gently patted her shoulder in a motion that the young Harbinger’s exhausted mind almost read as something playful. “Let’s get you back to bed. You look like a walking corpse.”
And just like an obedient child would, Peruere diligently followed behind her without any complaints.