Chapter Text
Three days later when, in the distance, Varka spots the snow leopard mid-fight against two Frostnight Scions and several Wild Hunt ghouls, he feels, quite frankly, like an idiot.
He watches the snow leopard dart between the never-ending waves of ghouls, crackling with Electro and blue-white flames as it phases in and out of view. It’s graceful for its size, dancing around the ghouls as it tears through them with a vicious efficiency. The leopard flits in and out of sight, both a blur of motion and cutting clear images of perfect form whenever it materializes into view between the Wild Hunt ghouls.
If Varka squints, he can see a softer blue light emanating from the leopard’s fur, flashing brighter whenever it deals a particularly fatal blow. When the big cat zigzags through the mob of ghouls, they all burst into an explosion of crackling Electro and blue flames. Varka swears he can hear the clean sound of a polearm, cutting through the air, carrying over the wind even though there’s not a single weapon in sight.
Now that he knows the snow leopard and the blue-flame spirit are the same entity, he’s not surprised when the big cat transforms into a ball of flames, vanishing from beneath one of the Scion’s rearing hooves to materialize on the creature’s back. Its claws sink deep into the Scion’s flanks and Varka winces as a swift death is dealt before the cat is barreling into the last enemy, taking it down with brutal efficiency.
The whole battle is over in an instant.
The way the snow leopard fights reminds Varka eerily of Flins, aside from the fact that the snow leopard can turn into a ball of blue-white flames and the most he’s seen is the way blue-white flames flicker at the edges of Flins’ frame, just like the snow leopard and-
Huh.
“Celestia, I’m daft.” Varka mutters, watching the snow leopard bring the last Frostnight Scion to the ground. The equestrian creature bursts into particles with a particularly harrowing scream.
The snow leopard simply shakes itself before trotting a few paces away from the battleground and takes a seat, tail curling over its hind paws. It starts to groom itself, licking at its paw pads before dragging it over the rumpled fur of its face. It doesn’t seem to be bothered by Varka’s presence, standing halfway across a field. In fact, the flicking of its tail almost looks like it’s beckoning him over.
“Uh… Flins?” Varka tries hesitantly. The leopard’s only reaction is the flick of a fuzzy ear as it continues to groom itself.
Varka huffs, dragging a hand through his hair. He thinks about the similarities between the snow leopard and the blue flame spirit, then thinks of the similarities between the snow leopard and Flins. The Venn Diagram might as well be a goddamn circle.
The signs were there. Varka was just too in his head about the whole thing. Perhaps, if he had taken a step back and several deep breaths, he would have been able to piece things together.
The blue flame spirit or the blue lantern, much like the lantern Flins holds, regaled to guide people and fallen souls to safety from the Wild Hunt. Snow leopards, who are believed to guide lost souls and travelers to safety and called ghosts due to their camouflage and elusive nature. Flins, a Ratnik who dedicates his life to eradicating the Wild Hunt, guiding the lost and fallen souls, and his ability to move like a ghost without any sound.
The lack of tracks, or a trail.
“It does me no good if my prey knows I’m there. That is, unless I purposefully let them know of my presence.” Flins had said, and now all Varka can think about is how it seemed the snow leopard was picking and choosing when it revealed itself as it followed them through Nod-Krai.
The way Varka heard the sharp cut of Flins’ polearm through the air during the blue-flame spirit’s, Ratnik’s, and now the snow leopard’s fight. The way reports stated the mauling of the livestock seemed to be inflicted by weapon rather than claw or tooth.
The flames that flicker around the snow leopard and Flins. The strange mist.
How Flins reacted each time whenever Varka almost spoke about the snow leopard, that small private smile like he knew something Varka didn’t.
How Flins practically admitted to not being human.
The list could go on. Varka still has some questions, though.
“So,” Varka huffs, feeling warmth rising to his cheeks as he props his hands on his hips, “you mean to tell me, that you’re not only the blue flame spirit from the Lightkeeper’s stories and a snow leopard, but you’re also the most stunningly gorgeous man I’ve ever set my eyes on?”
The leopard pauses mid-lick, yellow-gray eyes shifting to the moonstone yellow Varka’s been dreaming about, ears flattening briefly on its head. It lets out a soft chuff of air, tail tip twitching back and forth. Varka moves closer, slow and tentative as he watches the leopard’s – Flins’ – reactions carefully.
“I always thought you were too intelligent to be just a snow leopard.” Varka admits, rubbing the back of his neck. He winces. “Geez, I was really rude to you several times, wasn’t I?”
Flins does that strange cat-shrug of his and stands up, padding up to Varka to butt him in the chest gently with that massive furry head of his. Varka lifts his hands, hovering briefly before he gives into his urges and sinks his fingers into that thick coat, scratching Flins behind the jaw and the ears. A soft and contented purring rumbles in Flins’ chest.
“I still have a lot of questions for you.” Varka says quietly, smoothing his hands over Flins’ rumpled fur. “Some of the questions might be more personal, so I want to first get permission from the human… well, I guess all three of your forms are not human.” Varka tilts his head contemplatively, brow furrowing, and Flins copies the motion.
“Rrow?” Flins blinks at him.
“Ah, just thinking.” Varka shakes his head. “I feel like I should’ve picked up on everything a lot sooner, now that I’m looking back on everything. I’m a little baffled by my own obliviousness. You were practically giving me all the answers on a silver platter.”
Flins flicks him in the face with his tail.
“It’s not my fault you always speak in riddles and I’m too busy making an idiot of myself in front of the guy of my dreams.” Varka grumbles.
Flins tilts his head up and touches their noses together, then bumps the top of his head against Varka’s shoulder, curling around the Grand Master’s body and peering up at him with soft, yellow eyes. His tail curls around Varka’s waist, the tip brushing over his chest.
“Oh,” Varka exhales, heart thundering against his ribs, a stupid grin crossing his face. “Yeah, I’m an idiot, huh.” He gets a soft, rumbling chuff in return and he doesn’t hesitate this time to wrap his arms around the big, fluffy kitty and bury his face into its neck.
“Are you able to transform freely between each form?” Varka asks, curious and well-aware that this is probably a stupid question. Flins lets out a soft huff of air, tilting his head back and forth, not quite a no or yes. “It depends?”
A soft and pleased noise, the tip of Flins’ fluffy tail tickling Varka’s cheek before it resettles. Flins had led them to a little outcrop, tucked away from most paths and the two of them are currently enjoying the scenic view. Flins currently cradling Varka in the curl of his body, which Varka doesn’t mind at all, hands buried in the soft fur of Flins’ scruff. The snow leopard’s tail is draped over Varka’s shoulders, head nestled in his lap, purring softly.
“Is there a rhyme or reason for staying in a particular form?” Varka strokes a hand over Flins’ head and ears.
He hopes that he hasn’t been reading things incorrectly, since there were several times when Flins seemed to be flirting with him. But from conversations he’s had with others, he knows that Flins wields a wickedly silver tongue and has no idea if Flins is just like that with… everyone.
Not to mention, Varka had blurted out what felt like the equivalent of a declaration of love and he certainly was not subtle in his infatuation with Flins. He’s anxious to know what Flins has to say in return – if there is anything to be said.
Flins’ ears flatten against his head and a soft, distressed noise leaves him. He shifts in Varka’s lap and sad, rounded eyes meet the Grand Master’s. Flins seems to wilt completely, tail drooping off Varka’s shoulders.
“Too much?” Varka guesses, trying to keep his voice low and soothing. “Something that requires a bit more than just a simple yes or no?” Flins tilts his head to bump it against Varka’s abdomen gratefully. “Alright,” Varka chuckles softly. “How about I ask some easier questions?”
He feels a massive paw kneading biscuits into his calf in response and the soft flick of a tail against his cheek as Flins drapes his tail back over Varka’s body like a scarf.
“Well, I guess this one is a question preceding a yes or no question.” Varka muses. “When you first revealed yourself to me while I was fishing… how did you manage to catch those damn things in the two seconds my back was turned?”
Flins lets out a sigh, one that sounds so beleaguered that Varka laughs.
“Yeah, yeah, I got it, more complex questions for when you can actually talk.” Varka grins. “But seriously, you were totally dry, completely unruffled, but the other day at the lake, you were soaking wet. How do you manage that?”
The side eye that Flins gives him is incredible. Varka can’t picture the stoic Ratnik Flins with an expression like that no matter how hard he tries.
“Right, okay, yes or no questions. Did you really think I was drowning? I- how did you even find me? I didn’t see or sense anyone nearby and I can usually tell when you’re nearby because-” Varka cuts himself off, contemplating.
“It does me no good if my prey knows I’m there. That is, unless I purposefully let them know of my presence.”
“Wait, were you there the whole time? Have you been stalking us-” an offended growl “-sorry, following us under the guise of protection since we’ve been in Nod-Krai? Hold on, if you were there from the start, then why did you cover your eyes if you already saw me basically naked?” Varka feels heat rushing to his cheeks at the thought of it.
But then he catches sight of Flins rolling those moonstone yellow eyes, ears flattening as he lifts a paw to just barely cover his face and Varka grins, glad he’s not the only one who’s embarrassed by it.
“Aw,” Varka coos, making sure to add a teasing lilt to his voice to cover that he’s starting to feel increasingly flustered that a very pretty man saw him in that sort of state. “Are you shy about it? That can’t possibly be the first time you’ve seen a naked man. Given how bold you were at times, I’m more surprised you didn’t- oof!”
Varka finds himself flat on his back in the next second, pancaked to the ground by a massive mound of fluff and pure muscle. He spits out his mouthful of fur, wraps his arms around Flins’ and buries his grin into the leopard’s chest, Flins grumbling in discontent – or more likely, embarrassment.
“Alright, I won’t tease.” Varka says, voice muffled as he offers – hopefully – placating pats to Flins’ flanks. He can’t quite reach the leopard’s back. Flins shifts to pats him on the head with a paw in return, then hunkers back down to be a pleasant, weighted warmth splayed on top of Varka.
It’s clear that Flins is holding some of his weight off of Varka, which he appreciates. Although he’s a sturdy man with lots of hard-earned strength, he is no match for Flins’ leopard prowess or pure, lean and coiled muscle.
“Is it presumptuous of me,” Varka starts quietly, “to think that my feelings are reciprocated?”
He first feels a soft purr rumble against his front, then Flins shifts to rest his chest against Varka’s chest. He moves with Varka when the Grand Master props himself up on an elbow, carding his free hand through Flins’ cheek fluff. Flins nuzzles against the center of Varka’s chest, blinking at him expectantly.
“Two blinks for yes, one blink for no?” Varka murmurs with a soft smile, affection welling up in his chest.
Flins blinks once before those moonstone yellow eyes curl into crescent moons.
“No, I was not there from the very beginning. Yes, I did think you were drowning. Yes, I was covering my eyes because I have some decorum and I respect people’s privacy.”
Varka is half dressed when he answers the door to his room to find Flins standing there, chin tucked into his collar, one hand clasping his lantern and the other out of sight. Varka’s perfectly decent, wearing a pair of loose-fitting pants and a black short-sleeved shirt, but he feels naked without his usual armor and cloak. Granted, Flins has seen him naked - or nearly naked, Varka’s not sure when exactly Flins covered his eyes.
“Good evening to you too, Flins.” Varka blinks. “To what do I owe the honor to this visit?”
Flins gives him that soft, breathtaking smile, clipping his lantern to one of his many belts. Varka wonders if he’s imagining the soft, petal-pink blush on the Ratnik’s cheeks.
“I believe I owe you some answers and, perhaps, something more.” Flins murmurs. Varka’s breath hitches, heart stutter-stopping in his chest.
“Come in?” Varka invites, offering out a hand. When Flins takes it, Varka gently rubs his thumb over the back of it and lifts it to his mouth to press a soft kiss to it. Flins doesn’t pull away, his yellow eyes going soft - and Varka swears he sees a faint, golden glow light them up.
“If you’ll have me,” Flins allows himself to be tugged past the threshold of the door.
“As long as you’ll let me,” Varka counters.
“That’s a dangerous thing to offer to someone like me.” Flins murmurs, twisting his hand to tangle their fingers together. “What if I said forever?”
Varka trips over the rug and almost faceplants into the coffee table.
“I- uh- what.” Varka starts, stops, then blinks rapidly, his heart thundering in his chest. “I- hold on.” His knees feel wobbly so he collapses gracelessly on the couch, dragging Flins down with him.
“My kind is not known to be very generous, Grand Master Varka.” Flins says softly, reaching out to take Varka’s other hand in his. “My job keeps me tethered to Nod-Krai, and you cannot tame or leash the wind.”
“But the wind always comes back,” Varka meets those intelligent yellow eyes, “I will always come back.” He untangles one pair of their hands to reach up, gently brushing calloused fingers over the line of Flins’ jaw before cupping his face, thumb swiping over his cheekbone.
“Varka,” Flins’ voice is soft and breathy despite the clear warning. “Do not tempt me like this.”
“You aren’t the only one who’s selfish.” Varka admits, shaky and heart laid bare.
His eyes flutter shut when Flins lifts his recently freed hand to tilt Varka’s chin up with his pointer and middle finger. A gloved thumb, the material soft and worn, swipes over his lower lip. Varka is going to have a heart attack. He wouldn’t be surprised if Flins could hear it.
“Varka, can I-” Flins starts.
“Yes.” It leaves Varka’s mouth in an abrupt exhale.
“You don’t even know what I was going to ask.” Flins muses. Varka can hear the little eyebrow quirk in his voice.
“Well- I mean- I kind of assumed you were gonna ask if you could kiss me, which I’m so totally okay with by the way, and you’re really close so I’m nervous and I’m already nervous around pretty people and I say and do a lot of stupid shit and I blurt things out without thinking and please put me out of my misery by either asking the question you meant to ask or give me an answer because I don’t think I can- mmph!”
Varka’s nervous rambling gets cut off by a pair of soft and cool lips, melting immediately beneath Flins’ gentle touch, hands dropping to clutch at the lapels of the other man’s coat. The little noise that escapes his throat should be embarrassing, but he could care less, because he’s being kissed by the most beautiful man in all of Teyvat. Their noses bump and Flins’ other hand comes up to cup Varka’s head, tilting it to better slot their mouths together, fingers splayed over his jaw. Distantly, Varka thinks that if he had a tail, it would be wagging furiously.
Flins smells of Frostlamp flowers and crisp winter air, his lips warming just so against Varka’s. It’s a sweet kiss that has Varka yearning for more. An inhale gets caught in the back of Varka’s throat when both of Flins’ gloved hands cup his jaw, fingers curling behind his ears and splaying down the length of his neck, tugging him a little closer and a soft sound escapes Varka’s lips.
He feels Flins’ lips twitch up into a smile against his, and feeling a little emboldened, curls a battle-scarred hand around the back of Flins’ head, tangling his fingers into soft strands and deepens the kiss. Sharp teeth press gently against Varka’s lower lip and he lets himself be guided to brace a hand next to Flins’ head on the couch. The first solid press of their bodies together has Varka gasping into Flins’ mouth, a pleased shiver running down his spine. Flins hums, a soft and sweet sound, and urges Varka closer.
Varka loses track of time, chest fluttering. The slight disbelief he feels about Flins returning his feelings slowly dissipates as their lips part and meet again and again. He feels hot under his collar when Flins arches up into him with a breathy sigh of contentment. When he tentatively presses the tip of his tongue to the seam of Flins’ lips, his brain goes blissfully blank as the other grants him access.
Flins’ gloved fingers traipse over Varka’s shoulders and slowly down his spine, a tremor wracking through Varka’s body when Flins settles a hand against his waist. He had no idea how sensitive he was there, biting back a little whine when Flins slides a hand farther down, giving his ass a teasing squeeze. Varka’s hips twitch forward and he abruptly pulls back to bury his face into Flins’ neck to stifle his whimper.
“Okay?” Flins asks, and oh, his voice is still soft and steady, but there’s a rasp to it that tells Varka he’s just as affected. It sends a thrill racing through Varka’s body.
“Perfect,” Varka breathes, shifting to brace himself over Flins again. There’s a part of him that can’t believe this is real. Flins looks like a dream, pale skin flushed that pretty peach-pink, hair splayed out beneath him and over the couch cushions and moonstone yellow eyes glowing with affection.
Varka dips his head down again, nudging their noses together before he captures Flins’ lips in another kiss. A second elegant hand drops down to Varka’s waist, a choked noise escaping him when he feels the first slide around to his abdomen, fingers barely brushing against his waistband. Flins makes a soft, inquisitive noise against Varka’s lips.
“Please,” Varka gasps, feeling dangerously close to begging.
Many blissful minutes later, Varka’s head is pleasantly fuzzy, his lips swollen and tingling. He’s splayed out on his back on the couch, shirtless with sweat and other fluids slicking his skin. There’s a warm cloth dragging over his body followed by a gentle kiss placed on his forehead as deft fingers fix his pants. Varka drifts, only rousing again when he feels Flins’ cool hand cupping his face, brushing a thumb over his cheek. He blinks slowly, Flins’ figure coming into focus.
The Lightkeeper has shed his coat, leaving him dressed in a pale, lavender gray button down and slacks. There’s a soft and fond smile on his face that only grows bigger when Varka nuzzles into his palm.
“You’ve run yourself ragged, my dear Grand Master.” Flins murmurs.
“Nah,” Varka tries and fails to stifle a yawn. “I just haven’t been sleeping well lately.”
“Because you don’t allow yourself to rest.” Flins clicks his tongue. “Come to bed. The couch will not be good for your back if you fall asleep here.”
“But I still have questions I wanna ask you.” Varka frowns, well aware of the slight slurring of his words. “You said you’d-”
“I know,” Flins cuts him off gently. “Let us relocate and rest first. Then you can ask me whatever you want later. I promise that I will answer them to the best of my ability.”
It’s dangerous to be like this, half asleep with his inhibitions lowered when he should be alert and on his feet. This is how a man like Varka ends up dead. Varka cannot show weakness like this in front of anyone, but… maybe it’s okay if it’s Flins.
“Will you stay?” Varka mumbles.
“You’d want me to?” Flins’s fingers card through Varka’s hair. The urge to preen and press up into the touch is tempting, so Varka does.
“I told you,” Varka hums, eyes fluttering closed, “for however long you want.”
He allows Flins to drag him upright and staggers across the room to collapse into bed, curling up with a barely stifled yawn with Flins draped over his torso, satisfaction dripping from every pore of his body. The Lightkeeper is a pleasantly cool balm, even through the material of his clothes. Varka still can’t quite get over how small Flins feels in his arms when he knows how much presence Flins can take up when he wants to.
“I don’t think you were presumptuous,” Flins suddenly says after several minutes of silence, soft and melodic.
“About what?” Varka blinks his eyes open, glancing down at the fluffy head of violet hair curled in his arms.
“My reciprocation of your feelings,” Flins tilts his head up to press a kiss to Varka’s jaw, and his damn heart stutters in his chest. “I like you, too. You are an incredible, intelligent and selfless man who was born to lead. You are charming and fiercely protective and devoted to those you love and care for. A genuine, kind soul who- ah, why are you hiding?” Flins clicks his tongue, reaching up to tug at the hand Varka’s covering his face with, heat blooming over his cheeks and ears. “Surely this isn’t the first time you’ve heard this?”
The blush worsens when Flins intertwines their fingers and kisses the back of his hand with an impish smile. Soft beams of moonlight filter in through the windows as clouds shift, casting its pale, silver glow directly onto Flins’ face, his eyes glowing momentarily. Flins blinks rapidly like a startled cat, and Varka falls even further in love.
“It’s different when it comes from you,” Varka admits quietly. He feels shy admitting it, especially when Flins looks at him with eyes that soft.
The sudden urge to be the one curled up against Flins’ chest and feel arms wrapped around him is a little startling. A small part of Varka craves to be held in a gentle and secure embrace; it sounds incredible. Varka has always been the one who’s looked after others, the shoulder to lean on and the one to lend a listening ear, so most people don’t think about returning the favor.
Varka is a legendary hero who wields vast levels of strength and courage, a Vision wielder who has gone head to head with countless beasts and came out the victor. He is Mondstadt’s Grand Master, a fearless and well respected leader of some of the noble and selfless military in all of Teyvat. But, at the end of the day, Varka is just a man with very human needs and desires. He wants to know how it feels to be the one being taken care of for a change.
“How so?” Flins asks, voice soft.
“You don’t treat me like Varka, the Grand Master of the Knights of Favonius. You treat me like Varka, the man.” Varka clears his throat, trying to push down the sudden swell of emotion in his chest.
The desire to be curled up small in Flins’ arms grows stronger and he isn’t quite sure how to articulate it around the lump in his throat and the damn image he’s been forced to try to maintain for the past few decades. There are many who envy or fear him and many who respect and admire him. Very few seem to remember that Varka is no god or hybrid, but rather, simply human.
“Of course I do.” Flins murmurs, propping himself up on one arm, leaning against Varka’s chest to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. “You may be blessed with many titles and names of power, but you are painfully human, with a heart that beats and bleeds and tender flesh that bears reminders of your mortality.”
He traces cool fingertips over the scars spiderwebbing across Varka’s skin, settling an open palm over Varka’s pounding heart. He peers up at Varka beneath long, willowy lashes and Varka can’t help himself from curling a hand around Flins’ neck and drawing him in for another kiss.
“You are incredible.” Varka breathes, pulling back just enough to rest their foreheads together.
“Mm, I think that’s you.” Flins hums, rolling onto his back to pull Varka on top of him, hands framing his face. He presses a series of soft kisses to Varka’s cheeks, nose and lips, then coaxes him to lay down in the cradle of Flins’ arms instead of remaining half-hovering on his elbows.
Varka’s heart stutters in his chest. How did Flins know? Can- is he able to read Varka’s mind? That would be a little mortifying, if that was the case. When Varka remains stiff and awkward, half hovering over Flins, the other man tilts his head, curiously.
“Have I read this wrong?” Flins asks softly, reaching up to cup Varka’s face. “I apologize. Granted, I’m not familiar with humans and their customs, so I suppose I may have misinterpreted-”
“No,” Varka rasps, hoarsely. He gets a beautiful, but small smile in return.
This time when Flins guides him down, Varka follows, biting back the soft sigh that escapes him as Flins’ arms curl over his shoulders to hold him a little closer. He’s momentarily startled when he doesn’t feel or hear a heartbeat beneath his cheek, before remembering Flins’ nonhuman composition.
“Does it bother you?” Flins asks quietly, always knowing, even as he continues to stroke his fingers through Varka’s hair and down his nape.
“No,” Varka mumbles, and to drive his point home, shoves his face into Flins’ chest.
He feels the soft laugh that rumbles through Flins, arms tightening around him and Varka melts into him with a contented sigh. Although Flins is cold to the touch through his clothes and despite the chill in the air against his bare back, Varka feels all warm and fuzzy inside, his head nestled against the lean muscles of Flins’ torso. If Varka could purr, he’s certain the sound would be deafening.
The tension in his muscles is gone, the countless worries and thoughts in his head become muted and he feels like he can finally relax. Despite Varka’s training and everything he’s drilled into his own knights’ heads about never falling asleep with their backs exposed, he finds himself starting to doze, Flins’ presence wrapping around him like a metaphysical cloak. He feels safe.
“Would you like to sleep?” Flins asks. “My apologies, I moved you to the bed to rest, and then kept you awake. I will watch over you as you rest.”
“No,” Varka murmurs, even as he nuzzles further into Flins’ comforting embrace. “Just this, a little longer.” He hesitates. “If that’s okay with you.”
“It is perfectly okay with me.” Fingers card through his hair again, rubbing behind his ears and at the nape of his neck. “I’ll stay as long as you’d like.”
What if I said forever? Varka thinks drowsily.
Varka’s not sure how much time passes, only rousing from him half slumber when Flins shifts beneath him. An inquisitive, mumbled noise leaves his lips and Flins hushes him gently.
“Just a moment,” Flins says softly, “but I need to adjust. My back is a little sore.”
“Oh. Sorry,” Varka tries to blink the sleep from his eyes, clumsily trying to push himself up and off Flins. He’s managed to shift onto his knees and is halfway to turning around when he gets yanked back down after Flins sits against the headboard to slot a couple pillows behind him.
“That doesn’t mean you need to move,” Flins huffs, wrapping his arms around Varka’s torso, hauling him closer with surprising strength. “Come here and draw the blankets up.”
It should be awkward, given how much broader and larger Varka is, his back pressed to Flins’ chest, and unlike when they were torso to torso, Varka was lower down. Now, Varka is settled between Flins’ thighs, reclined against his body, their legs tangled together. A sharp chin digs into the jut of Varka’s shoulder, but he doesn’t care.
Just the sensation of arms around him, around his battle scarred and worn body and soft hands reverent and certain as they cradle his own, calloused and bloodstained, nearly has Varka choking up. To be touched with such tenderness and care is such a foreign concept to someone who is viewed and treated like he’s unbreakable.
“Does, uh... does this bother you?” He asks, keeping his face carefully tucked away from Flins’ view, half hidden by the blankets. “Isn’t it weird for someone like me to be like this?”
Varka hasn’t had many partners in the past. In fact, he can count them all on one hand and not use his fingers. Sure, he was sought after by many even before he left Mondstadt, whether it was due to his charm, looks, personality, title or a combination, but he was always on the move and never in one place, yearning for the next great adventure.
Many who approached seemed to be under the impression that he wanted careless and quick fucks, sidling up to him with silver tongues and golden-glazed eyes. Whenever Varka would decline others’ advances, politely, might he add, some were quick to recoil, sweet words turning venomous and affronted. On the other hand, some were determined to continue pushing.
He has no interest in taking somebody he just met to bed, and he can’t count how many times he’s scolded his knights for treating others like toys. Although Varka has experience with relationships, he’s not necessarily… experienced, like many tend to think. It’s perfectly normal - Varka knows that. But very few know, or even realize that Varka is a romantic at heart - and can be painfully awkward when he realizes that he likes someone.
It’s partially why he’s so nervous around Flins. Varka has certainly worked damn hard to be where he is now, is content with the person he has become, but he wants Flins to like Varka, and not the idolized Grand Master or Knight of Boreas.
“Of course not,” Flins murmurs. “I have seen the way you take care of your knights and how they rely on you to be their pillar of strength and support. You watch from afar while they roughhouse and you stay quiet when you gather around the fire.” Flins’ fingers slide into Varka’s hair, nails scraping over his scalp and behind his ears. He can feel himself melting into Flins’ arms at the gentle show of affection.
“You reassure but are not reassured, so you keep your worries to yourself. You listen but are not listened to outside of your role as the Knight of Boreas, so you’ve kept your own desires quiet, afraid of how selfish it may seem. You are a treasure, but you are not treasured, at least not in the way you yearn to be.” Flins presses a kiss to the top of Varka’s head. “You are a human who wants human things. That is not wrong.”
“Okay,” Varka whispers, blinking rapidly. His head spins. He feels cut open, raw and vulnerable. How did Flins manage to understand that so quickly?
“Take your time,” Flins says, patient and soothing.
“You said that you aren’t great at understanding humans or their customs, but I think you understand them pretty damn well.” Varka finally says, after several long minutes of silence.
“Perhaps it’s just that I understand you,” Flins returns, “and I am still learning.”
“I think you understand me better than I know myself sometimes,” Varka barks out a laugh, but it sounds almost hysterical. “And- well, I know so little about you.”
“Then ask what you want to know.” Flins reaches up to tweak Varka’s nose, bumping the sides of their heads together. He shifts beneath Varka and briefly he worries that he’s too heavy, but then Flins tugs him closer and those worries fly out the window.
“Tell me about the three different sides of you.” Varka shifts to cover Flins’ hands with his own.
“Certainly. The blue flame is my natural alternate form and part of what I am. When I need to rest, I often revert to that form and rest in my lantern.” Flins begins, surprising Varka. He almost expected Flins to start speaking in the roundabout way of his. “The snow leopard, however, is a different case. Although it is a part of me and shares my consciousness, it is its own entity. In other words, it’s another spirit that I… host in my body.”
“Is it difficult?” Varka asks. Flins makes an inquisitive noise, similar to the leopard’s chuffing, vibrating softly against the line of his shoulder where Flins has hooked his chin over it. The sound is awfully cute.
“Is what difficult?” Flins draws idle shapes against Varka’s abdomen over the blankets.
“Having two… well, I guess it’s just one… but having to share the mind and body with another?” Varka furrows his brow, allowing himself to further slump into Flins’ arms. “That’s not quite the phrasing I want, but…”
“I understand.” Flins lifts a hand to pat Varka on the head. Varka preens beneath Flins’ palm and pushes his head further into the touch. He could stay here for hours. Flins lets out a gentle laugh, ruffling Varka’s hair before he continues. “When I am in this form, it is wholly me. I can feel the leopard’s presence, but it doesn’t bother me unless particularly agitated or cagey, which is a rarity. When the snow leopard takes over, it is primarily in control as it has its own form, but I do have some influence over it.”
“Like covering your eyes with your paws and tail.” Varka grins at the memory. Flins lets out an aggrieved but fond sigh. “Is there a way to tell when it’s more leopard versus you?”
“Have you ever noticed the leopard’s eyes?” Flins asks, sounding vaguely amused.
“Yeah. They’re a yellowy-gray, but sometimes they seem more yellow than- oh.” Varka blinks. He feels even more like an idiot.
“When they shift to be more yellow, that’s the leopard handing more control over to me.” Flins explains. “The leopard’s eyes are gray otherwise.”
“I can’t believe I missed so many things.” Varka covers his face with his hands in mortification and Flins laughs, a soft and sweet-sounding thing. He’s unable to fight down his own wry smile, savoring the gentle shaking of Flins’ mirth against his back. “The answers were right in front of me. You practically gave them to me.”
Some damn intel-gatherer he is.
“That I did,” Flins muses, carding his fingers through Varka’s hair. Varka leans back, bumping his head against Flins’ shoulder as he looks up at the Ratnik’s fair features. “Though I can’t tell if I should be flattered or exasperated.”
“What do you mean by that?” Varka asks, blinking curiously.
“Just how many clues did I give you?” Flins clicks his tongue, tugging at Varka’s bangs in playful reprimand. “Clues that you missed, because you were too busy staring at me.” Varka pouts, trying to ignore the flush that threatens to rise.
“It’s not my fault you’re gorgeous,” Varka protests. The corner of Flins’ mouth twitches, almost imperceptibly. Varka only sees it because of how close he is. He presses an impulsive but chaste kiss to those pretty petals, just because he can. “But now that mystery is solved…”
“Will you be able to listen to my answers while staring at me, or will you fall asleep on me for a third time?” Flins’ eyes sparkle with amusement and Varka feels his face heat further.
“I didn’t mean to!” Varka groans, slumping boneless against Flins’ chest, feeling the petulant and childish urge to kick his feet. “The first time I was tired. The second time, I… was also tired.”
“Will you be okay?” Flins asks, the concern in his tone genuine and soft. “I came over late this evening, and you are clearly exhausted. I apologize for my lack of consideration.”
“Not really,” Varka shakes his head. “I, uh, I think my heart rate is too fast for me to fall asleep right now.”
Flins hums, shifting a hand to place it directly over Varka’s chest, where his heart has been steadily pounding away since Flins first kissed him. It stutters beneath Flins’ touch and Varka can feel the smile that the Ratnik hides against the crown of his head.
Varka turns his head and impulsively, out of nowhere, bites Flins’ shoulder petulantly. There’s no reaction; Flins takes it in stride and flicks him on the forehead in return. Cheek now pressing into Flins’ shoulder, Varka peers up at him.
“I… this seemed to distress you when I asked last time, so if it still does, tell me and I’ll back off. Is there a rhyme or reason for staying in a particular form?”
“I unfortunately don’t have much of an answer, only speculation.” Flins admits. “While this is my primary form, it often depends on my mood, or even the time of day. The spirit does not have the ability to speak, nor does it need to rest, but it feels and understands emotions. It has its own agenda and morals that often align with mine, so if it wants to roam, I let it.”
“Do you prefer a particular form?” Varka tucks his head into the crook of Flin’s neck.
“This one, so I can fluster you.” Flins replies easily, without missing a beat. Varka feels his ears and the back of his neck heat immediately, the flush crawling to his face when Flins giggles softly. Another kiss gets pressed to the top of his head. “I liked approaching you as a leopard, too. I got to witness multiple sides of you.”
“Shut up,” Varka mutters petulantly.
“As for the spirit,” Flins continues, unbothered, “I know it wants to protect Nod-Krai against the Wild Hunt and the Abyss and guide those who are lost to safety. That is why it sought me out and that is why I accepted its presence.”
““Has the spirit been around before you?” Varka asks quietly.
“Yes, and no.” Flins replies. Varka blinks, confused. “From my understanding, it was in Nod-Krai before I was. The legends of the snow leopard and its rare sightings all originate from the spirit itself, so I have no influence on those. However, it is relatively young in terms of spirits, and although I am not the youngest by any means amongst my kind, I’ve been around longer than the spirit. In terms of consciousness, the spirit may surpass me.”
“Huh,” Varka frowns. He can’t quite get a grasp on the timeline in his head. “So… you existed first, but the spirit is older?”
“It’s confusing,” Flins admits, “but I’m uncertain if the spirit existed before my… slumber.” Something heavy settles in Varka’s chest and he falls silent for several moments. “Varka?”
“’m okay.” Varka mumbles. “I just… trying to wrap my head around it.”
“It’s not very important.” Flins shrugs. The motion feels stiff. Varka wants to ask, but he can hear the slight stiltedness to Flins’ words and knows it’s something that he shouldn’t push.
“I’d like to thank the spirit, then,” Varka says, after several moments of silence, sinking further into Flins’ arms, “for bringing me to you and for keeping you safe.”
“It would like that very much,” Flins hums. “I believe I was quite fortunate. It is polite and has never once tried to harm me or take over.”
“Has that happened in the past?” Varka can’t help the note of alarm that slips into his voice.
“Not to myself,” Flins shifts, both arms now resting over Varka’s shoulders, “but it has happened to people with other spirits. I respect the spirit, and the spirit respects me in turn. I believe it allows me some semblance of control over its own form as a tribute to sharing this body with them.”
“But then why the destruction?” Varka asks, brow furrowing. “I… get the desire to protect Nod-Krai against the Wild Hunt, but how are they protecting Nod-Krai if they’re destroying it at the same time?”
“An attack on the flock is an indication that the harmony between the natural world and those that dwell in it has been interrupted.” Flins replies, grimly. “This is more than just the Wild Hunt. Something else is coming. Something bigger, but I do not know what or when. The spirit has been trying to warn the people of Nod-Krai.”
An uneasy shiver runs down Varka’s spine at the thought of it. He thinks briefly about his expedition to uncover the origins of the world and the disturbing information he’s learned. He thinks about the Traveler and how they saved Mondstadt from their time of peril while Varka was regions away, how they saved Liyue from disappearing from under a sea god’s wrath, how they brought justice and relief to Inazuma and how they found themselves in the middle of a coup in Sumeru.
The last he heard through the Adventurer’s Guild, they were nearly to Natlan, wrapping up some final loose ties in Fontaine. Varka should send a letter, knowing the Traveler should be on their way to Nod-Krai next.
“Something… more than the Abyss?” Varka rasps. He knows the Abyss holds many dangerous secrets and is the origin of many horrifying monsters and diseases.
“Not quite. At least, I don’t think so.” Flins shrugs. There's a few moments pause, where Varka can sense that Flins is gearing up to ask a question - possibly one that he doesn't want to answer.
“I- then why haven’t you said anything if you know?” Varka blurts. “If it’s Wild Hunt or Abyss related, then wouldn’t the Ratnik be the first line of defense… or at least the first who should know?”
“How would I back up my claims without giving away my identity? There are many who know of the myths surrounding leopards, but many who just pass it off as that, as they’ve never seen one before..” Flins asks, sounding resigned. “Part of the issue is that the spirit is quite… private, so it doesn’t like showing itself, which makes it difficult to rationalize any claims.”
“Although Nikita and Illuga trust me, some of the other Ratnik are wary. There’s a possibility they’ll contest what I say, or turn accusations against me for not doing or saying anything if I knew what was going on. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been accused of not having Nod-Krai’s interests at heart.” Flins shrugs, nonchalant and it sparks a little flame of anger in Varka’s chest.
It’s clear that Flins is one of the most powerful within the Ratnik. Not only is Flins one of the longest standing Lightkeepers and has the most successful patrol rates - thank you, Illuga, for those statistics - that he rules solo, but he’s gone through more traumatic experiences than what most of their current ranks ever have. Even the idea of one of Varka’s newer knights making a snide remark or rebutting a senior knight’s concerns or warnings without any grounds has his blood pressure rising.
“I haven’t made myself the most approachable to others, I’m aware of that.” Flins strokes a soothing hand over Varka’s shoulders, clearly sensing Varka’s shift in mood. “I do prefer to keep to myself, which doesn’t quite help the suspicions and some are bitter about my close relations to our Starshyna and Young Master.”
Varka doesn’t even realize he’s scowling until Flins’ smooths a thumb over his forehead and presses a kiss to his temple.
“You needn’t worry about me.” Flins says. “This is where you come in, my dear Grand Master.”
“Me?” Varka blinks.
“Yes, you.” Flins chuckles. “Remember the letter you received?”
“You want me to be the one to tell everyone about the spirit.” Varka realizes.
“Indeed,” Flins hooks his chin over Varka’s shoulder again. “Would you be okay with this?” Flins squeezes Varka’s hands and the Grand Master tangles their fingers together. Varka marvels at how their palms fit together.
“As long as you can help me,” Varka admits, feeling his cheeks warm and a dorky smile cross his face when Flins lifts them up to press a kiss to the back of Varka’s hand. “I don’t know how much you’re comfortable with me disclosing or if there are particular things I need to say.”
“I will be happy to assist you,” Flins purrs, nuzzling his cold nose behind Varka’s ear. A teasing kiss follows, and Varka’s breath hitches. “Any further inquiries?”
“Not for now,” Varka exhales, turning in Flins’ arms to surge forward to kiss his smiling mouth.
A week later, Varka is standing in the middle of Nasha Town surrounded by a large crowd of people, the hubbub of anxious voices doing nothing to soothe Varka’s own nerves. He’s spent the majority of the past several days with Flins at the old lighthouse going through several old scriptures, books and jotting down notes from Flins’ own stories and experiences.
“What brought you to Nod-Krai?” Flins asks, propping his chin on his fist. He sifts through another pile of reports, moonstone yellow eyes flicking quickly over each page before he slides two more over to Varka. “I doubt you came just because of me?”
There’s a second, unasked question that Flins is clearly looking to be answered. Gloved fingers drum briefly atop the table before reaching for another quill and a blank piece of parchment. Varka hasn’t seen Flins fidget like this before. The Ratnik keeps his chin dipped beneath his high collar and he’s not quite looking Varka in the eyes when he tries to meet them. It’s endearing, and he would be tempted to watch Flins squirm a little bit longer if he wasn’t eager to assuage the other’s worries.
“I received a letter requesting my assistance due to an unknown entity here in Nod-Krai.” Varka starts, catching the slight flicker of uneasiness in Flins’ eyes, the subtle shift in his posture and the way his fingers curl a little tighter around his quill. “But, Nod-Krai was next on our destination list anyways, so it worked out for us in the end.”
“I see,” Flins’ shoulders slump in relief - a barely perceptible motion. Something soft and warm blooms in Varka’s chest.
“I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.” Varka reassures, reaching over the table to curl his hand around Flins’. “I’m here for my own investigation and it just so happens that my interests and yours - and by extension, the Ratnik and the spirit that dwells inside of you - align. I imagine that we will be seeing much of each other in the near future. I hope you won’t get sick of my presence, because you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
“I would never tire of having you around,” Flins frowns as he glances up from his stack of papers, blinking twice before he rolls his eyes at Varka’s grin. “You are ridiculous.” Despite the clear reprimand in his voice, it’s still fond, and Varka’s grin grows wider.
Varka’s punishment for teasing Flins is to spend the next four hours alone, transcribing notes and reading through dense material while Flins goes on patrol. The only thing keeping Varka from rebelling and following Flins anyways is the promise of kisses when the Ratnik returns, so long as Varka has made substantial progress.
The letter that Varka had received was also pored over and after several days, they had finally had something cohesive. Scheduling a meeting with Nikita and Illuga was next, where Varka presented his findings. He wasn’t awfully surprised when Illuga asked if Flins helped, having recognized some of the handwriting on the papers Varka brought with him. Illuga didn’t ask questions but he was clearly curious, so Varka sent a quick mental apology to Flins, knowing that the younger Lightkeeper would be making a visit over in the near future.
“Thank you for making the trip up here, Grand Master. I know it’s not an easy journey.” Nikita claps Varka on the back. “Many of us are unable to leave, provided how abundant the Wild Hunt is… and with your discoveries, we’re about to be even busier.”
“Please, feel free to ask for our assistance.” Varka says. “We’ve been working on establishing some more permanent headquarters up here so there’s less traveling for us to do.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Nikita nods. He tilts his head, contemplating, then lets out a laugh. “An ancient god in Nod-Krai! Who would have thought that someone like me would have earned its favor?”
When Varka goes to stand on the makeshift podium, the chattering ceases almost immediately. He spots Mattias and Arved, the former having woken up three days ago, well on the road to recovery and the latter shoots Varka a thumbs up and a grin when they meet eyes. A few others are scattered throughout the crowd while the rest are on patrols and acting as backup for the Lightkeepers.
There’s a glimmer of dark green that captures Varka’s attention and when he tilts his head up to find it, he spots a woman staring down at him from where she’s leaning against a railing. Varka almost immediately recognizes her as Nefer, the head of the Curatorium of Secrets. He’s not surprised she’s out here to listen to what he has to say, and it’s a little unfortunate that he can’t leverage this against her later on when he’s giving this out freely.
If Varka’s lucky, though, Nefer will realize not all the pieces line up and that there’s information deliberately being left out. She’ll look into it and ask around - potentially even ask Varka himself. In that case, Varka has the upper hand, and he plans to visit soon to make progress with his expedition. It gives him some peace of mind to know that she lacks information on Flins, thanks to one of her spitfire employees and partially due to Flins’ self-isolation and people’s unwillingness to get close to him.
It’s a huge turnout and Varka really hopes everything they’ve been working on is successful.
“Good afternoon,” Varka clears his throat, allowing himself to slip into the role of the Grand Master. He performs Mondstadt’s traditional knights’ salute to introduce himself. “I am Varka, Knight of Boreas and Grand Master of the Knights of Favonius of Mondstadt. I received a letter from an anonymous source here in Nod-Krai a few months ago requesting my assistance.”
During last night’s meeting with the knights, Varka had finally come clean about the letter and the main reason why he kept going off on his own. There had been several complaints about Varka piling too much on his plate and not letting the rest of them help, but they ultimately understood the more personal ties their Grand Master had to the request. It certainly didn’t deter them from asking questions once Varka admitted the case was mostly solved.
Several of them had even offered to help dig around for information on hybrids after Helmut admitted he thought he remembered seeing something about the lineage of Boreas in a book in the Frostmoon Scions’ libraries. Varka had to make sure everyone understood that they could not just show up out of nowhere and demand access to ancient texts.
“I was told about a series of anomalies called the Wild Hunt, born from the Abyss that has wreaked havoc upon Teyvat for the past several centuries.” Varka props a hand on his fist, gaze sweeping over the crowd of people, then glancing up at the canon that he still can’t quite believe is the creation of a child. “The author insisted that I was aware the Wild Hunt was under control - but there was a strange presence that could be friend or foe.”
A low murmur of assent sweeps through the crowd. Varka hears snippets of conversation, shared experiences that the initial author of the letter had written about. The fragmented memories and difficulties recalling what happened. The glowing eyes staring them down through a thick fog, one moment animal and the next human. Speculations of a god in their archonless land and ancient gods long past that were quickly dismissed when prayers did nothing, despite there being no efforts to venture out to leave offerings.
“From what I was told in the letter, it lent its aid against the Wild Hunt but unexpected attacks upon shepherd’s flocks and the environment followed quickly in its wake. Due to its untraceable nature and the…” Varka pulls out the letter from his pocket and makes a show of scanning through it, even squinting, “animal approach of a plan that was clearly too deliberate to come from anything other than a human mind, a theory that this entity must be a hybrid formed.”
“Although I’m certain your well-informed head of the Curatorium of Secrets knew of several eligible investigators within the land of Nod-Krai, the recipient of the letter was someone who hails from another land.” Varka gestures to himself. “To say I was surprised would be an understatement. I may be a descendant of Andrius’ bloodline, but I haven’t had a recent relative with hybrid features for several generations, which is readily available information if you read anything about my family name or history.”
Not only does he stand out due to his sheer height and build, but his uniform is a stark contrast to the way others are normally dressed. A flash of a different shade of green has Varka’s eyes flicking back to where he saw Nefer and he bites back a grin when he sees the narrow-eyed look she’s giving him, no doubt irritated at the several inquiries headed her way in the future.
“I have never experienced any part of my ancestor’s hybrid lineage, and I am long past the age at which they would manifest.” Varka returns his attention back to the crowd, shrugging. Then, because he can’t help himself, breaks his script to add, “but who knows? Perhaps the longer that I walk on the land bathed in moonlight, something might awaken inside of me.”
To keep himself from going off on a further tangent and to hopefully keep people from dwelling on his impulsive comment for much longer, Varka swiftly moves onto the next topic.
He provides details of his investigations, slipping in statistics he’d received from Nikita and Illuga the other day that he knows gets disclosed to the inhabitants of Nod-Krai so they’re reassured the Wild Hunt is being kept at bay. The sensation of being watched is something that he shares and as planned, brings Silja and Mattias onto the makeshift stage so they can provide their own testimonies.
“How many of you, right now in this crowd, are familiar with the myths and legends of Nod-Krai’s spirits and creatures?” Varka asks. He sees several hands go up. “My knights and I, along with the Starshyna of the Lightkeepers himself, have recently spotted a snow leopard of immense size, lingering nearby Wild Hunt anomalies and these destroyed areas.”
Several soft gasps rise from the crowd and Varka barrels on.
Now that he’s gained the momentum he needs, it’s easy to start weaving the interactions he and his knights have had with the spirit into a solid foundation. Varka details the times they were led to safety by the spirit, the times they were protected and the time they decided to ignore the spirit’s clear warnings of danger. Thanks to Flins, Varka is able to provide solid evidence that the spirit has been warning them of an impending calamity and because it cannot speak, it left trails of tomes and took the form of one of Nod-Krai’s oldest legends in hopes someone would notice.
“But will the spirit continue to act like this?” Someone in the crowd asks. “How do we even know something will happen? What if you’re making this up?”
“Many people have the habit of wildly speculating about anything and everything they don’t quite understand, often an aversion to investigating the truth. Not many are willing to risk their lives to better the lives of others, so they spin half truths to make themselves feel better.” Flins says when Varka asks him how likely it’ll be for someone to accuse him of lying.
It’s a bit of a bold claim, especially given how eager the residents of Nasha Town were to receive Varka when he first arrived - and he briefly wonders if it would have been different if the letter hadn’t been sent. For the time being, Varka pins the townspeople with the look he reserves for the unruly knights and adds a more serious inflection to his tone.
“Why would I investigate another nation’s issues when they’ve requested my help, only to provide them a half-baked solution?” Varka crosses his arms over his chest, deliberately shifting his expression into something more harsh. “I may have no connections to this land, but I am a knight of honor. If you had reservations about an outlander solving your solutions, perhaps you should have looked for someone a little bit closer.”
“In my lifetime as a knight, I’ve met and fought multiple gods, spirits and dragons.” Varka continues. “When a creature surpassing mortal powers and knowledge gives you a warning, it would be wise of you to listen to what it has to say, as they are very rarely wrong.”
The number of blank, almost incredulous stares is comical. They’re staring at Varka like he’s insane - or like he’s suddenly sprouted two wolf ears. He’s almost tempted to reach up and touch, just to make sure.
“Think about it this way,” Varka vaguely feels like he’s lecturing his knights about why they can’t do certain things because it’s impolite, “if you were a spirit who was trying to warn your people about something looming on the horizon and they kept going about their days without any sort of acknowledgement, what would you do?”
“Then what about the Ratnik?” Someone from further back shouts. “Shouldn’t they be talking about this, too? Why aren’t they here?”
“The Ratnik are aware,” Varka says, resisting the urge to send a prayer for patience to Barbatos. “I spoke with them. I’m sure you all know that most of their forces are located further north. They are not here today, due to the fact they are keeping the Wild Hunt at bay as they have been for several years. They are now aware of the spirit’s warnings and have begun preparations.”
“It’s not a god, so it does not need to be worshipped. It’s simply a spirit that wants to protect its people, but it doesn’t necessarily understand human customs and norms, nor will it have the most conventional methods.” Varka shakes his head. “I am honored to have been the one to investigate this strange anomaly, but it didn’t have to be me. Spirits respond to kindness, not fear or disdain. Your spirit in particular, was just looking to be understood.”
“So what do we do?” A small and tentative voice has Varka looking down at the front of the crowd, where a young girl is clinging to her mother’s hand, eyes wide as she stares at him. She can’t be more than five. “If the spirit won’t talk to us, how can we talk to it?”
“For now, I’d suggest starting to leave offerings, to let the spirit know that you are listening to its warnings. I’d imagine it would lower the attacks on livestock and the surrounding areas.” Varka shifts to kneel, schooling his features into something a little softer.
“What… sort of offerings do you suppose we leave, then?” The little girl asks, determined.
A flutter of dark purple and silver from a balcony above captures Varka’s attention. Flins is standing there, away from the crowds and partially hidden in the shadows, beautiful as always. He lifts his lantern in greeting, gracing Varka with those twinkling moonstone yellow eyes and small but gorgeous smile of his.
“Perhaps some trinkets will do,” Varka says, watching Flins’ smile grow distinctly pleased and cat-like, resisting the urge to roll his eyes, “something shiny, or perhaps something that tells a story.”
Several days later, a letter from Flins appears on Varka’s desk. It starts off with an apology that he couldn’t come ask in person, followed by a request to meet. The two of them have been incredibly busy, with Varka tying up loose ends, talking with several guilds and even landing himself a couple meetings with Nefer. Flins has been on patrols nearly non-stop and if he isn’t patrolling, he’s writing reports or on the prowl as a leopard.
Almost immediately after the speech Varka held, several people came up to him with questions, comments and further concerns about the state of their nation. Many of them, including the one who had suggested Varka was making things up, apologized before thanking him for his hard work. Varka took them in stride, though he made sure to remind everyone to stay listening to their world.
He knows how the Abyss is quick to spread if not contained, and he’s seen the damage it can do. He’ll be damned if he lets Mondstadt suffer because of it. The knights that were left behind to defend their home are more than capable, but in the face of Teyvat’s biggest antagonist… Varka doesn’t even want to think about it.
The people of Nasha Town, with the help of the Frostmoon Scions, have built a small shrine to place offerings on the secluded shores of Hiisi Island. Apparently, some of the offerings have vanished and the ravaged areas are showing signs of healing. No other attacks have been recorded since, but earlier that morning, the young girl who had asked Varka what they should leave was excitedly sharing a story about a huuuuge fluffy kitty coming to greet her when she came to leave a small gemstone she had found.
The letter tells Varka to wear something warm and to bring some drinks or snacks if he feels so inclined. There’s no further information, just a date and time.
“I’ll be there,” Varka says quietly, barely stifling his giddy grin as he tucks the letter into his breast pocket.
“Did you say something, Sir Varka?” Silja startles from where she’s been writing her reports.
“No, no, it was nothing.” Varka clears his throat. The prickling sensation on the back of his neck blinks, followed by the barely audible rustle of foliage behind him. He is absolutely going to tease Flins about this later.
The next night, Varka is making his way up a hill to their meeting point, dressed in his usual wear and cloak, carrying a basket with a couple blankets, a precious bottle of Dandelion Wine, two goblets and a couple containers of Mondstadt specialties he was able to whip up with their ingredients on hand.
His knights had teased him, of course. It wasn’t too hard to figure out what had their Grand Master in a bit of a tizzy, nervous and carefully checking his appearance every couple of hours.
“We’ll be fine!” Ulrike waves Varka’s concerns off. “And here,” she casts a few looks around to make sure no one else is watching before procuring a jade green bottle, pressing it carefully into Varka’s hands. “This is the last bottle of Dandelion Wine. It’s unopened; I thought you might want to share this little piece of your home with him, too.”
Affection, warm and soft, fills Varka’s chest.
“Thank you, Ulrike.” He exhales. She thumps him on the back,
“I’m glad you’re happy, Grand Master. You deserve it.”
Ulrike had shooed him off not too long after, insisting that Varka couldn’t be late - so off he went. The sun has just started to set when Varka reaches the top of the hill, scanning the horizon for a familiar figure.
There’s a gorgeous, golden glow that illuminates Flins’ silhouette when he turns to greet Varka, lantern clasped to his belt and hands tucked behind his back. There’s a small basket resting by his feet and he holds out a hand for Varka to take. Varka tugs Flins in first, grinning when a pair of elegant hands press against his chest, stealing the little hitch of breath from Flins’ mouth.
“Hi,” Varka grins when he pulls away. His hand comes up to cup Flins’ face when the other man chases after him. Long lashes flutter and Flins pins him with a disapproving gaze, so Varka dips his head back down to press another kiss to his cold lips.
“Hello,” Flins preens.
“It’s been a few days, huh?” Varka loops an arm around Flins’ waist, burying his face into soft hair. Flins hums softly in response, curling in Varka’s side and tucking his head beneath the taller man’s chin. “Why didn’t you just ask me in person, hm?”
“I sent the letter four days prior.” It’s the closest thing to a petulant grumble that Varka’s ever heard from the well-composed Ratnik. “The spirit has been restless and so have I.” Flins shifts, seeming to hesitate, before he adds, “I wanted to see you, even if it was for a brief moment.”
“Well,” Varka clears his throat, flustered, “you have me for the rest of the evening, at least.”
“Good.” Flins says, clearly pleased.
It’s comfortably quiet as the two of them set out the picnic blanket Varka brought, and Flins peers over Varka’s shoulder curiously as he plates up the few dishes he made.
“They’re dishes from back home,” Varka says sheepishly, handing the plate over. “I, uh, know you said that you don’t often need to eat, but I wanted to share this bit of my home with you.”
“I’d be honored to try,” Flins presses a kiss to Varka’s cheek, and he ducks his head, ears heating. “What else did you bring?”
“I brought some Dandelion Wine,” Varka takes the bottle out of the basket, handing it over to a sparkly-eyed Flins.
“I have some Snezhnayan Fire-Water with me,” Flins admits, “though I believe it will be quite strong in comparison.”
“I’d be happy to try it.” Varka insists.
Once they each have plates of dinner and glasses of sweet Dandelion Wine, Flins is quick to settle himself into Varka’s side and Varka doesn’t even care that he has to eat with one hand. As it starts to get darker out, the night sky illuminated by the full moon, Flins lifts a hand and a series of soft blue flames come into being, floating in the air around them.
“That’s a neat party trick.” Varka reaches out a curious hand. The flame ripples as Varka passes a hand through it.
He’s done a bit more research on blue flames and other myths since their last meeting and he had stumbled across a couple of tomes about an ancient race, once native to Snezhnaya and now thought to be extinct. Many of Flins’ mannerisms and physical features he’s allowed Varka to see fits the bill of a fae to the tee. It would also be the missing piece of the puzzle that is Flins’ nonhuman composition.
“Does fae fire burn?” Varka asks quietly. He feels Flins still briefly against his chest, the soft clink of his lantern as he seals the top again and sets it aside with his empty plate.
“I shouldn’t be surprised you’ve figured it out,” Flins muses, “though I suppose I would have said something if you’d asked. But no, our flames are not meant to burn. My flame in particular, as you know from the legend the Ratnik upheld, has always meant to be a guide for the lost or fallen souls.”
“Can your flame, uh, taste… things?” Varka feels a little stupid when he asks. “You tend to feed your lantern food rather than eat it by mouth, but you drink.”
“Ah, in a way, yes. A flame needs kindling to stay alive, after all.” Flins muses. “I haven’t tried feeding my flame alcohol, but I’m not certain if it’s something I’d investigate without some controlled parameters.”
That’s a good point.
“Flins,” Varka starts, “I know you said that the spirit is a separate entity.” Flins hums in confirmation. “Hybrids were also thought to be… spiritual beings.” Varka continues, haltingly. It was either Illuga or Nikkita who had mentioned it several weeks ago, about how housing another being in one’s body was considered to be a spiritual act, or pledge. “Would you be considered a hybrid?”
Soft hair brushes against Varka’s chin as Flins tilts his head with a contemplative noise. Varka startles at the sensation of something tickling his neck and something winding around his waist. He jolts back, staring down at Flins, catching sight of two fluffy and rounded leopard ears poking out past dark hair. Another glance down confirms the presence of a thick, spotted tail curled around Varka’s waist and thigh. Flins gives him a smug little smile at the baffled expression on Varka’s face.
“Can you do this voluntarily?” Varka stares, hands itching to touch.
“I can, though it’s not something I do very often, provided I try my best to blend in with other humans.” Flins nods, tail swishing in the air. “I don’t know if I’d consider myself a hybrid, as it is a spirit that dwells inside of me and not part of my own blood, flesh and bone.” Flins tilts his head, soft ears twitching against the line of Varka’s throat as he makes a contemplative sound. “Although, I suppose you could call me a homunculus…”
A soft, resigned sigh has Varka tentatively lifting a hand to pat Flins on the head, fingers scratching behind those fuzzy ears in the way the snow leopard seems to like.
“Does my nonhumanness truly not bother you, Varka?” Flins asks around the soft purrs rumbling in his throat.
Despite how adorable the sounds are, Varka can hear the underlying tone of uneasiness in Flins’ voice. He knows that despite Flins’ less than emotive tendencies, he’s still very conscious of the fact that he’s not human and how hard he’s worked to try and blend in - and even then it’s not enough.
“Not at all,” Varka says immediately, firmly. He pulls Flins closer, feeling a little giddy when he feels that soft tail tighten around his body, giving into his urge to drop a hand down and stroke his fingers through the fluff. “I found you ethereal. I still do. You are gorgeous. You are intelligent and ever curious. I like you for all your eccentricities and I would be honored to get to know more about you.”
“Oh,” Flins’ voice is soft, and dare Varka say, a bit shy. “I see.” A cold nose nudges Varka’s jaw, and when he tilts his head down to look, Flins kisses him.
A hand curls around the back of Varka’s neck, tugging him closer and Flins leans up into him, deepening their kiss with a soft sigh. Their lips click with every motion and it sends a thrill of heat down Varka’s spine. When Flins’ tongue swipes over Varka’s lips, his breath catches in his throat in surprise at the rough, barbed texture of it, but the Ratnik teasingly retreats before Varka’s brain can fully process it.
“Was that- do you-” Varka starts, embarrassingly raspy. Flins presses a finger to his lips, eyes twinkling with mischief.
“Mm. It’s starting,” Flins nods towards the sky and Varka follows his line of sight. The moon is full and bright, surrounded by twinkling, winking stars. Moments later, several streaks of light flash across the sky and Varka’s break catches for another reason. “Make a wish, my dear Grand Master.”
Varka presses a kiss to the crown of Flins’ head.
“I’ve got everything I need and want right here.” He says. Flins is quiet for a moment, then he pinches Varka’s nipple, harshly. Varka yelps, swatting Flins’ hand away and rubbing at his sore chest with a pout. “What was that for?” He whines.
“Pay attention to the stars,” Flins’ leopard ears twitch beneath Varka’s jaw, the petal peach blush just barely visible on the tip of his nose and human ears.
It’s a gorgeous sight to see. Varka hasn’t seen the stars like this in ages, let alone feel so close to the sky. There’s a strange stirring sensation in his chest, an almost aching feeling that starts to form the longer he watches the stars and moon, though Varka chalks up to Flins’ surprisingly brutal assault on his chest a few minutes ago.
As the sky grows quieter and the stars stop falling, Varka finds himself starting to nod off. It’s getting a little chilly despite the blankets and when Varka stifles a yawn, he finds himself with a lapful of warm, fluffy and drowsy snow leopard a moment later. Flins curls around him, tail remaining curled around Varka’s waist.
“You can’t say it’s my fault this time that I’m falling asleep in a field.” Varka mumbles, rubbing at his eyes. Flins rumbles softly beneath him, shifting to nudge his nose against Varka’s thigh.
Sleep, those moonstone yellow-gray eyes seem to say.
“You’ll keep me safe?” Varka asks, already halfway there to dreamland. Flins simply chuffs, tightening his protective curl around Varka’s body and starts to purr.
It isn’t long before Varka falls asleep beneath the moon’s glow, dreaming of the grass beneath his paws and the wind tugging at his fur.