Venti is such a mother hen towards mondstadt in my eyes. In canon he calls them his children
He takes in anything that stays in his land.
cursed child from natlan? Thats his child Bennett. Prince of the nation sinners? His child now. Treasure hunter from liyue (ambers grandpa)? Yup that’s his kid now sorry Zhongli. A dragon that may potentially be the anemo sovereign? Thats his wonderful child dvalin. The children of the group of witches who want to kill him? They are all now his children and he will have tea with them.
However he still likes to mess with them in the way that your parents mess with you. He sings incorrect information about himself, steals wine, teases others, ect
He literally terraformed the landscape and changed the weather system because it was too harsh for his humans to live in. He baby-proofed mondstadt. No other god has gone out of their was to baby proof their nation to such a massive scale.
Summary : In which, after almost killing you with one of his poisons, Lohen stops making them altogether. Unfortunately for him, this leaves him with a new problem.
How exactly is he supposed to make you fall in love with him?
Desperate and increasingly frustrated, he begins seeking romantic advice from anyone unfortunate enough to cross his path, spreading panic throughout the city of freedom as Mondstadt's most terrifying man attempts the impossible: courtship.
The first victim was a florist.
Lohen stood near the entrance of Floral Whisper, frowning at the colorful flowers displayed.
Flora, who was busy watering the flowers almost dropped the can upon seeing him. "...Can I help you?"
"I need advice." Lohen stared.
The florist froze.
Advice?
From her?
Was the world ending?
"What kind of advice?" she asked with the most polite smile she could muster.
Lohen looked visibly exhausted just from participating in the conversation.
"There's a girl." he started.
The watering can hit the floor. "...What?"
"A girl." he repeated.
A horrible silence followed.
Flora cleared her throat awkwardly. "You... like a girl?"
Lohen raised a brow, catching the genuine confusion in her tone. "Am I not allowed to?"
The girl quickly shook her head, waving her hands above her chest. "N-no! Of course you can. I just—well—girls like flowers?"
Desperate to be helpful, she grabbed a basket overflowing with colorful blooms and shoved it toward him. "Here! Keep them, free of charge."
Lohen glanced at the basket, his finger raising to poke one petal with an unamused expression. "Flowers die easily though."
"..."
"They're essentially just decorative corpses."
The florist had no response to that.
Lohen left.
The second victim was a bard.
Not just any bard, it was Barbatos himself! (Unfortunately.)
Venti seemed particularly happy when Lohen asked him the question, laughing loudly until strangers threw him annoyed looks.
"Write her a poem. Women love men who aren't afraid to voice their feelings." he suggested.
Lohen frowned. "A poem? That sounds like a waste of time. And paper."
The bard shook his head with a pityful smile. "Oh sweet child. You truly are so inexperienced."
...
And so that night Lohen sat on his table, staring at a blank piece of paper as if hoping some beautiful writing would manifest by itself.
He'd already asked sixteen people.
At this point, desperation had set in.
---
You are like a poisonous flower,
Crushed and blended-
---
Nope. Terrible.
---
Your eyes are like-
---
Absolutely not. Your eyes were just eyes.
---
Just like corpses which are buried deep into the dirt,
I wish you too, could be buried deep inside of m-
---
Lohen crushed the paper before he could finish writing that sentence.
He was truly losing his mind.
The third victim suggested chocolates.
Lohen actually considered it. For almost three seconds.
Then he remembered what had happened the last time he gifted you something edible.
The nauseating feeling that had been plaguing him for the past few days returned.
No.
No chocolates.
By the fourth day, word had spread.
The city's most terrifying man was apparently courting someone.
People were terrified.
Who was the poor girl?
Was she safe?
Should someone warn her?
More importantly,
Whose advice would the Vice Captain actually listen to?
The fifth victim was a fellow Knight. A Knight unfortunate enough to have a girlfriend.
Lohen cornered the poor man, unsheathing the dagger he owned and pressed the tip gently against the man's finger.
"As you know, I need advice regarding a girl." The dagger rose. "Speak."
The Knight racked his panicking brain for anything. Each second wasted was another step closer to hellish torture after all. "U-Um... P-play TCG with her?"
Lohen blinked. "That stupid card game?"
Seeing he wasn't immediately being stabbed, the Knight found a sliver of courage. "Yeah...it's very fun. I play it with my girlfriend."
Lohen frowned, tilting his head slightly. "Isn't your girlfriend blind?"
The knight laughed. For a brief moment, remembering his girlfriend outweighed his fear. "That's why it's fun for me."
Lohen rolled his eyes in disgust.
Idiotic.
Absolute disgrace of a man.
The next day Lohen appeared in your house carrying an absurd amount of cards.
You immediately became suspicious.
Because normally when Lohen showed up carrying things, there was approximately a 60% percent chance of poisoning.
A statistic you found acceptable. But terribly low. 98% would have been better.
Today, however, he simply dumped the cards onto the table.
"Play." was all he said.
...
And so you did.
Lohen had a remarkable talent for dragging you into whatever nonsense occupied his mind.
It was almost as if after spending years being poisoned by him, your resistance against his whims had diminished to a negative.
The game began.
Lohen quickly discovered that card games were incredibly boring.
He understood poisons. He understood combat. He understood murder.
Cards made no fucking sense.
Just random rules stacked on top of random rules until someone declared it entertainment.
But somehow you seemed invested. Halfway into the second game you started playing seriously. You paused before every move. Grinned whenever you knew you had an advantage. Looked personally offended whenever he played a powerful card.
And then...
"I won!" you leaned back on your chair, throwing the cards on the table with a triumphant smile.
Lohen felt a sharp spike of irritation.
Huh. That was just beginners luck.
"Again."
You won again.
"Did you cheat (Y/N)? Play again."
Another win.
".... Again."
You win.
"Are these cards broken or something? Again."
Hours passed.
At some point it became less about winning and more about watching you play.
He noticed the way you concentrated, the way your lips curled into a small smile after each win. The way your eyes lit up whenever you got lucky.
It was ridiculous.
The game itself remained stupid.
But somehow you weren't.
Lohen's gaze lingered before dropping back to his unfamiliar cards.
Eventually he deliberately misplayed a hand.
Then another. And another.
You didn't notice. You were too busy celebrating after all.
"I won again!" you looked comically proud of yourself.
Lohen suppressed a laugh. If you realized he was letting you win, you'd never let him hear the end of it.
After the last card was delt and he lost once again, an awkward silence took over.
The cards lay scattered across the table. And Lohen didn't know where to look.
This was it. The advice had ended there.
'Play cards.' he remembered the knight had said.
Mission complete.
....
Now what?
It was you who broke the silence first. Your eyes were fixed on a random card as the words escaped your mouth. "Why don't you poison me anymore Lohen?"
For perhaps the first time in years, he was caught completely off guard.
Of all the things you could have said...You chose the one question he never wanted to answer.
Seeing how Lohen went quiet, you pushed again. "I miss it you know. Your food and the poison that came along with it."
A small, fond smile graced your lips.
Each dish he made was so meticulously cooked, perfected and worked upon with so much care for the person who'd taste it.
More than the poison itself, you missed the warmness of it all. The feeling of someone going out of their way for you.
Lohen sighed, turning his head away. ".... You nearly died (Y/N)." The words left him before he could stop them.
You paused.
Oh.
You had forgotten about that part.
To you had been an unfortunate accident. Poisons were often unpredictable, especially those which had never been tested.
But to Lohen, the memory of your pale body had etched itself into his memory.
The blood pooling on the table, the rough coughs that crawled out of your throat. The utter panic and fear he felt when you hadn't woke up... it was all still so fresh in his mind.
His fingers tightened against his sleeve. "Poison is not some toy that you can play with."
His voice sounded bitter.
Almost as if he was accusing himself, not you. Reminding himself that human life was not some ingredient he could toss into a bowl and mix.
You understood him to some degree. You wondered if you were in his place... Would you have reacted so intensely?
But there was one thing you knew for certain.
"I still loved it, though."
Lohen hesitated, glancing up at you with a questioning look.
"I mean—not dying obviously." You quickly added,
"Mhm."
"The poison." you smiled.
"..."
"I liked the poison you made, Lohen."
He knew it.
You were even more insane than him.
A complete contradiction to everything he thought he knew about people.
Normal people feared his hobbies.
Normal people avoided him.
Normal people certainly didn't look disappointed when he stopped poisoning them.
Yet here you sat.
Looking genuinely sad about it.
It was so foolish and yet...
A small laugh escaped him. He ran a hand through his hair before his eyes settled on you completely.
"You're an idiot (Y/N)."
You raised a brow. "Coming from you, that's offensive."
He shrugged. "If you want poison that badly..." A reluctant smile appeared.
"I'll make mild ones."
You immediately sat up, leaning closer with a bright smile.
And just like that, he understood.
All these years, this was what he'd wanted.
A smile meant only for him.
A part of you that belonged solely to him.
"I will poison you forever then."
You grinned. "That sounds perfect."
"So we're dating." Lohen put his hands together.
You stopped mid motion, confused on whether your ears had suddenly malfunctioned. "What? Where did that come from?"
Lohen gave a playful pout, batting his eyelashes at you like some teenage girl. "You just agreed to let me poison you forever."
"That's not—" you reasoned.
"And I agreed."
You took a deep breath. "That's not a confession."
"You're right," He stood. "those were our wedding vows!" the boy laughed lightly, and walked towards you.
His hand wrapped around your wrist, pulling you up until you stumbled out of the chair and closer to him.
"... Are you seriously asking me to date you, Lohen?" you turned your head up to meet his gaze. Despite his playful words, he looked utterly sincere as he stared back.
"Uhm." he leaned closer, his nose brushing faintly against yours. He was waiting for a reaction, a sign that would tell him it's alright for him to take more.
You never stepped away.
Never told him no.
That was all he needed.
From that day onward, things became strangely normal.
Or as normal as they could be.
Before creating new poisons, Lohen started consulting your medic friends.
"Will this kill her?" he asked one.
"No."
Lohen smiled. "Good."
"What is wrong with you?"
The people of Mondstadt were the ones who were the most relieved.
Because now Lohen became noticeably less interested in terrorizing everyone else.
He was too busy following you around.
Too busy making poisons.
Too busy pressing tiny kisses on your neck and cheek.
Too busy listening whenever you rambled about medicine.
Years later, the sight became familiar inside a small house with a cluttered laboratory, tucked away in a quiet corner of the city.
Lohen usually hunched over a workbench, carefully mixing another poison.
And you standing nearby. Watching him with shameless affection.
Occasionally helping.
Occasionally reminding him not to accidentally create something lethal.
In the end, the city never truly understood your relationship.
But perhaps that was fine. Because they didn't need to.
One man who expressed love through poison.
Only two people understood it...
And one girl foolish enough to love him for it.
Fin
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3
AND THAT IS THE END OF THIS STORY. This was the first time I had so many people comment and like something I wrote and as much as it was overwhelming, I loved writing every bit of it.
Lohen is the type of insane person that I love to write, and coming about with stupid scenarios was a blast.
Thank you sm for reading! Let me know your thoughts.
Imagine Lohen in his first formal introduction with your father. He was the epitome of elegance and charm, with sparkles circling around him.
"It’s nice to meet you, sir." His smile was polite, as was his manner of speaking, exuding a demeanor of respect and sophistication that immediately impressed your father, having no trouble bestowing the hard-earned blessing of approval upon your relationship with Lohen.
At the present time, as your relationship with him continues to flourish exceedingly well, the more fruitful the connection between your lover and father becomes, solidifying a bond that replicates one of familial unity and acceptance.
Clinking wooden mug beers and sharing hearty laughs during a night out at the Angel's Tavern, both of their faces had flushed with the amount of booze they had consumed during a long talk of gossip and sentimental life advice.
"Y'wanna know ssssomething…hic…about me and your daughter?" Lohen drawled, his words slightly slurred from the alcohol, leaning his wobbly head closer to your father's.
Your father, mirroring the drunken state of the latter, chuckled heartily before replying, "Whaaat?" he asked, his words slightly slurred as well.
"She calls me…hic…daddy too."
There was silence.
And there was also a chilly breeze that seemed to cut through the warmth of the alcohol-induced camaraderie between the two men. The atmosphere shifted as your father's expression turned serious, his eyes narrowing as he processed Lohen's words.
"…She does?"
Then, Lohen's drowsy state seemed to sober up a bit as he grasped the weight of his words, his own eyes widening in realization of the implications of his words.
Shit.
Out of rare cases of panic, his mouth blurted out, "I didn't mean it like that, I swear—"
"Is she pregnant?"
The dread seemingly transitioned into confusion; Lohen's eyebrows snapped together and his mouth was slightly agape. His head shakes in denial. "No, no, I didn't mean to imply that at all. I was just joking around."
The confession did not anger your drunken father, but rather, he slumped in his chair, his belly jiggling as he let out a deep sigh. "Shame… I thought I was going to be Pops soon."
He grabbed another bottle of beer to fill in the half-empty mug on the table to drink the disappointment away. Meanwhile, your lover, who has currently sobered up, now stares at your father in disbelief.
; yandere, written before lohen and snezhnaya's release, snegurochka fae (y/n), freakhen creephen yanhen you get the point, obsession, branding (in the sense that..), brief implied assault, (y/n) is a passive character because she's a fae not well-versed in human culture and fae morals differ please keep that in mind because she really just lets him do whatever, proofread to the best of my ability.
; Your glacial heels barely crossed the threshold of the Anemo Archon’s land before you found yourself your very own tour guide. Wearing a paldron and cape with an emblem on his chest, he looked the very part of a knight, even going as far as to bend down with his arm stretched and the other hidden from view, awaiting your hand. It’s rare for Mondstadt to receive a Snowland Fae like you, he had said. Let me show you around the city, Miss Snowflake.
It has been five days since, and you’ve been ensnared by him for at least two.
Your luggage (or lack thereof) is minimal: a Cryo Vision for keeping up appearances and a hefty pouch of Mora sponsored by your mother. Two items that you can hold with just one hand, yet the gentleman who made it his personal mission to be your guide – Sir Lohen, as you’d call him after being informed of his status as a knight – insists that he holds your belongings for you while escorting you to your lodging, the Goth Grand Hotel.
He even took your room key, claiming there’s no need for you to open your room yourself. He’ll gladly do it for you.
Thinking that it’s part of Mondstadt’s culture to be so accommodating to visitors from afar, you agreed. You follow closely behind him, trusting his judgment and expertise as he winds through the maze-like hallways of the Goth Grand Hotel. The interchanging sounds of him chewing gum or humming a tune you’re not familiar with dominate the silence, your gloved hand fiddles with its lace scalloped edge, unsure how to approach him entirely.
Faes teach their youngins the importance of being alone fresh out of the womb. It’s a paranoia caused by the fall of Hyperborea – the Fae’s population diminishes with each passing decade, and as such, independence is instilled as soon as possible. Should the parents die, the young will survive on their own. But in the process of your parents leaving you be for most of your childhood, it stunted your ability to socialize. You had no fae friends your age, the human children outlived you too quickly, and you were their only child.
While not completely inept, you… don’t know how to talk to an eccentric person like Sir Lohen. Or could it be that this is how humans beyond Snezhnaya act?
“We’re here!”
Your guide rouses you back to the present. When you come to, he’s standing right outside your hotel room, single-handedly fishing out the hotel keys from his pocket. He doesn’t bother waiting for your initiative before inserting the key and unlocking the door – you don’t mind, it’s your first time being a tourist, and you are grateful for Sir Lohen’s proactive nature.
He holds the door open for you, and you nod at him before entering. The interior has you awing at the sight; despite mainly housing Fatui delegates, the Goth Grand Hotel’s walls and ceilings scream Mondstadt. You prefer it this way, seeing more Snezhnograd buildings while on a supposed trip would make you sick.
Centerfold of the room, an emblem hangs high and proud, mounted on the wall like a trophy. You turn to the side, intending to ask Sir Lohen about it, only to stare in confusion when you see that he hasn’t moved an inch from the closed door. He’s intensely staring right at it – rather, something on it.
“...Sir Lohen? Is something wrong?”
He casts you a glance before signaling you over, “Yeah, there is.”
Now standing beside him, you finally see what’s caught his attention. “Oh?”
Unnoticeable at first glance, the moment you see the disparity, you can never unsee it again. Around eye level on the door is a hole the size of a drilling nail – just big enough to see inside. You wonder how long this has been around and why this hole came to be; is it for infiltration purposes? Fatuis are a hotspot in this place. Information is a form of currency, too.
“Should I talk to that old man about this?” Sir Lohen asks, eyes flickering to your face.
You’re perplexed, staring right back at him, “Why? I’ll only be staying here until the end of the week – I find it quite pointless to do so.”
He’s silent for a second or two before shrugging, easily letting the issue go, “Alright, if you say so. If you’re done here, we can head out.”
“I would be, but… my Vision and Mora pouch are still within your possession, so if you’d please…”
He hides your items from view and cheekily grins, “What? Not a chance! I’ll carry this for you until the day ends, Miss Snowland Fae.”
Sir Lohen takes you to a quaint restaurant you glimpsed hours ago: Good Hunter, a must-visit for tourists. He had kindly paid for both meals using his own money, something you frowned upon and insisted that he take out a portion from your Mora pouch to pay for your own meal. As with all things with him, he operates by his own wants and needs, so he pretended to be deaf until the food arrived.
Your order, Fisherman’s toast, sits piping hot on its plate. The steam emanating has you subtly inching away, fearful it’d melt your ice-cold face off. It most likely won’t, but your aversion to heat is instinctual; knitted into your race. Your companion takes immediate note of it too, for he loudly clears his throat and points to your untouched meal, as if his perfectly poised Tea Break Pancakes were anywhere near being finished.
“Not liking it, Miss Fae?”
You shake your head, “It smells delicious, but we Snegurochka Faes are more susceptible to heat than our other kin. I’m merely waiting until it cools off.”
Being burned from the inside is not ideal. You could use Fae magic, but you’re unsure if Mondstadt approves of such practices. With alchemy being banned in Snezhnaya, it’s not out of the realm of possibilities for other nations to forbid other sources of power.
“Oh, that’s it? I can use my vision to cool it off!”
He needs no objections. A blast of cryo shoots from his hand, instantly freezing your Fisherman’s Toast and supplementing you with a cool, icy breeze in the same breath. Had it been anyone else, they’d be forced to thaw the objectively ruined meal. But this state of frozen is perfectly ideal for you; you are incredibly grateful.
Your fork attempts to penetrate through the frozen toast, but all it manages is to get a few ice shavings. “This is… commendable. I must repay you in kind, Sir Lohen.”
Equivalent exchange is important among Faes; you will be condemned to Celestia if you let his favor go unseen.
He smiles at your compliment, pushing his plate towards the middle. “Really? Then I suppose it’s not too much to ask that you feed me?”
Your head snaps to attention, instantly meeting his cheeky grin and scheming eyes. “I’m sorry?”
You truly do not know how to talk to a human like Sir Lohen. He may be sent from the heavens to help you navigate through this foreign country, but he catches you off guard in times like this.
“Please feed me, dear Fae.”
He chuckles and passes his fork to you, nodding in encouragement. Reluctantly, you take it, unpleasantly frowning at the warmth his body heat left on the item. Your eyes dart from the Pancakes to his tilted, smiling face, contemplating whether you should heed his wish. But to feed a human… surely this counts as giving them food, no? And for a Fae to offer food to a human…
You shake your head. That’s illogical, this meal came from his own pockets. It’s illogical. Still, what if? What if it falls under that tradition? then you’d have a human you hadn’t intended to have on your hands. Sir Lohen is human, he’s not aware of Fae traditions like you are. Pushing the plate back to his side of the table, you return his fork, gently slotting it between his fingers apologetically.
“Due to… certain restrictions, I’m afraid I cannot do that, Sir Lohen. But please don’t be deterred from holding this favor I owe you on future occasions.”
“Aww, why not?” He pouts, fingers curling in on the utensil, undeterred by the thin layer of frost that formed, “Scared you won’t like me?”
You blink, taking a clean bite out of your frozen toast, “I don’t quite follow what you mean?”
He gives you an enigmatic smile in turn, silently watching you devour your food from a frozen mess until all that’s left are soggy crumbs.
The slightest sensation of warm sunlight dancing on your skin has you stirring awake, the distaste for heat ever so present. You withdraw your body from its touch and flutter your eyes open. Immediately, you see the curtains parted all the way, generously welcoming the unwanted guest into your hotel suite. It’s pure absentmindedness on your part; you swore the curtains were drawn when you went to bed last night, or had Sir Lohen visited you with the room key he possessed and thought you’d do well with the cold air heralding into your room?
That would be thoughtful of him, even if he failed to account for the fact that the sun would rise hours later. But it doesn’t matter much to you – closed or drawn curtains.
You lay the thoughts of a possible late-night visitor to rest, and with a swish of your hand, begin undressing yourself using Fae magic. Left in your bare state – the almost translucent icy parts on your skin intermingling with normal human flesh on full display to an audience of no one else but the figure now standing just outside your door.
Your mother taught you to never let a guest wait for too long. Conjuring icy mists of pale cobalt blue, you make an outfit for yourself in the blink of an eye. A Dirndl flows into fruition, dreamily swaying when you turn around to approach the peephole. Peeking in, you see expect to Sir Lohen tapping his foot, impatient. What greets you instead is a dark plane of space with a red line in the middle.
You realize it a second later: Oh, Sir Lohen is staring right back at you. You’d know his pupils anywhere with how eyecatching he is. Had he seen you nude, then? You hope he’s not the type of human to take bareness as something scandalous. Twisting the doorknob open, you smile at him and, to confirm, “I hope you didn’t mind seeing me stripped off my clothes, Sir Lohen. I respect human culture, I truly do.”
He throws his head back and laughs, voice cracking in every other ‘haha’ he lets out. He even grabs onto his stomach. Is it that funny? It couldn’t have been… but he tends to laugh at the most unexpected situations, you surmise. Just yesterday, after finishing your meal at Good Hunter, he saw a running child trip on a stray rock and fall to the ground with a loud splat. You rushed to help her up, applying cool air to her wounded knee when you heard his cackling just a few feet away. The child cried solely from the humiliation he subjected her to.
Today, you’re the main subject of his humor. Left standing in your doorway, watching him until his laugh fizzles out into wheezes, and lastly, a final, pleased sigh. Comically, he wipes a stray tear from his eyes. “Don’t fret, I don’t mind at all. I never knew Snegurochka Faes’ bodies were like that. I think I almost saw your actual sternum – you really are part ice, huh, Miss Snowflake?”
“I am.” You step outside so he can lock the door for you. “Where will we be going today, Sir Lohen?”
A click in place, and he’s back to pocketing your room key once more, “The Favonius HQ.”
You gasp in wonder, “They allow outsiders to visit?”
“Not usually,” Sir Lohen shrugs, walking ahead to act as your navigator, “But they know better than to interfere with me.”
He must be a respected figure among his faction.
His remark proves to be true when, despite being thrown curious and gauging looks the moment you enter the headquarters, the knights present in the vicinity dared not intervene when they saw Sir Lohen coldly staring them down, silently challenging anyone brave enough to tell him off. No such person ever came; the trip to the training grounds was undisturbed.
You stand under the shade as Sir Lohen sets his eyes straight on an arrangement of weapons organized on top of velvet. He picks up a dagger, turns it back and forth with a hum, and asks, “Say, you ever held a weapon before?”
You think back to your childhood: the solitude and mountains of hardback books as your only companions. Your parents would visit you every three years, told you they were proud of your studies, before you were dragged back to books and quill pens. It had gotten better over time, but the lonely, little Fae girl still lives in you from time to time.
You retreat further into the shadows, feeling the sun shift ever so slightly, “No, why do you ask?”
He keeps the dagger and approaches your spot, haphazardly tossing the weapon a few inches in the air and catching it without even looking. Murky eyes are fixated on you, watching a bead of sweat roll down your neck.
He snaps his head to face you, now smiling, “Want me to teach you?”
Without warning, the tip of the blade is teased on your collarbone, slowly being dragged from one end to the other. You tense, you have no qualms about being taught by Sir Lohen, but the temperature of the blade–
“I-it’s warm,” you cautiously take a step back, backside meeting cobblestone, “I’ll start melting if you keep that blade on my skin, Sir Lohen.”
“Don’t say that, it’ll get me going.” He chuckles, pressing the edge of the blade to his exposed skin, “Must’ve been left out there in the sun. You really aren’t fond of heat, huh?”
You shake your head, sighing pleasantly when his free hand suddenly cups your face, seeping Cryo energy into your body. He regulates it back to its normal state of coolness. “As I’ve mentioned, I would melt or burn.”
“Poor thing, you’re like a snowman,” He coos, pouting, “Rest assured, you’ll be nice and cold in my care, (Y/N).”
Sir Lohen escorts you back to your hotel room hours later, Cryo vision still being used to cool you. Hand pressed to his chest, he bowed before leaving your room.
You never understood the humans back in Snezhnograd, and the current one growing closer to you is even more puzzling. But you don’t feel the urge to understand him – akin to letting flowing water be, you feel it’s better if you allow Sir Lohen to be his unique self.
It’s not easy to get lost in Wolvendom, Sir Lohen assured you when you first set out past Mondstadt City and crossed the stone bridge. Even in the surrounding lands, there’s not much danger to be found so strictly staying within the city walls is, in his words, “Boring. There’s more to Mondstadt than that! Come on, I’ll show you.”
Hence why, while carrying a small bag he borrowed from a surveyor named ‘Mika’, he persuaded you to come along here deep into the woods of Wolvendom. He showed you the local flora, a fruit named Wolfhook, and held you close to him while hiding in the bushes, observing wild wolves and rifthounds together. Two sets of footprints are left on the ground, there for anyone to discover as you trek deeper within, fully trusting Sir Lohen’s experience as a local.
Unfortunately, exploring is an exhausting task for a part-ice creature such as you. Normally unbothered with walking miles on snow, you’re left panting and needing to lean into Sir Lohen’s side after crossing past ten minutes of walking. Even with the shade provided by the trees, the sun beats down on you, squinting its harsh rays without mercy, which has you lapping up Sir Lohen’s use of his Cryo vision as if it were an oasis of salvation in a never-ending desert.
A few minutes are spent recuperating while Sir Lohen remains kind and patient, the blessed man that he is. You feel ready to continue on, and the journey is resumed until you feel yourself dangerously close to melting once more, and the cycle repeats.
You’re a heavyweight that he’s cursed to carry. Had it not been for your delicate constitution regarding heat, Sir Lohen would have had an easier time delving into Wolvendom and probably reached the heart of the forest within an hour. Instead, all he gets from travelling with you is staying way past the agreed time. It’s night now. While the sun no longer torturously pricks at your skin, the pitch-dark night isn’t any better.
You failed to bring an item that can light the way, and you doubt Sir Lohen did either. And cryo isn’t known for lumination.
“I’m sorry,” You bow, “I held us up, I’m truly sorry, Sir Lohen. And now we can’t be too sure on where we’re going…”
Your mother would chide you for spouting numerous apologies to a human, telling you that they are nothing more than rotten beings, but you are seized by remorse. This kind human had made it his duty to show you his birthland, and you, as a Fae, have been nothing but trouble. Perhaps your peers will revel in mischief at such an opportunity, but not you.
Sir Lohen shrugs off your heavy guilt, opting to point to a small clearing of space up ahead, laden in fallen leaves and twigs, “You worry too much, (Y/N). Look over there, we can build a campfire!”
Lips pursing, you hesitate for a split second. To be so close to actual fire when daytime alone has you sweating and close to melting point…. Ah, but Sir Lohen has done so much for you; he’s most probably a human who can’t brave through the cold night without warmth – essentially the polar opposite of your kind.
Sacrifices must be made on your part, too. After swallowing the saliva pooling in your mouth, you nod.
Sir Lohen manifests his polearm, quickly brutalizing a tree for its trunk. After removing sharp wood edges, he makes you sit down while he gathers the unused wood and stray leaves into one pile stationed a few inches away from you. You often watched humans try their best to survive the tundra with a measly campfire back in Snezhnaya, what Sir Lohen is doing right now is oddly reminiscent of it.
An odd twinge in your heart kicks up, homesickness inflicting you with a bigger ailment the longer you spend time here in Mondstadt.
The fire crackles to life, dislodging your line of thinking as you flinch back in surprise. Peeking from behind the growing curtain of yellow and red, Sir Lohen smiles, his face doused in warm colors, “Sorry, I didn’t scare you too bad, did I?”
“No… I was caught off guard, that’s all.” Your gaze sweeps down to the heart of the fire, already feeling the heat reach out to you, “Uhm, how long will we be staying here?”
“Probably the entire night, I’m not well-versed with Wolvendom at night, unfortunately.” Sir Lohen leans back on a tree, watching you with rapt attention, “We have no choice either way.”
You breathe a sigh, pointedly ignoring the sweat beginning to bead around your forehead, “I… I understand.”
You scoot back, even if it’s just to prolong the inevitable creeping heat, slowly cranking up until you’re no different from a boiling frog. You bear it until you no longer can – your skin, ice and flesh, will melt soon if you continue facing the blazing campfire. Sir Lohen needs it, but your life…
Now panting, you weakly call out, “Sir Lohen?” At his questioning hum, you continue, “If it’s not too much to ask, the fire… Can you please.. relocate the campfire else…where?”
Closing your eyes, you try to regulate your body temperature back to freezing point without using past a drop of Fae magic, but it feels impossible when the daunting color of yellow invades even in your closed eyes. You hear dead leaves crunch from the force of his boots walking to you and feel the shadow of Sir Lohen settling over your form like a cool tide.
“Too hot?”
You shyly nod, ashamed to inconvenience him even at night. You flinch upon feeling his bare hand, having discarded his gloves somewhere, cupping your face as he had previously done before.
A now familiar, cool feeling circulates throughout your entire body, and it’s embarrassing, but the pleased sigh you intended to vocalize is akin to a soft moan, a pleasure brought by his own power; his vision. He laughs, “Better?”
After stewing in both shame and appreciation, you open your eyes to look up at whirlpools of shadows partially covered by minty green hair. You give him a small smile, face slick with sweat, “A bit, thank you.”
“Scoot over then, I’ll cool you off even more.” He subsequently drapes over you like a blanket, his warm human body an afterthought in the face of crystalline ice forming at his fingertips, traveling from your earlobes down to your collarbone, then lower. Yellow and blue never work together, but Lohen, yellow cast from the fire and blue from his vision, makes it appeasing; palatable for your eyes.
But a pressing matter remains: your body lacks heat, surely being this close to you and turning his fingertips to literal ice is… “Won’t you get frostbite?”
He laughs with a close-eyed smile, icy fingertips now feeling up your forearms, “Fine by me, it’d feel like I’m getting marked by you. I’d like that – since you refused to own me.”
You stay quiet, focused on being blessed by the pocket winter he momentarily turned his hands into. Curious fingers press deeper into the patches of ice skin, squeeze a tad bit harder at your sides, linger a little longer near the space between your thighs. You let him, finding his hands a bit too pleasant. It’s like being back home in the frigid winter of Snezhnograd; it feels as if you never left at all when you’re under him like this.
He provides relief and cures the homesickness you’ve been having. Sir Lohen is a miracle worker, a commendable human you never expected one to be.
You grow drowsy from his ministrations, head lolling and eyes turning heavy. The last thing you hear is a deranged, throaty laugh and a tapered comment that you can’t bother to make sense of as you fully give into repose.
“...Act… you’re drugged… cute…!”
His sole companion for the rest of the night is your unconscious body; only the Wolvendom forest and Celestia above are privy to the sins he committed.
You wake up to the campfire put out, it’s early morning – the skies are tinged with a soft blue, the air still cold from the night before. Sir Lohen, with his chin propped on his hand, stares at you, completely silent.
“Good morning, Sir Lohen,” You stretch and stand up, “How did you sleep last night?”
“Hm? Oh, I didn’t sleep at all,” He gathers his items, “I was busy looking out for you.”
“Ah… thank you, you shouldn’t have.”
His eyes return to you, light oddly failing to reflect as he responds in kind, “Watching you is better than sleeping, don’t worry about it.”
And so you don’t.
You’ll be leaving tomorrow. You informed Sir Lohen of this when he came knocking on your hotel room door for the day. He takes it in kind when you elaborate: “I believe that fire weakened me, even with your tremendous help. I must return to the motherland as soon as possible to recuperate, lest I incur her Majesty’s wrath.”
He taps his foot, “That so? Well, come meet me at my personal residence, and I’ll escort you out of Mondstadt’s borders from there. Is that suitable? I’d hate for an airhead like you– I mean, a sweet snowland fae, get taken advantage of.”
“You have been a big help to me, both as a guide and protector here in Mondstadt, I appreciate your kindness, Sir Lohen.”
You hope he’ll use the favor you owe him right before you leave Mondstadt.
Sir Lohen’s residence is located quite a distance away from Mondstadt City; for this reason, you chose to visit at night, where it’s chilly and comforting. Feels more like home.
It’s a small, humble home that’s certainly seen better days, but you see the appeal in living in one. You would knock, but you fear the beaten door staring you down will keel over the moment you apply a force remotely similar to a gust of wind. Instead, you stand on your tiptoes, inhale, and call out: “Sir Lohen! I’m here!”
You expect him to be punctual and dilly dally no further when the door cries open, revealing him out of his knight attire, dressed down. You’ve heard city citizens gossiping on the way here: Sir Lohen will be busy in the upcoming days, nay, the upcoming weeks, for he’s taken a formal paid leave from the Knights of Favonius.
It’s only right to assume he has no patience left for you with his personal plans on the horizon, yet his amicable attitude, his warm smile, and crinkled, dark eyes open the door wider and invite you in with a, “Care for some ice cream before leaving? I’ll miss you, you know, my dear Snowland Fae.”
Faes cannot enter one’s personal abode unless given an invite. Sir Lohen has gifted exactly that, so you feel inclined to agree, and for all he’s done for you, too. Walking up the incomplete mossy stone stairs, you bow in greeting before discarding your glacial heels and stepping foot inside.
It looks lived in yet feels nothing like Sir Lohen’s soul, oddly enough. The open cupboards reveal bags of coffee beans, and two bowls lie on the countertop with what you presume to be vanilla ice cream. There’s a small wooden table, two chairs on opposite sides, and a bed peeking out from the corner. It’s cozy, but the taxidermy mounts of hilichurl and wild hunt phantoms you remember Sir Lohen telling you about are nowhere to be found. It’s sanitized to the point of being clinical, you think, sitting down on one of the chairs.
Truth to be told, your Fae senses tell you that this small stone house is not Sir Lohen’s actual home. A place to rest in, but not a home. Perhaps he doesn’t trust you enough to reveal his true home, a rational caution on his part, considering the nature of Faes.
You hear the door click into place. Turning around, you watch Sir Lohen take both ice cream bowls and settle them down on the creaky wooden table. You feel your mouth water, itching to taste the icy treat. Grasping the spoon, you’re ready to dig in when Sir Lohen cruelly tugs it away from you. You pathetically whimper at the loss, to which he cruelly laughs.
“Not yet, I almost forgot something! Wait here, okay?” He casts you his best case of big, puppy dog eyes before disappearing into another room behind you. You’re left staring at the slowly melting bowl of ice cream, internally weeping at its rising temperature.
Back turned to where he exited, you’re left in the dark when he comes back, hiding something behind him with both hands.
You are a rabbit trapped in its snare. A feeble animal constricted by a Boa. A prey to its hunter. A Fae to a human.
He approaches like the creeping, unwanted chill on your spine; like the goosebumps rising on your skin with every muted step he takes. It’s a Fontainian film actualized, Lohen is tempted to laugh. He’s a few steps away when he lunges for you, experienced in both upfront battles and sneak attacks, unperturbed by your gasp and pathetic attempts at clawing his skin. He welcomes it, head almost lightheaded at the scars he’s sure you’ll leave behind if given enough strength and will to fight.
You’ll give him that, won’t you?
Hot iron dagger raised high in his left hand, he takes a deep breath and stabs you until it rips a bloodcurdling scream out from your throat - raw and primal, coming from the deepest desire to survive and be free of pain. In response, he only digs it in deeper, ensuring that your injury will leave you bedridden for months, maybe years if he’s hopeful enough.
You contort in his hold, streams of tears escaping your eyes as you babble loosely held strings that resemble pleading. Ple… let me… I won’t… Mother... – he doesn’t bother deciphering them, much more interested in licking up your freezing tears like they’re droplets of molten gold. Weird, you only sob harder at his ministrations, he snickers.
“Shh, shh, shh–” He dislodges the warm, iron dagger from your body, watching in fascination when both water and blood mix into a diluted mess on the hardwood floor, “I’ll keep you cool here. You like my vision, right?”
You weakly shake your head. A cute attempt at lying, he admits.
Fortunately, it’s hook, line, and sinker – he has you right where he wants, Snowland Fae.
You won’t be coming home anytime soon.
anastasya please bless snegurocka (y/n) she's a little slow
