Til my voice grows tired, I only ask for your embrace.
okay @cashewally-sarcastic when you said Nameless Bard playing the lyre for the ffd au my mind went crazy <3
Anyways here is some Red-haired warrior and Nameless Bard cringe :3 featuring Venti and Amos
He could never forget the smile his friend had when he played that lyre.
It reminded him of the day that they met when he acted as courier between the city and desolate wilds. The bard sang and sang until his voice began to fade, and he had realized he stood still for the entire day. The wanderer was just another member of the audience, a sword for those who needed protection.
They didn’t talk that day. Nor the day after that. Nor the days or weeks after that.
Yet whenever he wandered back into the city, delivering supplies from the snow-drifting clans to the isolated city, he would spend an hour or so listening to the bard.
There weren’t many musicians in that city, he realized around his fourth visit. Unlike the other nations he had been in, there weren’t people playing the drums on the street corners nor the piano being practiced near a window. It was as if the source of all music came from a single boy with pale blue eyes.
To speak so eloquently was a skill, and the bard smiled as his audience gifted him with coin and cuisine. It was a kind the smile, the one without malice nor bite. He talked a bit with some of the kids, letting them pluck his lyre’s strings.
It was routine.
Until it wasn’t.
“Mister Warrior,” The bard spoke to him around his fifteenth visit. “There is snow on your cape.”
“There is.” He replied.
“Mister Warrior,” the blue eyes looked so wide, “Do you come from outside?”
Then a new cycle began. While the man had coin and cooking, the accounting of a record would do just the same. He told the bard the vast seas of Liyue, and how their mountains were as tall as the very tower they were under. He told of fishes so large that they could swallow a great sword in one fell swoop.
The bard chuckled with delight as he went over every detail, staying quiet as he absorbed every word. As he held the warriors hand and the lyre in the other, the warrior knew that this was no ordinary fellow. He didn’t know what to say when his story was done and silence blanketed them both. To ask about the fellow’s family? To ask what it was like to live under such tyranny? It would do harm to be persistent so soonly met.
But there was one question that had been burning in his heart since the day he listened to the lyre’s master, “O’ Bard, what is your name?”
Then there was something else in that man’s eyes, a child-like mischief, “Oh? You make sure to secure yourself a front row, yet my name you do not know?” He giggled at the warrior, “Guess.”
“Guess?” The flame-haired man barked, “There are a million different names one can go by!”
“And you have millions of seconds to try and try again.” Spoke the bard.
He stared at the person, that kind smile revealing itself to be that more mischievous than a wind sprite, “You can’t be- fine. Are you…. Named after a plant?”
“A plant? In this city?” chuckled the bard.
“Dose it start with a vowel or consonant?”
“Those aren’t guesses.”
“Do I have to say your last name, or-“
“Oh!” The bard laughed and laughed, a chime in the soundless city, “You are so…. Ahahaha! I’ll give you a hint, it’s a lot more obvious than you think.”
Day by day. Night by night. Song by song the warrior returned.
The Gunnhildr clan requested his assistance in transporting some wool they received, to be a bodyguard for a meeting with a Lawerence. Yet as the high priestess, a young women with soft blonde hair, argued with her equal- a lady clad in jewels and dancing hues, his mind wandered to that bard.
“Is it Josh? Adam? Orville? Blake?”
“Do I look like an Orville to you?” The bard giggled during their 21st meeting.
“Cyrus. Gwen. Vergil. Glenn.”
“Fine names they may be, but none of them are me!” his laughter was the brightest in the entire nation. His head would tilt just slightly, and his braids would follow alongside it. There was a strange allure to it all, one that kept him as captive without song. Or perhaps this was a song on its own, one without a tune or notes.
“Erik.”
“No.”
“Wendy?”
“Nope!”
“Did I say Blake?”
“Yes you did my dear friend!” The warrior tried keep his heart steady at the words, “Are you running out of names? Then do you wish for a hint?” He nodded, smiling as the bard began to play, “It’s closer than you think, a mouse beneath a sink. It is right in front of you, don’t you worry. It is something that exists within the heart of every being. The name I have- one not in any record, it the name I made for myself- of my own accord.”
Ragnvindr sighed as he tried once more, then concluded the day- determination in his core.
25th, 28th.
32th. 34th.
The time moved on, meeting after meeting, as he tried to list out anything that would fit those qualifications. What could be in plain sight, perhaps sun right in front of him night after night?
“I give up, “hissed the warrior, his arm around his friend’s waist as he did so. “What could be matching such a saint’s voice? No name spoken in human tongue could be of worth.”
The bard laughed, “Well if you must know… the name I have shared so freely with other is the very song I sell. For my name is Carmen, you see and that is song in it’s entirety.”
Ragnvindr stared at Carmen, the only person he had felt such a closeness with for a long long time, and punched him on the shoulder. “Carmen…” He repeated like a prayer, “Carmen… it fits you.”
Carmen grinned as he rubbed his shoulder, “Of course I have used other names in the past, if you were to guess those a point I would award. Himmel like the sky in my eyes. Ventus like the wind that surround by life. Names are the shortest poems one can give, and Carmen is the name what which I live.”
Even after that game was finally done, the meetings between the two were not undone. Stories were spoken, and from then on Ragnvindr knew- the boy in front of him was no sheep. A contender against the very wolves that threatened his home, the bite beneath that silver tongue was a sight to behold. Hawks and eagles were this man’s kin, for the soul of a fighter shined within.
“Soon, I will see that sky,” Carmen muttered as he pressed his face into Ragnvindr’s coat, his voice muffled by the fur.
“I don’t doubt that,” He replied, “I would be more than willing to take you with me the next time I leave.” His friend stiffened, as if he was struck. “Hm?”
“That would be easy,” Carmen’s words were soft now, an air of uncertainty and one other emotion contained within it, “To leave Mondstadt and never return. To fields of yellow and trees that could reach the moon. Yes, that would be nice.”
Carmen’s eyes no longer looked a soft blue, but instead a cold steel, “But I am sorry, dear warrior, I can not leave. Not yet.”
“What could possibly lead you to stay here? In this sunless city of drab and dreary? Shouldn’t a bard such as yourself yearn to make the world your muse?”
He could feel Carmen play with the ends of his red hair as he replied, “Fly fly fly, like a bird in the sky to a ship in the sea. A branch within it’s beak, hope for only those in misery.” He did not chuckle, “This is my home, for the people of Mondstadt need me. They need a song in their steps to help them throughout the day, and while I do need food in my stomach, their smile is all the pay I need.” He brushed Ragnvindr’s bangs aside, “I…. I am planning something. Would you help me?”
Silently, the warrior nodded.
Carmen reached into his pocket, and a small little paper folded into a flower emerged from it, "Pray repay me with hope and a smile, and stand with me to welcome the day when the storms blow no longer."
He held it gently in his hands, his eyes widening,
“Carmen.. what are you planning?”
“Be my warrior, my dear Ragnvindr. Please, I beg of you. Let me see Mondstadt shine with the sun you speak of.”
“I….”
“Ragnvindr….”
“Carmen...”
“…” Ragnvindr’s heart wavered for just a second at Carmen’s silence. The calculating look he had for penning words and analysis was on full display. The eyes of a beast more fearsome than Lupus Boreas was in front of him, and what was worse was he was not after his blood nor his flesh- but his heart and will.
“I do. I promise to stick by you, til the very end.”
--
Whispers of the rebellion snuck into every conversation, tiny non-verbal cues to not let the wind carry their voices. All of it composed by a lyre playing bard, the one who is sitting right besides him holding a small creature.
“What is that.” Ragnvindr asked, pinching its weird feather ears. “It looks evil.”
“It’s not!” Carmen cried out, “His name is Venti!”
“Venti,” Ragnvindr looked, “You named him Wind. Is it cause he can fly!”
Carmen ignored his words as he slowly pet his friend, “He is like one of those birds.”
“I can assure you, he is not a bird.” Ragnvindr grumbled into his palm, “Seriously where did you even get such a thing.”
Carmen gasp and held the creature tightly, “Don’t you dare call Venti a thing! He is a wonderful little wind wisp!”
--
Ragnvindr’s frown turned into a scowl, “A wind wisp. As in. A wind elemental being. When we are going to have Windblume soon.”
“Yes.” Said Carmen, “Well I think its going to take a couple months or so before the final date is settled, Venerare is still handing out ‘props’ to the people.” He hugged the little wind wisp some more, before his smile graced his face. “I wrote another song! May you lend me your ears?”
“Of course,” Ragnvindr said in-time with a chirping from the wind wisp. Venti said on top of Ragnvindr’s friend’s head while Carmen began to tune his lyre. Soon enough he was set to play a song. It was a lullaby, one that whispered of smelling baked goods in the air and spices from afar. As the notes dwindled out, Ragnvindr thought of the cinnamon sticks from down south, and internally promised to buy a jar for him.
Amos was the next person Ragnvindr befriended, even then he would have called that a generous statement. She was Decarabian’s wife to him at first. Then she was Carmen’s other friend. Then she was a pretty good hunter. But a friend? He would have to think about that a bit more. Friendship was something sacred, more divine than the lord of the city. To call a person he had spent time with but not laughs with a friend… hm.
Yet he could not fault her with anything. The way she took care of herself was perfect. The way she took care of other was perfect. In another time and another life they would never have interacted and perhaps would have never even known each others names. She would stare at him sometimes, her eyes drawn to his hair like so many other Mondstadters.
Her hands were soft. Her heart was soft. Her eyes however, colder than snow.
His hands were rough, his heart closed off, and Ragnvindr would never listen to what Carmen said about his eyes. Calling them a kind hearth amidst the winter. Foolish.
“Is there something wrong with my form?” Ragnvindr muttered to her as he practiced his swings in the courtyard. The gales have been getting rougher with Amos now permanently out of the tower, for her spouse was growing desperate.
“I have never seen such a style before, I apologize if I stare.”
Ragnvindr grunted in response, taking the statement for what it is. “Have you ever held a greatsword before?”
She looked nostalgic, “A long time ago. A lady who’s hair was darker than night wielded such a blade. Her family had long since departed and she was going to head out. She was the first to leave, to read the writing on the wall in the midst of the war.”
“Any clue where she went? Perhaps I know of her decesenednts.”
Amos laughed, but it was not a happy laugh, “As if she would tell me. Even so, to befriend someoe’s kin just because I knew their ancestors centuries ago dose not seem fair. Their lives are their own and to bind them to the actions of another… I shouldn’t. It wouldn’t be right.”
Ragnvindr swings and she rambles, occasionally grunting in response, “That tone of yours…. You sound like you don’t miss her.”
“I do miss her. As I mentioned its been years. I.. have made peace with that. I made peace a long time ago. It’s fine.”
The practice dummy was beginning to break, “We can change the subject if you want.”
“….”
“….”
The duo stood in silence, the only noise being the rustling of wind and the practice of form. Amos played with her hair as she fiddled with the string of her bow, the only gift from her lover she refused to part with.
Ragnvindr readied his stance once more, the movements becoming routine and clockwork. He grumbled, knowing that relying on such muscle memory could make unpredictable movements his downfall.
“Fight me.” He whispered, Amos’s head snapping up as he dose. “Fight me, “ he repeats himself , a little louder this time.
“I don’t want to shoot an arrow though you.” She smiled.
He laughed, “Then pick up a sword and I shall pick up your bow. You could even use a lance if you want.” Her eyes glanced over to rebellion’s hidden armory, amusement dancing on her face as she imagines using such weapons after so long. Perhaps things wouldn’t be so bad. Perhaps things will be okay.
--
It all comes crashing down like a stack of cards.
A mission gone wrong, intel not accurate. His back is against a wall with a squad of about thirteen men besides him. Carmen is staring at him, that look in his eyes tells him all he needs to know.
“What ever you are planning don’t do it.” He wants to say. He wants to shout and scream at his friend, but they all know what’s behind the corner- blocking their only way out.
Pale blue eyes already look glassy and dead as the bard reaching onto his chest and plucks the metal flower Ragnvindr gave him for their rebellion’s anniversary-placing it on the warrior’s chest. The hesitation in Carmen’s actions as he raises a finger to his mouth only worsens the pain in Ragnvindr’s chest. He hates this. He hates this so fucking much.
Quietly, Carmen makes it to the edge of the corner, and dramatically walks into the tyrant’s gaze. The remaining rebels manage to crawl though a window as their leader talks to the tyrant, his heartbeat pounding in his ears preventing him from listening to what they were saying. He just needed to trust his friend, even if it kills him inside.
Venti and Amos are asking him what happened as the squad recovers from the failed mission. They see Carmen’s symbol. They don’t want to believe it, and neither dose Ragnvindr.
Still, the Windblume must survive, even if its leader’s heart does not.
--
The announcement shatters them.
It shatters everyone.
--
Venti keeps asking why everyone looks so mad when he asks about Carmen.
--
He and Amos aren’t fighting! They aren’t!
--
--
Venti is gone.
--
He wants to storm that tower with Amos. “That would be easy,” he thinks, the dream of taking all away from this panopticon. To leave Mondstadt behind and say fuck you to all that scowl at Carmen’s face. Where the four…three… of them could sit on the deck of a harbor without care.
Yet there were still rebels who believed in them, and that’s what made it hurt even more. Perhaps if everyone simply abandoned their ‘traitorous’ leader, then things would be a clean cut. No. Gunnhildr was adamant that Carmen was innocent. That Decarabian’s machinations were working on them all and that without sunlight, sleep, substance, and song they were all starting to succumb.
His song. His wonderful wonderful song.
In the distance howling winds and the turning of the gales, he could make out the softest hints of a harp. It wasn’t a lyre, but he could feel in his heart that it belong to Carmen. Call him delusional. Call him insane. That was Carmen playing in the tip of the tower, playing a song without a name.
He doesn’t talk on those days, the audience within him not wanting to break the performer’s spell. He feels as if he was back then, just two people meeting on the street with duties of so routine. Yet whenever he wandered back around the city, delivering supplies from the snow-drifting clans to the very few rebels that remained, he would spend hours or so thinking of that bard.
Amos gets him, she understands his hurt. Perhaps far too well, for the one with her heart on her sleeve has given up trying to yell. She cries and sobs into his arms, until he is also weak in the knees. He holds her like a lifeline, another one taken from her by divinity.
Days and days pass, and the nights feel the same. The world around him is as grey as the stones, perhaps another side effect from it being so long without sunlight. The tower feels larger, and he is so small. The tiny spirit of hope that used to beg for fruits from him now shot by an arrow by ones Ragnvindr called friend.
That person was drinking on the edge of bridge, not caring a bit about what they did. Was it because it was so long ago? Or perhaps the alcohol had darkened their soul. The flame of rebellion and blasphemy raged in Ragnvindr’s heart, for he knew that his friend would not want him to taint the rebellion by killing it’s members. That part was soon quelled with the memory of Carmen’s adoration for Venti, how the wolf in sheep’s clothing would be quiet stabby.
It's so easy, such a simple action to do. He was already intoxicated, so a simple push was all he needed to do. Fall from the sky, like the wisp that they killed. Ragnvindr wishes he could sink that low, but he knows himself and his morale code.
He feels frustrated every day, as more and more complain. He tells them to shut up and behave, and they call him a lapdog for a master who is away. For once Amos is the one to tell him not to storm the tower, but he sees in her eyes the thoughts of retaliation. Another announcement comes that day, from the man he hates the most and his best friend right besides him.
He looks healthy, his cheeks never looked fuller but all that doesn’t matter with his now cold eyes. “What happened to you?” He wants to shout, but instead he clutches at the flower on his chest, desperate to not throw such a sacrifice away.
Decarabian places a hand on Carmen’s shoulder, blabbering about how wonderful his son is to the crowd. He can’t read the room, nor tell from the rebel’s hooded glances the emotions boiling within. Amos grips his hand tight, but before he could retort she gestures to a group of people- rebels in their own worth. They see Carmen as bad as his ‘father’ and driven to desperation the people will slaughter. Amos’s sharp gaze catches their movements, as their hold their swords and lances with gazes murderous. He can’t take it anymore. He doesn’t give a shit, when the world itself turns back on someone so perfect.
That night the warrior prays for forgiveness, of a festival for a dawn is something he cannot gift him. Windblume- what a joke. A terrible irony. What use was love when the one he cares about the most was suffering? To save the people of Mondstadt without any adoration was always the goal, but to see them turn their back on the one that sparked that fire made his eyes darker than coal.
Hand in hand they walk to the front gates of the tower, not caring whoever sees them. He can only hope the letter towards Gunnhildr and Venerare was enough, for there was too much rage in his chest to wait to say ‘I am sorry’ out loud in front of both of them. He followed right behind the silver-haired archer as the two of them walked up step by step.
Together they opened the doors, and their fates were set.
--
Carmen looks so peaceful as he plays the injured Venti a tune. Ragnvindr can not help but stare at his friend, as if he was the sun and the moon. He missed this. He could never put into words how much he missed him.
He was using a harp. Ragnvindr tried not to smile as he knew he was right. It was Carmen that played those notes.
He hadn’t asked about the state of the rebellion. The returning of the flower was all the confirmation he needed. Did his friend yearn to take his offer all those months ago? As much as he knew his friend, he could never read his thoughts. They were like a language written by the ancients that made the ruins all across Teyvat, and only Venti was the archaeologist.
Carmen buried his face into Ragnvindr’s new coat, this one with the symbol of the storm god on it. It wasn’t as fluffy as the one he used to wear, but it was okay. This was all okay.
He ran his hand down Carmen’s back, a part of him still in disbelief that the bard was right in front of him.
“I’m sorry.” He mutters, hugging Carmen tight.
“It’s… fine… You just…cared….” Carmen did not cry, but the faint glimmer in his eyes told him all he needed to know. Venti burrowed himself between the two men, Ragnvindr’s face softening as the wind wisp leaned into the warrior’s palm. Carmen watched as his friend held up Venti like a vase of glass and yawned.
“Perhaps I should sing you the lullaby this time?” Ragnvindr asked.
Carmen shook his head,” Do you even know a lullaby?”
“I’ve been reading some of them.... while you were gone.”
“Oh.” Carmen held Venti tight, “I… am not in the mood for stories.”
Ragnvindr’s heart sank.
He should have arrived sooner.
Carmen brushed Ragnvindr’s hair away from his face, “Tomorrow… let’s do something. Not a story- something real.”
There it was, his Carmen. The bags under his eyes and the crown on top of his head may have suggested otherwise, but Ragnvindr knew that it was still Carmen underneath all those fancy layers.
“I can’t wait to accompany you.” The knight smiled as he pulled Carmen into an embrace. “That man… is going to let me take you into the town tomorrow.” Ragnvindr closed his eyes and felt Carmen’s breathing and his heartbeat. Sure, it was pacing a lot faster than normal, but he had to believe it wasn’t out of fear.
“That sounds wonderful.” Carmen spoke softly. “I don’t have my lyre anymore… so no playing for the crowds.”
“Mh.”
Carmen tried opening his mouth to say something, but all that came out was a yawn.
He was tired.
So tired.
And to lay within his warrior’s coat while holding Venti and Ragnvindr?
It…
It left a bitter taste in his mouth but perhaps… it would be okay…
…
.
The prince of the tower closed his eyes, sealing the fate of all the rebels in and out of Mondstadt- as the last star of hope became complacent.
If Vanessa, Vin, and Diluc's other famous ancestor (the Dawn Knight?) were all suddenly alive / not in Celestia they would totally shower Diluc in love, trash talk the knights and take Diluc on a fun family adventure to bond.
If the traveler were to ask them for help with their sibling it would get done so fast and nothing would be able to stop them
Teyvat is not ready for the Ragnvindr Clan Family Adventure (+guests)
So Vin is the Dawn Knight. Diluc's other Ancestor is the Red-Haired Warrior, who is not named but let me call him Faramund for easy.
But HONESTLY, all of Diluc's ancestors would adore him so much. They would call him the brave and strongest of them all and just do their best up is to make up for the love he's lost. And would defiantly take him on a fun family adventure.
AND HOLY SHIT
Traveler: I am looking for my brother
Ragnvindr Clan Family: Oh yeah, we can do that.
I believe they could tear down the gods if they wanted to just be an S-tier powerhouse of a team. And the Traveler would have their sibling dragged outta the abyss in like a month tops. And I can see them being welcomed into the clan.
Have you heard of the tales of the Imunlaukr Clan? It's not a story that the citizens of Mondstadt could tell you.
No but seriously in canon lore, there is an Imunlaukr Clan descended from Imunlaukr and even though they're one of the founding families of Mondstadt, no one ever talks about them!
The only thing that they were known for was having gifted warriors that usually died early enough to experience peak physical performance without having to feel it degrade. They fought for the sake of fighting because they thought it was the gods' idea of a sick joke with a shitty punchline.
Of course, after Old Mond was liberated and the snow was swept away, they decided to stick around to protect the only thing worth fighting for. After that, we hear virtually nothing. So either Varka is the last Imunlaukr (likely and I hope that we get more Imunlaukr lore and appreciation) or one's going to pop up somewhere.
~ Demigod Anon (but more like lore anon lmao)
I actually have but there isn't a lot on Imunlaukr other than he helped set up Mondstadt and had lived in Sal Vindagnyr which honestly I need to read up on. I've skimmed it up honestly I should do a more detailed read. as it's really interesting.
And it's also interesting that the gladiator part of old Mondstadt came from Imunlaukr's culture. And as the Lawrence seemingly took it over, it would imply the Imunlauka family died out.
But what might be more interesting is them giving up any power or wealth they might have had as a founding family. So Maybe Varka is a part of them. But I also the idea of possibly someone we haven't heard of yet being a clan member (someone younger than Varka)
Also, know that I'm thinking about it. Imunlaukr was an outlander to the Sal Vindagnyr. AND the Red-Haired Warrior (who I named Faramund) was also an outsider and one of the first to plan the rebellion.
Both Imunlaukr and Faramund stand up to help the new place they now call home. So could they be from the same place?
two ghost aus? 🤔 what if we... combined them.... ghost/lost soul!diluc meeting the ghosts of the red-haired warrior and the dawn knight (maybe now as a ghost /too/, if he can see them before??) and them collectively going "ah fuck. this wasn't meant to happen"1
Well, ya know what I was thinking with the other ghost thing? I was thinking about making it a sort of Phoenix AU sort of deal. So Diluc is technically the Reincationation of those two, and the ghosts are a manifestation of their memories.
It cracks me up though the idea of combing all those 3 ideas and the first things Diluc see after his soul gets bitch slapped outta his body is Red and Dawn Knight arguing like
"Fuck! He died! He wasn't even an adult yet!"
"Wait... He's still breathing. Are we ok?"
Then they just see a very concerned Diluc... and it's just
Collectively they are trying to figure out what the hell happened. And why this one Snezhnaya brat can see at least Diluc??? It gets better if Childe ends up being able to see Red and Dawn Knight and it's just like
