[ Tension bubbles in his stomach and he hates it. Hates feeling nervous, weak. He remembers this feeling when the first 'performance' reviews came in with Father... how she scolded him to be better. To be worthy of the House. He remembers feeling this way stepping on stage, with Lynette at his side... unsure if the crowd would give them a second glance.
Two orphans, to lesser forms to the plight of Fontaine's own desperation for entertainment. ]
Your Grace. [ He repeats through grit teeth, swallowing down his own anger. There's nothing to be angry for. ...Right? Wriothesley is ignorant, in a bubble under the sea from the things he and his siblings have gone through.
He backs off but the rephrase hurts even more. It takes him a good minute to speak – legs crossed and leaning back. ]
... She saved Lynette when I couldn't. Kept men from touching her, ensured they'd never sully any other person against their will. [ He isn't apologetic about how he speaks of the dead. ] Gave us protection, care, a reason to not hate the world. Two orphans were worthy enough... to finally have a home. One built in trust, in loyalty, with food in hungry bellies every night.
[ All roads lead back to Lynette, it seems. The snippet of the letter returns to him just as he thinks it's been properly placed aside. That taken with this worry about men sullying her. These two are...close, even for twins. Such is his perception, anyway--maybe Lyney would deem that another path Wriothesley has no right to tread, and maybe he'd be right. He hardly remembers much about his own siblings. He's no brother, no protector of anyone's virtue.
What he can say with confidence is that the hand that feeds you--in a literal sense--is a powerful one indeed. Wriothesley's been hungry before. Been without. Is it any wonder the kid would risk life and limb for the Fatui? Wriothesley is only so lucky being in a position to detest the organization: had they found him at the right time and place, he'd probably have given them total allegiance, too. ]
Doubt can be a healthy thing, sometimes. [ Lyney has no shortage of it for those outside his circle, after all. ] But I can see where your devotion comes from all the same. I don't need an audience with her to ascertain that hers is a capable hand.
[ How can they not? She's the other half of his soul. The moon to his sun. His first love.
If Lynette wasn't saved by The Knave, he'd have no loyalty. He'd take Lynette far away from Fontaine – to Mondstadt or Liyue, over unsure waters to keep her safe. But, his debt to the Knave was deep. It was the opposite coin to Wriothesley in a way. What-ifs and different paths...
Oh, what could have been. ]
She wanted to stop the prophecy just as much as our Archon. As you or anyone else in a position of power. [ And of course, his admittance falls soft. ] I already disobeyed her... It was my choice to burn that cabin to the ground.
[ Privately, he's wondered about that: Lyney being here, Lyney eventually being freed. The life he'll go back to above the waves. Wriothesley doesn't make a habit of it to pry into the Fatui's affairs, but he has eyes and ears out and about, ones that have observed none other than Lyney and this family he holds in such high regard. Based on what's been related to him, there's practically no way Lyney serves his sentence and returns to nothing but warm welcomes and fanfare. In other words...what will his punishment be, having strayed beneath the waves? ]
Those who disobey in Meropide have the opportunity to redeem themselves, up to a point. [ Gently: ] What of those who disobey in the House of Hearth?
[ It was different. Those that betrayed Father were betraying the Knave. To his knowledge, there was never a child of hers that betrayed the House of Hearth. They knew better. Their loyalty comparable to his own. The discomfort in his eyes was clear, once brilliant and now dulled and glossy.
Why is this man prodding?
Why is he asking of things they can't change? ]
...I don't know.
[ There's no way that Father would turn on them. ...He has to keep telling himself that. ]
[ What he expects is more sugar-coating, or else more defense of a world inherently indefensible. What he gets is a surprising show of vulnerability. No veneer of charm, no promises of any great escape, no assurances of Father's good judgement even in the face of a blatant misstep. Just a look in Lyney's eyes that speaks so much louder than cleverly crafted words. ]
Not knowing can be worse than having some idea. They say it only helps so much to brace yourself for a punch, but I like the blows I see coming a lot more than the ones that take me by surprise.
[ It's the closest thing he can give to reassurance when he doesn't know, either. And can't protect him from whatever the outcome might be. Should he ask again? For an audience with her, an opportunity to recommend mercy if a Harbinger has any to spare? He suspects Lyney's pride wouldn't allow for such a thing. ]
[ He can't do this. To question Father was blasphemy, it was a disgrace. Father had kept their family safe, ensured nothing would ever harm them... that they weren't just lost to the shadows and darkness in the world. They pay their prices, like everything else in the world – but that safety.
Oh, his Lynette...
Up to his feet he goes, dusting at his hips idly. ]
Whatever awaits me on the surface is what is suitable. My time here is by Fontaine's jurisdiction and judgment. My time returning to the House... Father's judgment will be just as well.
[ Lyney is fully aware of his 'betrayal', the risk of putting the House down its best operative. It ruins Father's plans and puts things at risk. It was his fault, but he'd choose Lynette's safety time and time again.
...Father couldn't save her this time.
He gives a curt nod to Wriothesley, his stomach tight with a forced smile. ]
[ Reassurance doesn't always work as intended, Wriothesley knows--but an unknowable pang of something flits momentarily in his chest as Lyney backs off. Maybe he's said too much, or too little, or maybe it's simple unease that reasserts itself between them. Whatever it is, the boy is done with this conversation. Wriothesley won't keep him.
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no subject
Two orphans, to lesser forms to the plight of Fontaine's own desperation for entertainment. ]
Your Grace. [ He repeats through grit teeth, swallowing down his own anger. There's nothing to be angry for. ...Right? Wriothesley is ignorant, in a bubble under the sea from the things he and his siblings have gone through.
He backs off but the rephrase hurts even more. It takes him a good minute to speak – legs crossed and leaning back. ]
... She saved Lynette when I couldn't. Kept men from touching her, ensured they'd never sully any other person against their will. [ He isn't apologetic about how he speaks of the dead. ] Gave us protection, care, a reason to not hate the world. Two orphans were worthy enough... to finally have a home. One built in trust, in loyalty, with food in hungry bellies every night.
[ That was long ago, however. ]
I've never doubted her.
[ He lies, it's what he does best. ]
no subject
What he can say with confidence is that the hand that feeds you--in a literal sense--is a powerful one indeed. Wriothesley's been hungry before. Been without. Is it any wonder the kid would risk life and limb for the Fatui? Wriothesley is only so lucky being in a position to detest the organization: had they found him at the right time and place, he'd probably have given them total allegiance, too. ]
Doubt can be a healthy thing, sometimes. [ Lyney has no shortage of it for those outside his circle, after all. ] But I can see where your devotion comes from all the same. I don't need an audience with her to ascertain that hers is a capable hand.
no subject
If Lynette wasn't saved by The Knave, he'd have no loyalty. He'd take Lynette far away from Fontaine – to Mondstadt or Liyue, over unsure waters to keep her safe. But, his debt to the Knave was deep. It was the opposite coin to Wriothesley in a way. What-ifs and different paths...
Oh, what could have been. ]
She wanted to stop the prophecy just as much as our Archon. As you or anyone else in a position of power. [ And of course, his admittance falls soft. ] I already disobeyed her... It was my choice to burn that cabin to the ground.
no subject
Those who disobey in Meropide have the opportunity to redeem themselves, up to a point. [ Gently: ] What of those who disobey in the House of Hearth?
no subject
Why is this man prodding?
Why is he asking of things they can't change? ]
...I don't know.
[ There's no way that Father would turn on them. ...He has to keep telling himself that. ]
no subject
Not knowing can be worse than having some idea. They say it only helps so much to brace yourself for a punch, but I like the blows I see coming a lot more than the ones that take me by surprise.
[ It's the closest thing he can give to reassurance when he doesn't know, either. And can't protect him from whatever the outcome might be. Should he ask again? For an audience with her, an opportunity to recommend mercy if a Harbinger has any to spare? He suspects Lyney's pride wouldn't allow for such a thing. ]
no subject
Oh, his Lynette...
Up to his feet he goes, dusting at his hips idly. ]
Whatever awaits me on the surface is what is suitable. My time here is by Fontaine's jurisdiction and judgment. My time returning to the House... Father's judgment will be just as well.
[ Lyney is fully aware of his 'betrayal', the risk of putting the House down its best operative. It ruins Father's plans and puts things at risk. It was his fault, but he'd choose Lynette's safety time and time again.
...Father couldn't save her this time.
He gives a curt nod to Wriothesley, his stomach tight with a forced smile. ]
The tea was delicious, by the way.
no subject
He straightens his tie, nodding small. ]
...Take care on your way back.