#varkaslover

varka x gn!reader

summary: where varka catches the flower disease.

remember that my ask box is always open for ideas or suggestions!

The petals were white, flecked with a crimson red he knew all too well. They were soft and delicate, like velvet. The flowers the petals had belonged to could have been part of a lovely bouquet if Varka hadn't coughed them up.

He knew who was responsible for the petals his body was so grotesquely expelling. He sighed and downed a whole glass of water, which barely soothed the dryness in his mouth and, at the same time, stung his wounded throat. The pain was familiar, like a sword cut on the battlefield, though he was usually not so badly injured. He looked at himself in the bathroom mirror; he didn't really look bad, perhaps a little tired from having stayed awake almost all night coughing.

Jean's familiar eyes fell on him. The look he knew so well. The one that appeared on her face when she had something to say, but for which she hadn't yet found the words. Varka sat at his desk, feigning ignorance of the subtle glances of the woman across from him as he read documents. He coughed once more, feeling a petal get stuck in his throat. He took another sip from his glass, looking at Jean and her furrowed brow.

"Is there something you want to tell me, Jean?" he asked, setting his glass down on the desk as Jean looked up from her papers.

"I think you should see Barbara," she suggested. "Maybe she could help you with your cough."

"It's just a cough, probably from the change in temperature. Nothing to worry about."

On the second day, the illness worsened. It began to feel more like vomiting than coughing. After finishing his work with Jean, he went to the library and read numerous books, stories, and accounts about the disease. He found it ironic that the stories seemed to contain something poetic about the pain that plagued his body.

A few moments later, he felt more nausea. Multiple petals and small, delicate pieces of green stem emerged from his mouth. The pain settling in his stomach vaguely reminded him of when he was still a knight in training and didn't have much experience dodging blows. Varka smiled, thinking of all the times you had been responsible for that pain.

He dragged himself back to bed with what little strength he could muster. He couldn't fulfill his duties as Grand Master that day, which led Jean to visit him at his apartment, after having checked all the taverns and made sure Varka wasn't lurking about.

"Grand Master?" she asked, cautiously entering the room. Her eyes scanned the small living room and kitchen until they reached the door to what she assumed was the man's bedroom. "Varka? Are you here?"

The blonde knocked repeatedly, wondering if it was right to intrude on the Grand Master's private quarters just for some documents she knew she could review herself. But she also knew that his presence, signature, and acknowledgment were necessary since he was returning to his duties. She sighed, knowing she had made her decision.

"Grand Master, if you're in here, please forgive me for entering like this," she said, turning the doorknob.

She found the Grand Master lying in bed. She approached quickly, noticing his unwell appearance. A trail of dried blood ran from his jaw and disappeared beneath his pajamas. Multiple handkerchiefs lay nearby, stained with blood and green substances. Beside the man, on the floor, lay a bucket more than half full of what appeared to be a mixture of petals and their bloodied, neglected stems.

Jean knew what it was, she was almost certain. But she still decided to seek out Barbatos; she knew he would know more precisely.

And Barbatos, the Anemo Archon, knew. He knew perfectly well what his old drinking buddy had.

"Who is it?" the god asked. "What do you want me to do?"

Varka's eyes flickered toward Barbatos. His coughs interrupted him as he tried to form words. Bloody flowers spewed from his mouth.

"Make them come back."

The wind blew hard against your back. The scent of wet grass beneath your boots reached your nose as you walked along the path. Your backpack weighed heavily on your back; you'd almost forgotten that the shortest route to Sumeru was on foot. But the wind seemed to propel you forward. Barbatos seemed to be on your side, supporting you.

A white envelope fell in front of you.

The wind stopped.

Something was wrong.

You bent down to pick up the envelope. It was slightly damp. You opened it, noticing your name as the recipient and the word "urgent" in red ink. Your eyes scanned each word.

It only took reading the letter once for your feet to act on their own, running toward the inn in Liyue Harbor. You dropped your backpack and anything else that added extra weight. You rushed the innkeeper, even going so far as to ride off on your horse without the saddle being properly adjusted.

The sun was about to set when you reached the gates of Mondstadt. Swan and Lawrence shouted your name as you galloped in, still on horseback. Before reaching the fountain, you leaped out, abandoning your mount and continuing on foot toward the knights' apartments. Barbatos was waiting outside.

"Where is that idiot?" you demanded, climbing the stairs.

"In his room. He still refuses to say who it is or receive treatment," the bard explained, and you responded with a snarl.

You slammed Varka's bedroom door open, shouting his name. That was Jean and Barbara's signal to leave the room. Your heavy footsteps echoed throughout the house until you reached the man's side.

"You'd better tell me who it is so I can bring them to you," you demanded, grabbing the bloodied collar of his pajamas. He chuckled softly, and you leaned closer to his face, offended. "Is this funny? I came all the way back from Liyue to put an end to this. Tell me who it is!"

Varka smiled once more, feeling your breath and warmth so close. You almost never touched him unless it was during training, maybe a drinking game, or on the battlefield where you fought side by side—he should look like shit. 

“It’s not…” Varka murmured softly. Coughing all day had prevented him from eating a thing; he could barely drink water, which made everything hurt. He could endure not eating for a couple of days, but not eating and the constant blood loss was making his head feel heavier and heavier.

“Damn,” you muttered, loosening your grip on his pajamas and taking a step back, taking in the whole scene. Blood, petals, stems, almost complete flowers. And Varka, who looked so small. “I’ll stay here. By your side.”

And with that, Varka's mind went clouded.

He returned to Angel's Share. He filled his glass with dandelion wine. Diluc, Kaeya, and Barbatos were drinking and chatting at the same table. The tavern was open just for them so late at night. Just like old times.

“I think I’ll go home, guys,” your voice announced from behind him. He turned his head and saw you standing there, a smile on your lips and your eyes fixed on him. “I have a mission and I need to get up early.

“I’ll walk you home,” he declared, setting his glass down on the wooden table as he stood up.

“It’s a short walk and I’m not drunk,” you said, clutching your coat as he followed you to the door.

It was a ritual, a routine. You’d say you were going home. Varka would stop drinking and say he’d walk you home. You’d decline his offer and he’d still come with you. A ritual between just the two of you, or at least it had been five years ago.

“You know you don’t have to do this, right?” you said, standing in front of your house.

“Just like you don’t have to accept commissions right after a five-year expedition I hired you for,” Varka retorted as you shook your head with a smile. 

“You only did it because you knew you wouldn’t last a week without me, Varka,” you declared, looking into his blue eyes with the naturalness and calm that only a lifelong relationship could possess.

For a moment, he felt lost in you. As if he had forgotten what you were like. Your relaxed eyebrows, your eyes a little smaller because of your smile, your cheeks flushed after drinking, the tip of your nose turning red from the cold, and your full lips that beckoned to him. He had forgotten how beautiful you were. He had forgotten the playful way you pronounced his name after having a drink together. He had forgotten how you rocked back and forth on your own feet when you were cold.

He had forgotten so many things.

Or had he simply not noticed?

Had he not noticed how you blinked when you were curious about something? Had he not noticed how you laughed at every one of his jokes? Had he not noticed the attention you paid to every task? Hadn't he noticed how you watched his back while they fought? Hadn't he noticed that you liked your hair a certain way, but changed it when you trained with him?

He'd been a fool.

How could you have gone unnoticed by him? You were the only real and stable thing he'd ever had. How could he not have realized until today that he loved you? Why had it taken him a hundred walks to your doorstep after drinks to notice he loved you?

He loved you desperately, deeply, with an overwhelming need.

"Varka?" you called his name, and he snapped out of his reverie. "I lost you for a bit, huh? You should go home too. I'll see you when I get back..."

His eyes met the image of your sleeping figure beside him, the lower half of your body resting in one of his chairs and the upper half on the bed. Varka smiled, raised his hand heavily, and gently ran it through your hair.

His chest warmed softly as he recalled his dream. He had dreamt of the night it all began, the night he returned home and, like never before, felt the urge to vomit up the alcohol. He had noticed the small grains in his vomit but dismissed them, attributing them to what he had eaten while drinking. He didn't know the illness was already developing. He didn't know that realizing his love would cause him so much pain.

He sighed, noticing the growing pain in his throat. His other hand went to his mouth as he felt the vomit searching for an outlet. You woke up as soon as you felt the sudden movements, handed him the bucket, and witnessed the scene. Varka spat blood into the bucket and ran a hand through his hair, sweat trickling down his forehead as he leaned his head back against the headboard.

"I'm sorry..." he murmured, closing his eyes. "You should sleep at home."

"And you should tell me who it is before I kick your ass," you snapped, wiping his face with a damp towel. "I'll make them love you and your sick, lovesick ass."

Varka laughed with what little strength he had left. You got up to prepare him something very light to eat. You returned to his side with a pitcher of water and a plate in your hands. You sat down next to him and asked him to open his mouth.

"It's cold. It should help your throat," you said, holding the spoon with the mint jelly and bringing it to his mouth. He ate the jelly, feeling momentary relief.

You remained silent for several minutes while Varka finished the small portion of jelly.

"You're being nice," Varka said, though it sounded more like a question than a declaration. The truth was, he was loving every second with you.

A lifetime by your side. His entire life had been spent with you. Varka remembered when you were children running through the forest searching for insects, fighting with sticks you imagined were swords. He remembered training with wooden swords once you two were a little bit older. He remembered when he had his growth spurt and grew taller than you, but you were faster and always hit him in the back or some other place Varka couldn't anticipate. He remembered every battle you fought together, every wound you cleaned, and every time you let him lean on you.

Perhaps the greatest pain his heart felt was when you decided not to take the vows of the Knights of Favonius and instead joined the Adventurers' Guild. More freedom, you told him, you wanted to see other nations. Varka envisioned a future where you were by his side, fighting alongside him, eating alongside him, drinking alongside him. He only wanted you.

He wanted you. Your temper, your shouting, your mood swings, your insults, the jokes that made no one laugh when you were a little tipsy—but he laughed. He laughed with you and at the way you could tell the most boring story and still end it with a witty twist.

He had been too foolish.

“I am nice,” you emphasized, placing the plate on the nightstand. “I’m being especially nice now, so hurry up and tell me who it is so you can recover.”

“I’m glad you care about me,” Varka admits, and the image of your beauty comes to mind. How lovely the way your eyelashes flutter when Varka finishes his sentence. How lovely your hairstyle is, even though you haven’t done anything to it. The way you tilt your head because you don’t understand where his words are coming from.

Varka would remember those small gestures.

The questioning stops for the rest of the day. Perhaps it’s because you don’t know what else to say after his words. You simply tell him things, stories he’s heard hundreds of times. Tales you make up on the spot, stories Varka is sure Nicole would pay to have turned into a book. And he tries to listen attentively, even though exhaustion is overcoming him.

The argument resumed a few hours after you both fell asleep, when Varka woke up coughing and vomiting blood. Varka vomited under your expressionless gaze, which he couldn't decipher. He wanted to apologize for waking you, but he couldn't; it was too much, and it seemed you understood, judging by how you told him it was okay, that everything was alright.

"Fuck..." you murmured, sitting beside him and holding his weak body. You stroked his back as dozens of bloody flowers sprouted from his body. It felt awful, it was horrible, his whole body ached and burned, but at the same time, it felt good to have you touch him like this. "I can't stand seeing you like this. You have to tell me, please."

Tears begin to well in your eyes as the warmth of your touch comforts him. "I can't bear to see you like this," you repeat more times than Varka can count. Your voice, always firm and steady, seems to crack from time to time. You swallow hard to keep him from worrying.

He tries to see you, to see your face that he loves so much, but the small candlelight isn't enough. His eyes fail him, a mixture of illness and exhaustion.

"Do you get that?"

Perhaps if Varka confessed who it was, he would survive the night. It was his only real option.

He had decided to reject the offer the witches of the Hexenzirkel had made him. To forget. A spell that would erase any memory he had of the person he loved. And Varka had thought about accepting, just for a moment, he thought about accepting.

But he wanted to remember. To remember all the nights they spent together, warmed only by a campfire. To remember how they ate together, whispering to each other amidst the surrounding crowd. To remember all the ways he called out to him when something angered her. Because a living without his life wouldn't be living. 

He needed to remember.

“Are you disappointed in me?” Varka asks, his voice low, weak, almost broken, reaching the woman’s ears. For Varka, it would be disappointing if these last moments weren’t enough for her. Even if they weren’t ideal or typical.

“I could never,” you murmur, your soft touch growing warmer against Varka’s skin.

Varka’s chest falls, as if a huge weight has been lifted from his shoulders. He smiles, ignoring his friend’s last request to know who has him on the brink of death.

Death.

Varka falls asleep thinking it’s the best day of his life. Even if his death is imminent.

"How is he?" Barbatos asks as he leaves the room.

"He’s getting weaker by the hour," you whisper, sitting down beside him in a solitary armchair.

Your eyelids struggle to stay open, and the bard can see how deteriorated you were after a single day. If Varka ate something, you ate nothing. If Varka could barely drink water, you drank nothing. If Varka slept a lot, you didn't rest. Your eyes were red, as if you were holding back.

"And you?" Perhaps Barbatos was an Archon Cuel. He asks you this, knowing you'll break down because you've kept that pain and that secret as the most precious thing you possess. "You're witnessing his death."

And you broke down.

A cry that came straight from your heart, so powerful and deep. For a moment, you didn't care if Varka heard you; perhaps your weeping would bring him to his senses. You cried, and cried, and cried. After a while, what had once been a high-pitched scream was now weaker whimpers, sobs so small they sounded like a kitten's.

The crying stopped when you heard something in Varka's room. You wiped your tears and ran to his side. You saw him put the bucket on the floor. Blood on the sheets and on his hands. You knelt before him.

"Please, tell me their name, or at least let Alice erase them," you begged, taking his hand, not caring that his blood stained your skin.

"They're good memories," he explained in a pathetic tone that filled you with anger and sadness.

"We'll make more. I'll make more!" you exclaimed. "Whoever this person is, you can tell me what you did, and after you recover, I'll do everything with you. I'll stay by your side, and we'll do whatever you want."

"I don't want your pity," Varka murmured, feeling his stomach churn inside his belly. Another round of flowers, he thought, but it was just pain. The pain of thinking about the pity you felt for him.

And you stayed still wondering if this was your punishment. Varka thinking you would do everything for him out of pity was his way of punishing you. If it was penance for not having accompanied him in his life as a knight. If it was life's punishment for having dodged the same illness for the same person who now lay dying before you.

"I could never feel pity for you," you confessed and collapsed right there.

Tears fell from your eyes as you roughly tried to wipe them away with your blood-stained hands. Varka watched as you became a mess of tears, snot, and blood. Varka is disappointed in himself; he's making the only person he has ever loved cry. Varka's eyes feel heavy; perhaps it's time to go. His blue eyes cloud over and close. He thinks he's fallen asleep again, perhaps he's already somewhere else, when a faint smile appears on his face and he calls to you in a murmur.

"I love you."

When Varka wakes up, he finds himself in the hospital wing of the Knights of Favonius Headquarters. His eyes still feel heavy, and he realizes he's wearing a long white gown. He hears Alice and Nicole's voices outside the room and begins to panic.

No, no, no, they couldn't make him forget, forget you. But, uh? He remembers you clearly, maybe too clearly. He remembers your face smeared with blood and tears, the way you held his hand tightly, and the way you begged to know.

He tries to sit up, knocking something over in the process.

"Am I dead?" he asks as the witches and Barbatos peer into the room.

"You're not dead, you idiot," your voice echoes in their ears as you walk through the door, leaving the others outside.

Alice laughs. "Get well soon, Varka. It's good I didn't have to test my spell on you."

"That's reassuring," Nicole adds, excusing herself next to Alice.

"I suppose you two have a lot to talk about. See you for drinks!" The wind closes the door once everyone is outside.

You turn around to look at him. His pale skin that's gradually gaining back its color. The weight he had lost that you were sure he'll gain again soon. Your heavy steps that sounded across all the room stopped once you were in front of him. He looked up at you, a silly apologetic smile on his face as you frowned at him.

Varka was certain you were about to hit him.

Instead, you kissed him. Deep, needy, desperate.

"You're a fucking asshole, you know?" you whispered against his lips, your forehead against each other. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"At least I didn't die? Hehe" he laughed nervously.

"You didn't because you told me!" you exclaimed and sighed as you seated next to him on the hospital bed. Your hand reached for his, holding it tight and caressing his knuckles softly. "I thought you were going to die, like really die..."

"I'm here though," Varka interrupted.

"Shut up and listen" you snapped back instantly. "I became an adventurer because I love you in a way I thought I shouldn't love you. I thought that getting away from you would help me forget or at least make it less painful, and it did, in a way. I guess I didn't catch the disease because I knew you did love me, maybe not in the way I love you, but in your own way. In this way only life-long love presents."

You paused, sighed again and looked right into his blue eyes.

"When I got Barbatos's letter I rushed back to you because even if you loved somebody else I would have been fine with it. I'd look for them and make them love you if needed. And I was so angry at you for not telling me who it was. I'm still angry at you. And I was angry at myself because I got away with loving you. And then you told me you loved me. And I thought you were dead."

"I'm so sorry" he mumbled, getting on his knees before you after a long silence. He held your hands and kissed your kneecaps. "I hadn't realized that I love you in this way until after I walked you home last day. And I'm sorry for everything, for everything I said to you. My life is worth living because you have always been with me. You're my life, and I don't want to go on living without you. I would take a million deaths, a whole life of vomiting flowers if it means I get to live it with you."

You nodded and your hands traveled to his hair, softly touching it and caressing his scalp. 

"Could you forgive this stupid man?" he asked, cuddling into your touch.

"Yes. But I'm still angry at you. I can't believe it took you more than a five year long expedition to realize you loved me." 

"That's okay, I'll make it up to you" he said, hugging your body from the floor. A sudden question arose in his head as he enjoyed your touch. "So, how did you realize you loved me?"

"Oh, no, sir. We're not talking about it" you said, quickly avoiding and refusing to answer any question Varka asked about your own realization.

varka x knight!male! reader

summary: where varka is welcomed by the knight he left behind.

remember that my ask box is always open for ideas or suggestions!

Varka didn't really know what to expect from you after his return. His mind had taken him from the wildest options to the calmer ones. From you waiting for him outside Mondstadt gates with a few cannons borrowed from the 7th company to you waiting him in your usual spot, or the one that used to be usual.

But none of that hapenned.

Instead, your reunion happened the day that Jean dragged him to do paperwork. The sun was appearing in the sky right after they finished. He made some silly joke as he stood up and look through the window.

Then, he saw you.

The wind moving making your hair move. Your polished knight uniform and a calm face.

Varka ran.

He excused himself from Jean and ran through the Knights of Favonius Headquarters until he stood in the training grounds. You lifted your blade, pointing it at him.

"Fight with me," your voice sounded cold and sure about your victory. "I have grown up."

Varka laughed as he summoned only one of his claymores. “Both”, you said and he let out a small grin.

“So the kitten really grew up, uh?” He said, walking closer to you. Both claymores touching the ground.

Your blade touched one of his as you attacked him with speed he had no recollection of.

The dull thud of the blades clashing together filled the space. No voices, no laughs, no chat, no corrections. He was in a trance, just as you were.

Varka’s defensive moves were almost automatic. He scanned every inch of your visible body parts. Your hair, your eyes and the bag they had under them, your cheeks and that fine scar that you had gotten while sparing.

You looked just as he had left you. Maybe more taller and one or two additional scars here and there. Yet, you were still as handsome.

And you? Your mind was in winning. To show him that he had made a mistake leaving you behind, that you were now a formidable knight, that you had grown stronger, that you wanted to be at his side, that you had missed him…

And Varka could tell.

He may be a silly goofy guy, but a dumb oblivious one? Never. So he made a mistake.

With one sharp counterattack both his claymore layed in the ground. You looked at the blades. Varka looked at you. Your heavy breathing, the sweaty strands of hair, your open mouth.

You walk one step. You dropped your blade with the second one. And stood in front of Varka in the third one. He expected a punch, a scream, something violent.

Instead, you hugged him.

And he hugged you too.

Both of you probably stood there a little longer than what you had planned to. Maybe embraced each other a little tighter than usual. Maybe cried a little.

Just maybe.

he’d fall first and harder since the first time he attended your first solo performance. he would ask trow—the melusine stationed on the opera house—to meet you personally. maybe it was your chatty and friendly nature that made him whipped.

after that he’d send cecilias from mondstadt each time he couldn’t make it to your troupe’s performance along with some small note. however he always makes time for attending your solos and give you the cecilias personally.

it’s only a few of your performances later when he decides finally to ask: “would you like getting lunch someday?”. he’s the happiest when you accept his offer immediately and even set the day for tomorrow.

so, as the diligent host he is, he’d have escoffier, the best chef in fontaine cooking lunch. a melusine announces your arrival at the palais and he’s delighted by your presence. after chatting all the lunch he invites you to have a meal again soon.

after that you both would start meeting up regularly. sometimes it was lunch at your place, dinner at his office or drinks and chips after your performance.

not many time passes after you start dating more seriously, even moving in with him after he told you that it’ll be better for you to have your own space for playing the piano without a roommates and neighbors that did not tolerated loud noises.

if you two had a busy day where you couldn’t see each other, he could wait to arrive home and listen to the soft music you’d play just for him.

“hello there, my darling”, you greet him, feeling his arms around your back.

“my love”, he’d dragged his words as he deepened his face into your neck and hair, inhaling your scent and feeling your warm. “i have missed you so, so much.”

Chapter I: A Vow Beneath Falling Snow

Act I: A Proposal in the North

—summary: A summons to the Zapolyarny Palace was never meant to last. But in a hall colder than winter itself, a single question changes everything—and by the end of the night, departure is no longer so simple.

—pairing: varka x original female character.

—genre: romantic fantasy (slow burn, arranged mariage), fluff, angst, canon character x OC.

—word count: 1.97k.

—warnings: none (for now).

—publishing date: 27-02-2026 (fri)

—author's note: i'm in love with this man. i'm afraid that since this turned out as a long fic i started to gave an appearence and a name to the character. i have some ideas for gender neutral, fem! and male! reader in mind and ofc i feel totally comfortable writing for those, so if you have any idea or sugestion please leave them in my ask box!

If you'd like to be added to this fic taglist or my general taglist pls tell me! I'm glad to add you ^^

Varka stood outside the Zapolyarny Palace. Soon the gigantic iron gate opened and he commanded his horse to pass through them. The gardens covered in layers of never ending snow were quite the sight. The main entrance loomed intimidatingly before his eyes. There, two figures waited for his arrival, a tall boy—yet smaller than him—and an old man.

“Greetings. I’m here to see Her Majesty, the Tsaritsa.” He saluted getting off the horse. Carefully gave the reins to the young man and adjusted his cloak.

“Greetings to you too, Sir Varka, Knight of Boreas and Grand Master of the Knights of Favonius.” The old man greeted and accompanied him through the Palace’s doors. “I’m Dmitry, the palace’s butler. Accompany me, please.”

Chapter I: A Vow Beneath Falling Snow

Act II: Before We Become Us

—summary: With the wedding only days away, the palace falls into quiet urgency. Between preparations and expectations, two strangers find brief moments together—each wondering what this sudden promise truly means.

—pairing: varka x original female character.

—genre: romantic fantasy (slow burn, arranged mariage), fluff, angst, canon character x OC.

—word count: 1.8k.

—warnings: none (for now).

—publishing date: 09-03-2026 (mon)

—author's note: a lot of thanks for the people who gave this story a chance. i hope you enjoy it! if you have any idea or sugestion please leave them in my ask box!

If you'd like to be added to this fic taglist or my general taglist pls tell me! I'm glad to add you ^^

Will you choose to marry this humble knight?

The words that the knight chose to propose echoed through her mind. They repeated themselves like a broken record. Right after dinner, where her mother talked about sending invites to her closest circle, about choosing snezhnayan flowers due to the little time they had, about the dress fitting and even arranging the wedding cake. It felt…

“Are you okay?” Arlecchino asked while touching her arm. She nodded to the dressmaker, indicating to continue with the fitting. “You have been…, weirdly quiet all morning.”

“It’s just… too much.” She said, looking at herself in the mirror. “Could you please get rid of the sparkles? Ju-Just plain fabric.”

The woman taking the measurements nodded and signaled her helpers to start removing the sparkles that Her Majesty had suggested. Arlecchino looked at her and her sight of relief when the details started coming off. The dress was beautiful—still in progress, though—, the long puffy sleeves perfect for the outdoor wedding, the handmade lace bodice that remained unfinished, the fabric fell down and the train was just long enough.

“I think Columbina would have loved your dress.” Arlecchino said.

“And Sandrone will mutter that it's too simple.” Ekaterina chuckled. “She should be here soon, right?”

“Yes, soon enough to offer her help in the pastry selection.” Both women laugh, remembering all the tea parties Sandrone used to host when everyone was still at the Palace. “Has Sir Varka told you anything about his guests?”

“He said something about inviting Vice Captain Lohen, but he wasn't sure he’d make it on time.” The woman said and Arlecchino nodded. The dressmaker indicated that it was all done and that the last fitting will be held tomorrow in the early morning. The Harbinger and the Princess nodded. “Thank you for your work.”

“It’s nothing but a pleasure to work for Her Majesty and Your Royal Highness. Oh! I almost forgot, how long would you like your veil to be?”

“Just average.”

The day continued with Sandrone and the other Harbingers arrival. Marionette soon joined the wedding planning with her remarkable experience in tea parties, providing the bride, The Knave and servants with directions of which pastries were worth ordering and how they should be arranged.

Varka kept to himself inside his chamber. He was told that all meals will be held privately due to the planning, so someone from housekeeping will knock on his door and deliver him a warm meal. He almost felt like a prisoner. Almost.

He approached the window at the sudden noise of voices. It was a young beige-coloured hair woman that screamed the yard boy's indications of how the tables should be arranged, soon a huge robot took care of it.

“Could it be Marionette?” He wondered to himself as he watched the three women, one of them his bride-to-be. The woman gathered snow, maybe she’d build a snowman just like yesterday. “Uhm, I should take some fresh air.”

Determined as he is, he took his cloak and put on his boots. He walked out his chamber and down the stairs expecting to, maybe, meet a Harbinger other than The Knave. He did not run into anyone, though. Still, he was sure tomorrow he’d meet them at his wedding.

His wedding, uh? He paused for a second and stood in the hall. Varka never imagined actually getting married. He sure knew some knights that had a family and others that thought of marrying a fine maiden and starting a family of their own. But him? He never really considered marrying. He always had taken great pride in his drinking companions, in fighting battles and protecting Mondstadt.

Maybe he did think of marriage when he was younger. But now? At his age he thought it would seem rather inappropriate to court a young maiden and he didn’t think any woman would want a shot with an old man like him.

He set his thoughts aside as he approached the group of women. The females were gathered around his young bride that found herself building up the lower part of a snowman. The Knave fixed her throat upon seeing her friend’s groom. The puppet woman saw him too and touched the princess’s shoulder to call her attention.

“Good evening, fine ladies.” He greeted everyone and each woman greeted him back. “Could I steal my bride from you two? Don’t take me as a rude knight, I’m sure we’d get enough time to chat tomorrow at our wedding.”

“Of course, Pulonia finished arranging the tables and chairs a while ago. I’m sure the yard boy will put something on top to cover them from the snow.” Sandrone said and called for Pulonia to carry her inside.

Varka and Ekaterina remained silent until the Harbingers' silhouette was far ahead. 

“So, you like building snowmans?” He asked casually and started to help her gather snow. “I saw you yesterday building one too, or at least I think it was you.”

“Oh, yeah. It’s a hobby I’ve taken up recently. Well, one of them.” She sighed and caressed the snow. “I used to spend most of my time with Colu-The Damselette but she left, Marionette was stationed in Nod-Krai soon after that and The Knave is always on call.”

“I understand, so what other hobbies do you have?”

The woman shared her journey of starting hobbies with Varka. She told him about reading books, about her terrible artistic dancing, about her sometimes singing The Damselette’s lullaby, about her cooking and baking during the weekends, and about that time she tried to knit her first beanie and how it turned weirdly shaped.

“I’m getting better at it, I swear.” She said quickly.

“I’m looking forward to having a piece made by you.” The blonde man said, carelessly looking at her.

The young woman looked at him. His blue eyes are so perfectly warm, his face adorned with a relaxed smile and a scar on his cheek. Her own cheeks felt warm as she looked the other way.

“Y-yes. I’ll make one for you.” She added without looking at him. The princess finished the snowman and sat back in the snow. Just next to Varka.

They stayed there for a while. Only silence surrounding them in a peace they both find pleasing. She could finally take a breath after all the preparations of the wedding and Varka finally felt a little free. For a moment he wondered how his life would be after marrying. 

He’d have to get a bigger apartment or maybe build her an estate, after all he’s marrying a princess. He’d have to spend more nights with his wife instead of drinking at Angel’s Share, maybe she’d like The Cat’s Tail, she does seem like the cat type…

“How’s Nod-Krai? I know we leave the day after tomorrow and… I have never been outside of Snezhnaya.”

“Well. For starters it’s not as cold as it’s here, so don’t pack too many warm clothes. It’s a treacherous place, the Abyss Order and the Fat-well, you know, they cause trouble as usual, there are other factions native to the place. Currently we, the Knights, are stationed in Nasha Town. I’m looking forward to getting a more formal camp set up, but don’t worry, I’ll get you a nice room at The Flagship.”

“Will you leave my side?” She asked, suddenly feeling smaller.

“Well, uh. I guess you can call it that. My mission in Nod-Krai is not finished and I can’t bring you along to fight monsters. It’ll endanger you, and I don’t want you getting hurt.” Varka explained and she nodded. “You’ll get to eat all the food you want and I’ll have Aino show you her trinkets.”

They kept chatting for a while. Varka told her more about the Clink-Clank Krumkake Craftshop, Aino, Ineffa and Knuckle Duckle, about his expeditions and travels during the last five years he was away from Mondstadt. She listened attentively, each word came out of his mouth with huge devotion and passion. For a moment she wondered if he could ever talk about her like that, if someday she could be more than the wife he took out of pity.

Maybe she was only meant to be a wife…

She got lost in his figure. He was a tall, broad and muscled man. He was a knight, a handsome one. How could it be that he had no woman waiting for him at home? Maybe he did but couldn’t refuse a proposal by the Cryo Archon. She didn’t really want to keep asking herself those questions, she knew it’ll only end up in her overthinking stuff that wasn’t hers to think.

“I’m sorry for interrupting, Your Royal Highness, Sir Varka.” A maid approached them softly. Varka’s voice went dim and their attention shifted to the maid. “Dinner is ready, would you like to eat together?”

His blue eyes traveled to hers, letting her know that he’d be fine with whatever she chooses.

“Maybe we could eat together? Go over some details?” Varka nodded along and the maid took her way first.

Varka stood first, straightened his clothes, and brushed off any remaining snow. He extended his hand for the young princess to take, which she did naturally, as if she were getting used to the idea that this would be her new normal. They walked shoulder to shoulder—almost, since she was shorter than him, after all—toward the palace. Inside, a maid took their coats and showed them the way where they had set up their plates.

The conversation flowed just like one between two old friends. The princess showed him some details about the organization, the names of the native flowers of the region, the flavor of the cake, and some guests he should greet before the ceremony began.

After they finished their food, the maids soon started cleaning up. Maybe doing some silly eavesdropping here and there, nothing to worry about. They giggle really quietly as the Grand Master told some history of his younger years as a knight. You laugh too, a little bit louder, of course.

“It’s getting late, isn’t it?” Varka asked when his bride-to-be yawned and her eyes squinted. She nodded and giggled. “I’ll accompany you to your quarters.”

The young woman nodded and took the man's offered hand. During their conversation, the princess led him to her bedroom. They stopped in front of a pair of doors quite similar to Varka's; perhaps the only difference was the sign that read 'Katya' next to a heart.

“Who’s Katya?” Varka asked, signaling the sign.

“I’m Katya, it’s short for Ekaterina.” She said with that strong snezhnayan accent. Soon she felt self-conscious about it and hid her mouth with her hand. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what? It’s just your accent, everyone here speaks like that.” He comforted me.

“But I’m the princess. I’m expected to speak with no accent.” The young woman muttered looking down at her shoes.

“Tomorrow you'll be my wife and nothing will be expected of you. Nothing more than for you to live happily, hahaha.” Varka laughed and she smiled while nodding. “I should leave now. Have a goodnight, Katya.”

“You too, Sir Varka.”