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To say that finding a sopping wet, unaccompanied child at his door was not how Crepus had expected to start his day was an understatement.
However, now that it had happened, Crepus didn’t hesitate to do what he thought was right.
“Diluc, can you pick out some of your old clothes to bring to the washroom? Adelinde will need a dry outfit for our guest.”
“Yes, sir!” Diluc bounded away to do as asked, full of energy as usual. Crepus turned back to his desk.
Everything had to be put on hold until the child’s condition was known and their situation resolved. He sent missives to town, letting the estate managers know he was delaying his visit and they should reschedule his meetings. He also sent a courier to fetch the village doctor.
“Done!” Diluc reappeared at Crepus’ shoulder. “I picked out long sleeves and thick socks so they can stay warm. And my old pajamas, in case they’re spending the night.”
“Smart of you,” Crepus praised.
Diluc beamed. “Is there anything else I can do to help?”
Crepus opened his mouth to say no, then changed his mind. “Tell me: have you ever seen them before, or anyone who looks like them, in the village?”
Diluc thought about it. “I don’t think so. Besides, I think we know everyone in the village. If somebody new moved in they would tell us.”
Most everyone who lived in the village around Dawn Winery worked for the Ragnvindrs, so Diluc was probably right. “True. What about in town?”
“... I’d have to think about it more,” Diluc admitted after a long pause. “But I don’t think so. I would have remembered if I saw a kid with a bandaged eye before.”
“You might have seen them before they hurt their eye,” Crepus suggested.
“But their eye is so blue! And has a star pupil,” Diluc protested. “... I guess I wouldn’t know that if I saw them from behind. I’ll think about it,” he repeated.
As for himself, Crepus was reasonably certain he would recognize the child and be able to immediately identify their family if he had ever seen them before. Their brown skin was much darker than often seen in Mondstadt, and their hair was an unusual shade of blue. Perhaps they were new to the area, or just passing through?
“Think about it while you get ready for lessons,” Crepus suggested.
“I still have to do lessons?” Diluc scrunched up his face, but let out an explosive sigh of resignation. “I’ll go get ready,” he grumbled, trudging towards his tutoring hall.
Crepus couldn’t help smiling at Diluc’s back. His son was expressive and outspoken, but able to rein himself in when needed: excellent traits in a leader. Crepus encouraged these traits whenever he could, and it pleased him to not have to admonish Diluc about his school responsibilities. Diluc would brighten back up in due time.
Upstairs, Crepus heard the door to the washroom open. Dry coughing, quickly muffled, drifted down the stairs, followed by Adelinde’s voice. She was using the tone Crepus thought of as ‘Calming Diluc Down’.
Crepus realized he was staring at the child’s boots, which had been left in the foyer. They were mud-caked but sturdy, made of an animal hide that Crepus didn’t recognize. How long had the child been out in the rain? Where were their parents?
“Master Crepus.” Elzer handed Crepus a note: the doctor would arrive within the hour. Crepus nodded his thanks, then went upstairs to see how Adelinde was getting on.
He reached her just as she closed the door of Crepus’ upstairs study behind her. It wasn’t a guest room, but it was the only room in the mansion without any windows and had a comfortable couch that a child could stretch out on. Diluc had spent more than one sick day sleeping on that couch under a pile of blankets.
“The doctor will be here soon,” Crepus said first. “Anything I should know before she arrives?”
Adelinde hesitated a moment. “I’m … not sure. There’s some bruising on her—their—legs and arms, but nothing serious. The sort of thing a child might get playing outside.” She waved a hand at her right eye. “The bandages did not survive the bath steam. She–the child tried to keep their eye hidden with their hair, but I did catch several glimpses. It seemed quite normal. I’m not sure why she–they’re hiding it.” She blushed. “My apologies. I’m too used to knowing what pronouns to use before knowing anything else.”
Crepus gave her an encouraging smile. “I know you’re doing your best. I take it they still haven’t spoken?”
Adelinde returned his smile. “No, I’m afraid not.”
“I suppose we can only hope they find their voice sooner rather than later. We can’t even guess what they’ve been through.” Crepus paused. “As to the eye, it’s possible the problem isn’t something we can see. Let’s make sure to prepare a replacement eye patch.”
“Yes, Master Crepus.” Her gaze shifted past Crepus and he instinctively stepped aside, letting Helen hand Adelinde a small tray of hot water, tea, honey, and lemon. She had thoughtfully provided one of Diluc’s old mugs rather than a delicate teacup. “I’ll just see that this gets into our young guest first?”
Crepus considered, then gave into his curiosity. He gently took the tray from Adelinde’s hands. “I’ll handle the tea. Finding the eye patches might take a bit.”
Adelinde saw right through him, of course. She had been on his staff since Diluc was two years old. “You can just say you’d like to spend time with the child.”
“Well …” Crepus chuckled. “Don’t delay the eyepatch just to avoid interrupting us.”
“Of course not, Master Crepus.”
She obligingly opened the study door so Crepus could step inside with his full hands, then shut the door behind him.
The child sat on the couch, bundled and almost buried in three layers of blankets; their damp hair had been pulled forward to make a thick, navy curtain over their right eye. Their left eye was open wide, star-shaped pupil tracking Crepus’ every move with wary attention. Crepus had met people with slit pupils, flower-shaped pupils, and what looked to him like no pupils at all, but he had never seen pupils in the shape of a four-pointed star before. Diluc was right, though: it was the sort of thing one remembered about a person.
Crepus sat on the cushioned wooden chair next to the couch, setting the tea things down on the end table. “Hello,” he greeted, keeping his voice low and gentle. “Now that we’ve warmed you up on the outside, we want to warm up your insides, too. Do you like tea?”
The child thought about it. The blankets shifted around their shoulders, which Crepus took to be a shrug. “You don’t know?”
The child shook their head.
“You don’t like tea.” Crepus considered the tray for a moment. “How about hot honey water?”
He looked up for the child’s reaction: their mouth was open. They shut it, and nodded.
“All right.” Crepus drizzled a generous amount of honey into the mug, then poured the hot water straight in, bypassing the teapot entirely. Sweet-scented steam rose invitingly over the mug. “I’m going to let it cool a little bit. If you try to hold it now, the mug will burn your hands.”
The child’s gaze darted between the mug and Crepus. Their posture folded slightly in on itself before they nodded their assent. Crepus dipped a spoon into the mug. “I’ll stir so it cools faster.”
For a bit, there was only the sound of the spoon pinging against the sides of the mug. The child ducked their head, hiding their mouth in the blankets, and had a coughing fit that made them bend over, shoulders jerking. Crepus’ heart went out to the kid, but remembering how they had flinched away from Crepus on the doorstep, he didn’t try to rub their back. He just kept stirring, testing the temperature of the water with a finger, until the child sat back up, sniffling.
Crepus pulled his handkerchief out of his vest pocket and held it out. “Blow your nose.”
The child started. They stared at the handkerchief, Crepus’ empty vest pocket, and Crepus’ face in turn with visible disbelief. Crepus resisted the urge to laugh. “If you sniffle too much, you’ll get a headache.” He wiggled the handkerchief in his fingers.
This seemed to be too much for the child. They just stared at Crepus, ignoring the handkerchief. “All right.” Crepus conceded, shoving it into his pants pocket for proper folding later. He checked the mug. “I think it’s is safe to hold. Be careful, though. Blow on the surface before you drink so you don’t burn your tongue.”
The child did accept the mug, taking it from Crepus’ fingers with both hands. They sighed and pressed the mug to their cheek, closing their eye in bliss. But when they did go to drink from the mug, they dutifully blew on the surface of the drink before sipping.
Crepus let them sip the water in silence for a bit before speaking again. “I’ve sent for a doctor to come check on you.”
The child’s fingers tightened on the mug. They rested it in their lap and stared at it.
“She’s only going to make sure you’re not dangerously sick,” Crepus continued. “She doesn’t have to check anything else.”
The child nodded.
Ah. Crepus wasn’t sure if he was reading too much into things: there could be a lot of reasons for discomfort with doctors. But then, that was more reason to be careful.
Crepus hesitated, then decided it was better to ask now rather than later. Best to make sure of the reason before she arrives, if possible. “At some point, I’m going to have to ask you some questions that can’t be answered ‘yes’ or ‘no’. When that happens, I need to know if you can answer. Do you know your letters? Can you write an answer?”
The child grimaced, and Crepus’ heart sank. Mondstadt did its best to ensure all children learned to read and write, but sometimes the lessons came very late. “It’s all right. We’ll figure that out when the time comes,” he soothed.
“... I … I know my letters.”
The child’s voice was barely above a whisper. They spoke with an accent that Crepus couldn’t place, at least after only hearing a few words, but their speech was clean and careful. Crepus held his breath. “I can write. But … I can also speak.” The child grimaced again. “What … what did you want to ask?”
Why did it look as if every word cost the child the last of their energy? Perhaps there was fluid in their lungs. But Crepus felt he had best take advantage of the child’s effort to muster themself. “Can you tell me your name?”
“... Kaeya,” the child said to their mug. “Alberich.”
The way the child rolled the consonants in their name made Crepus realize that Mondstadtian was not their first language. That probably helped explain their reluctance to talk. As for the name: it didn’t ring any bells whatsoever. “Kaeya. That’s a lovely name. Do you know where your family is, Kaeya?”
The child blinked and straightened, seeming to come awake. Perhaps the steam and hot water was doing them some good. “Father … Father saw the sign at the house. He said he was going to get wine. He told me to wait. He didn’t come back.”
It was Crepus’ turn to grimace. The story was … strange, to put it lightly, and the way Kaeya told the story, mechanical and unemotional, was even stranger. But Crepus could pick at that later. He was sure he’d like the implications of the truth even less than this unlikely tale. “I’m sorry, Kaeya. Maybe your father got stuck somewhere in the rain.”
“Maybe.” Kaeya didn’t seem terribly interested in their father’s fate. Their lack of emotion was like cold water poured down the back of Crepus’ spine, and he swore to himself he would be careful of who he returned Kaeya to.
“Just a couple more questions,” Crepus promised. At Kaeya’s slight nod, he continued: “I’ve asked Adelinde to bring you a new eyepatch, but is there anything else you need to take care of your eye?”
Kaeya’s head jerked up; without seeming to notice, they smoothed the curtain of hair they had pulled over their right eye. “Huh? N-no … no, nothing special. It … doesn’t need treatment.”
Crepus couldn’t help feeling doubtful. “You don’t have to show it to me or the doctor to get anything you need for it,” he said, working hard to keep any judgment out of his voice. “I don’t want you to forego anything necessary.”
But Kaeya was shaking their head, hand cupped over the hair in their face. “All right.” Crepus relented. Kaeya visibly slumped with relief, and Crepus dutifully repressed the urge to bring it right back up. “Last question,” he said instead. “And you can say you just don’t want to answer.”
Kaeya nodded, watching Crepus with an energy of impatience that they hadn’t displayed before. They really didn’t like talking about their eye, did they?
Knowing that made it feel a little less awkward to simply ask the next question, at least. So Crepus didn’t hesitate: “Are you a boy or a girl?” He paused. “Or neither. Something else.”
Kaeya’s attention went from impatient to … flabbergasted? Crepus couldn’t think of a good word for Kaeya’s expression. Their visible eye went wide; their skin went ashen. Then their lips twisted into a hard line; their gaze darted away, then down, as they folded in on themself. Their cheeks and ears darkened in a miserable blush. “Wh—… why are you asking me?” Their voice was barely above a mumble. “The black and white lady … Adelinde … she saw.” They stared at their mug. “You can ask her.”
Crepus’ heart ached with sympathy. He leaned forward and spoke quietly. “What Adelinde saw doesn’t tell me that.” When Kaeya didn’t react, he continued: “No matter what you look like, I will believe you if you tell me you’re not a girl.”
Something about that seemed to sink past Kaeya’s barriers. They relaxed their shoulders. “I’m … not a girl,” they said in their hesitating, halting Mondstadtian. Then, in a stronger voice: “I’m … a boy.”
“All right,” Crepus said. He hadn’t realized how worried he was that he had misstepped until he heard the relief in his own voice. “So I’ll tell the doctor that Kaeya Alberich is a boy who I think has a cold, but I want to make sure it’s nothing worse. Is that okay?”
Kaeya nodded. A tiny smile flitted across his face, so fast Crepus almost missed it. He lifted the mug to his face quickly, probably to hide his expression. Crepus studiously made a point of not noticing. “I’m going to go check on your eyepatch,” he said.
“Wait,” Kaeya said.
Crepus blinked in surprise, but relaxed back into his seat.
“I … um …” With his mouth hidden behind his mug and hair covering half his face, Kaeya’s expression was hard to read. He floundered for a moment, then seemed to settle on what he wanted to say. “What does ‘something else’ mean? People in–I mean … people … can be something else?”
People in Mondstadt . Crepus would have bet mora that was the phrase Kaeya had cut off. “Have you ever heard the word ‘gender’ before?” he asked.
Kaeya shook his head.
“Well. If we have time, I’ll teach you about it,” Crepus promised. “But it’s complicated, so let’s start with your eyepatch, and probably the doctor.”
Kaeya nodded.
“All right. You just rest here.”
Kaeya nodded again, gaze returning to the last of his hot water. Crepus wondered if he had wrung out all the words the boy had in him today. He got up and left the room, shutting the door behind himself.
What an enigma of a child. Crepus couldn’t guess where Kaeya had come from or what had actually happened to his family. Why was he covering an eye that seemed just fine? What was his first language? Why was he here …?
Crepus smiled to himself. It was doubtful he’d have time to get half the answers he wanted before the boy was back out the door, reunited with a relative that could take proper care of him. All Crepus could do was ensure Kaeya was safe, secure, and comfortable as long as the boy was under his wing.