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The Windblume Festival Tournament was a veritable feast of chivalrous and handsome knights for the eyes, plates of armor shining beneath the sunlight and horses bedecked in all the finery of the Knights of Favonius prancing in and out of the bustling, cheering arena.
Flins, though, only had eyes for one knight in particular.
The Lightkeeper stood aside from the chaos outside the arena, watching with a ghost of a smile as Varka calmed down a young knight on the back of a black mare, his expression terribly kind as he coached the teary-eyed young man through a bout of stage-fright induced panic. His words weren’t audible, but they did make the boy laugh, eventually wiping away his tears and nodding before being sent off toward a group of his fellow cavalry soldiers.
The Grand Master of the Knights of Favonius then, finally, turned to Flins, his gaze softening with an affection all too familiar as he offered one of his crooked grins that Flins couldn’t help but mirror with a small smile of his own.
They had meant to spend the festival together. While Flins was certain Varka had not meant it like this, organizing his knights and running about solving various behind-the-scenes issues, he found he didn’t mind. They were still together, were they not?
Just as Varka started to approach him, a high-pitched squeal of, “Uncle Varka!” rang through the air, and a blur of blonde and red launched toward him, forcing him to catch the wayward young girl that attached herself around his neck lest she end up choking him in her enthusiasm. “Uncle Varka, you have to come play the balloon-shooting game with us! The Traveler hit so many!”
“Varka.” Razor appeared after Klee, tugging at the Grand Master’s arm while his friend Bennett behind him begged, “Please?” with wide and beseeching eyes.
“Ah, kids, y’know, I was just about to… have lunch?” Varka lifted his gaze to Flins, mildly pleading, the children hanging off of him like he was a particularly large, moving tree. Flins, of course, found their admiration of him adorable and very amusing, and so provided absolutely no assistance to his predicament outside of a long, slow blink.
“Later. Play, now,” Razor demanded.
“We can’t let the Traveler beat us!”
Smothering a laugh, Flins spoke up, his tone light and teasing as he interjected, “Do not fret, my darling knight. I am perfectly capable of fetching us lunch on my own.“
Varka gave him a forlorn look that was as close to a pout as a grown man could get, but before he could say anything else, his abductors tugged him away, leaving the Lightkeeper to cover his mouth to hide his smile at the sight of the mighty Knight of Boreas, bested by a simple group of children.
~
After successfully obtaining the promised lunch, portions packaged neatly within the paper bag tucked under his arm, Flins wandered through the crowded streets of Mondstadt, allowing himself to peruse the market stalls, gaze catching on whatever sparkled beneath the sunlight, while he made his way toward the festival game booths at a leisurely pace.
It was in the midst of browsing a selection of handmade jewelry that he caught onto a conversation happening at the booth beside him.
“Um - Eula? I wanted to… ask you something.”
A young lady, wearing a red-and-white uniform of practical shorts and thigh-high boots, the Knights of Favonius emblem emblazoned across the front of her top in gold, spoke to another woman - tall and regal, in silver plate armor that shone like frost under the sun, light blue hair swept over one shoulder and Cryo vision pinned to the other. Both of them clearly knights, though it seemed only the woman in proper armor was competing in the tournament.
“Speak, then.” The other woman - Eula - said it like a command, but her stiff, awkward intonation betrayed her anxiety, hand flexing around the hilt of the greatsword sheathed at her hip.
“I - uh -“ White-gloved fingers twisted around a red bandana, pale cheeks flushing pink, before she finally blurted out all at once, “Will you wear my favor in the tournament?”
A brief pause. Eula blinked, shocked, while her companion kept rambling on. “I mean, you don’t have to, I know it’s kind of a big deal and I totally understand if everyone knowing like this is too much -“
“Amber.” One gauntlet-clad hand reached out to curl around wringing fingers, stilling them instantly. “I would be honored to bear your favor.”
Amber’s dark eyes widened, lips parting around a soft, “Oh,” at the solemn declaration. Her flush deepened, but she never tore her gaze away from Eula’s as she wound the red bandana around her upper arm, securing it there with a knot and a lingering touch.
“Ah, young love,” the older woman selling the jewelry that Flins had been admiring mused. “I still remember when I asked my husband to wear my favor during his first tournament - nearly fifty years ago, now. Glad to see some things haven’t changed.”
“I’m afraid this unique tradition is unfamiliar to me,” Flins gave her an owlish little blink. “What is a ‘favor?’”
“Oh! Not from Mondstadt, are you?” She grinned at him. “It’s an item given to a knight to tie around their arm or wrist - could be a scarf, headband, handkerchief, whatever. Generally a declaration of serious romantic affection, so don’t expect hoards of ladies to be tossing their favors out to whichever knight comes along, and any decent knight won’t accept one unless that affection is reciprocated in kind. It originates from back when knights would be champions for certain lords or ladies, though, of course, the tradition has evolved since then.”
Oh.
Idly, Flins ran his thumb over the lavender ribbon he had wrapped around his wrist at the beginning of the day, brought as a precaution in case his hair needed to be tied up.
“And… this favor can be anything?” he asked.
“As long as it can be attached to armor, sure.” Something bright and knowing twinkled in her gaze. “Has a knight out there caught your eye, then?”
A quiet hum. Flins thought of blue eyes alight with mirth, of calloused hands and rumbling laughter, and murmured, almost to himself, “Yes, something like that.”
~
Bennett later told Flins, over lunch, that Varka would be competing in the tournament.
“Well, he’s not really competing, it’s a separate bout from everything else - but it’s super awesome! We never get to see the Grand Master use his full strength! I mean, not really his full strength, obviously, it’s just for fun, and that would be way too dangerous -“
And so, Flins was provided with a perfect opportunity.
He glided through the crowd to the arena entrance, where Varka shouted directions to his knights and guided the flow of traffic even as he buckled himself into his armor in preparation for his own exhibition match, one broadsword sheathed at his hip and the other propped up against the wooden barrier behind him.
“Laurent! Tell Anselm he needs to -“
The Grand Master’s strong voice faltered as soon as Flins reached out to snag a gauntlet-clad arm, eyes going wide and breath freezing in his chest at the sight of the lavender ribbon being looped around his wrist, the end clasped between tiny fangs while Flins focused on tying a secure knot into place.
A hard swallow, throat bobbing with the force of it. Lips parting, only to fail to find words.
Yellow irises lifted to meet summer blue.
Ribbon secured, Flins let it fall from his mouth, silver-tipped lashes and bangs framing his unnatural gaze, entrancing and ethereal in equal measure.
“Good luck, Grand Master.” Something coy and knowing hid in the curve of his faint smile. “I expect to be impressed by your performance.”
A brief pause, Varka’s tongue darting out to wet his lips as he dragged his eyes across the facets of pale, delicate features.
“Yeah?” He managed to breathe out, making no move to pull away. “What do I get if you are?”
That faint smile grew, as Flins shifted a little closer, tilted his head, until the tips of their noses brushed, lips resting inches from the warmth of the exhale that filled the space between them.
“Impress me and find out,” he murmured.
Someone called Varka’s name off in the distance, and Flins took that as his cue to step away, retreating back into the crowd, leaving the knight bereft and struck dumb in his wake.
~
“Ladies and Gentlemen! I, Venti, the Bard, am pleased to welcome you to the special showcase match of this year’s Windblume Tournament - featuring Mondstadt’s very own Grand Master of the Knights of Favonius!”
Cheers erupted all through the stands as Venti - the bard that everyone in Mondstadt pretended wasn’t very obviously the former Anemo Archon - finished his introduction with a little grin and a flourish of his lyre, using his ambiguously defined elemental abilities to project his voice as he floated on a gust of wind to perch atop the barrier surrounding the arena. “Please give a round of applause to our opposing team of victims - ahem, I mean volunteers - Deputy Jean Gunnhildr, Cavalry Captain Kaeya Alberich, Captain Eula Lawrence, and Master Diluc Ragvindr of the Dawn Winery!”
Columbina joined in on the applause with delighted enthusiasm, Flins with slightly more elegance, while Nefer rolled her eyes but demeaned herself to clap, anyway.
They had taken seats at the very front of the stands, giving them a perfect view of the three knights - and one former - that strode into the arena, dressed in appropriate armor and waving genially to their audience.
Flins was pleased to catch sight of the red bandana still wrapped around Eula’s upper arm.
“And, now, let’s give a warm welcome to the man of the hour - Grand Master Varka of the Knights of Favonius!”
This time, the voracity of the response drowned out anything else Venti said.
~
Varka had always been charismatic and confident, but here, in front of a collection of Mondstadt citizens and foreigners alike, it shone from him like the sun, his ability to charm and entertain on full display as he shot the crowd a blinding grin, taking a moment to relish in the cheers before making a very purposeful - and very bizarre - motion to unbuckle his vision from the waist of his coat.
He twirled it between his fingers, tossed it in the air once, twice, and then proceeded to unceremoniously throw it to Venti, as if it were nothing more than a common trinket.
“Oh? What’s this?” The bard leaned forward to catch the Anemo vision with ease, his undisguised delight at this turn of events evident in the pitch of his voice and the brightening of his expression. “Ladies and Gentlemen, what an unexpected twist! It seems the Grand Master has made the choice to fight four opponents without the use of his own vision!“
The grin Varka wore took on an edge of cocky arrogance, as he shifted his gaze deliberately to Flins, and winked.
If Flins were capable of a startled flush of red in his cheeks, he would have gained it. As it was, he simply returned that gaze with eyes that glittered with something unspoken, and watched as the Grand Master unsheathed his broadswords and dove into the fray of battle.
He dismantled his opponents with the ease of one who had been the person to teach every movement they made against him. Without the dramatic padding of elemental power, each strike, each parry, was an exhibition of precise skill, surgical accuracy that came from years of personal experience, as swift and effective as an executioner’s blade.
It was -
Well.
It was impressive.
Flins could feel Nefer giving him a sidelong look from her place in the stands beside him as Varka outmaneuvered a blast of hawk-shaped Pyro from Master Diluc and sent the former knight tumbling to the ground in a few quick blows.
“This is your fault,” she stated, matter-of-fact.
Flins did not bother to respond.
After Master Diluc’s elimination, Captain Eula and Deputy Jean went down in quick succession, leaving just Cavalry Captain Kaeya to slowly back away from the Grand Master that stalked toward him, every step radiating the measured and unhurried confidence of an apex predator.
“Come on, we can talk about this, right, Grand Master?” A nervous laugh, sword held out in a defensive position, Cavalry Captain Kaeya’s one good eye wide with apprehension. “How about a round of drinks? On me?”
The grin Varka shot him was nothing but wolffish.
“Sorry, Captain,” he retorted cheerfully. “I’ve got a prior engagement.”
He lunged forward.
Cavalry Captain Kaeya never stood a chance.
~
Beneath the afternoon sunlight, Varka practically shone in the wake of his victory.
Sweat stained his brow, trailed down his jawline, darkened the edges of his rumpled blonde hair and the collar of the dark shirt that stuck to his neck. Dirt dulled the sheen of his obsidian armor, the fabric of his grey linen pants, the tan of his skin, smudged and faded and mixed in various measures. A tiny red cut marred his hairline, and his lips parted around steady, deep heaves of breath, sky blue gaze alight and sparkling with the remnants of adrenaline.
Varka looked up at Flins from the other side of the barrier the fae leaned over, having risen from his seat as soon as the knight started to approach, and gave him a breathtaking grin.
“What’s the verdict?” he asked above the cheers of the crowd. “Impressive enough for you?”
Flins, in answer, cupped his face in gloved hands and bent down to kiss him.
The roars that erupted around them were deafening.
~
“I cannot believe that man actually managed to be smooth,” Kaeya drunkenly slurred to Flins as he brandished his mug of beer, hours after the sun had gone down, “Honestly, it’s more impressive than the expedition itself. He has, like, negative flirting ability when faced with someone he actually likes.”
Nightfall had transformed Mondstadt’s central plaza into a hub of celebration, strings of tiny, candlelit lanterns and multicolored flowers hanging from the surrounding pillars, white-clothed tables laden with food and drinks of various kinds placed between them, and, amidst it all, people dancing to the upbeat music, laughter and chatter echoing through the nighttime air.
Flins observed the festivities from the sidelines with a glass of dandelion wine clasped in his hand, a white cecilia flower tucked behind his ear, and a tiny smile playing across his lips, all courtesy of the man that he watched spin Klee around while the young girl giggled and shrieked in delight.
The winners of the tournament had been presented with white garlands of flowers earlier in the evening - Captain Eula gifting hers to Amber soon after gaining it, as was apparently tradition for those who competed with favors, in a terribly sweet display that had the audience cooing amidst their applause. While Varka hadn’t gotten one for his own victory, given his status as Grand Master and official judge of the tournament, he had still taken the opportunity to pluck a flower from a nearby bouquet and tuck it behind Flins’s ear when he was finally released from his duties, his smile soft and warm.
“I’m going to go hunt down some dandelion wine,” he had offered. “Join me?”
Which led Flins to the current moment. Listening to the music transition into something faster, more upbeat, his idle - and extremely one-sided - conversation with Kaeya interrupted by the topic of discussion himself appearing out of the crowd, cheeks a little flushed and features alight with excitement.
“Flins.” He caught the Lightkeeper by the waist and pulled him close, blue eyes sparkling under the lights. “C’mon, dance with me. You’ll like this one.”
“I haven’t finished my glass of -“ Flins’s protest was cut off as Varka stole the aforementioned glass from him and downed the rest of the wine in one fell swoop, his startled huff of a laugh and playful admonishment of, “Varka,” stifled by the wine-sweet mouth that pressed against his.
“I’ll get you more, sweetheart,” he murmured into their shared kisses. “Dance with me.”
And so, the fae allowed himself to be swept into the revelry by the knight, securely held within his embrace.