Chapter Text
Zandik was never one for relationships. They were useless, time-consuming, and inevitably ended in bitterness and conflict. He had long since learned not to place his hopes too high when it came to… Love.
Truthfully, he never understood how people could maintain relationships that weren’t transactional. The only connections in which he felt even the faintest trace of warmth were those between himself and the Regrator, and perhaps the Tsaritsa as well.
The Goddess of Love, taking in someone incapable of it. Ironic.
While most assumed Her Majesty had no love left to give, Zandik had seen otherwise. He had seen the part of her that still longed to embrace her people. Because of that, he was certain, utterly certain, that she would never cast him aside the way that useless, fragile village and the manipulative Akademiya had.
They claimed to accept anyone. Yet he had been their one exception. Perhaps they saw him as dangerous. After all, he had no limits.
And he would do whatever it took to prove them right.
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Disappointing… utterly disappointing.
This organization of fools and cowards was no better than the Akademiya. Even here, among supposed outcasts, he remained the one truly cast aside. What had he done to deserve such blatant disrespect?
The Knave groomed children into soldiers, sending them on missions that often ended in death, and yet she was praised as a loving “father.”
Tartaglia played the innocent, despite being fully prepared to drown Liyue Harbor for a Gnosis.
The Regrator… as much as Zandik adored him, the man had no sense of boundaries. Tugging at his harness in front of everyone? Unacceptable and humiliating! He ought to get revenge..
And the Damselette, so warm, so friendly, almost like a sister… yet one day, suddenly, she had a change of judgement and severed all ties with first him, then the fatui. Always, right when he..
Dottore could go on forever.
They all played the part of righteous saints. Yet the moment he dared to do his work, his duty as the Doctor, he was branded a monster. Heartless. Incapable of empathy. Incapable of love.
Zandik was anything but heartless.
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"Come in."
The Tsaritsa’s voice was gentle, yet cold as ever, beckoning him forward.
Ignoring the guards’ glares, Dottore strode into the chamber. Her Majesty sat upon her frigid throne, the room itself designed not for comfort, but intimidation, towering ceilings, cold colors, and an ever-present frost and ice that clung stubbornly to every surface.
None of it fazed him.
Barely containing his fury, he knelt before her, resisting the urge to immediately dissolve into a rant.
Minutes passed in suffocating silence before she finally spoke.
"You may speak. What burdens you with such anger, my dear?"
The dam broke instantly.
"Those traitorous cowards want you to exile me, to rid me of this place!” His voice began controlled, but quickly rose in intensity as he stood and began pacing. "That puppet dares to accuse me of betrayal, when she abandoned her mission! She was meant to colonize Nod-Krai, to drive out the Frostmoon Scions, whom she mocked as foolish and utterly laughable! She mutilates people’s tongues, mocks Rosalyne's funeral, and yet pretends to be innocent!"
His frustration sharpened.
"And Columbina…"
It seemed even the Tsaritsa had underestimated the discord among her harbingers.
"Come here, my child."
Her hand beckoned him closer. And closer. Until he realized, she wanted him in her lap.
Unexpected… but not unwelcome.
Hesitantly, he complied, leaning against her chest, unnaturally cold where warmth should have been.
"Continue."
"I…" His voice faltered. "Columbina… before she defeated me, she said, 'It’s about friends and family.' And yet, when it came to me… she didn’t hesitate to leave me behind." His grip tightened. "I was naïve. Foolish, to believe a saint like her would stay with a sinner like me.”
The Tsaritsa’s fingers combed through his hair, slow and deliberate. She pressed soft kisses to the top of his head.
"My love, you are no sinner." Her tone left no room for argument, yet stirred something unfamiliar, uncomfortable, within him.
"Perhaps not," he muttered, "but in their eyes, I am. I’ve never cared for others’ opinions… so why does suddenly affect me so now?"
She tilted his head toward her, her kisses trailing to his cheek.
"Let them hate you," she murmured. "For they are undeserving of your love, my Zandik." She pressed a gentle kiss against the beak of his mask, her hand moving to remove it.
"Mama-" Dottore choked out, strained and quiet. His hand quickly moved to seize her wrist yet something stopped him right before he even got to touch her. Why such urgency and panic?
Perhaps he didn’t want her to see those sinful red eyes, perhaps he was ashamed of the scar left by a pitch fork from when he was ten, or perhaps becoming vulnerable once more is making him.. scared. He himself didn’t know. But he couldn’t bring himself to stop her, so he clenched his teeth, his fingers tightening against her thigh and so he let her take off that mask.
Her majesty showed no reaction.
No shock. No disgust.
Only more soft kisses, this time to his forehead and nose.
He wasn’t sure what he had expected… but this, he could accept.
After a while, embarrassment crept in. He buried his face against her chest, hiding from her gaze. To his dismay, a quiet chuckle escaped her.
And once again, her hand returned to his hair, soothing, steady.
She was the only one who truly understood him.