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The next twelve months since her 'impromptu Archonification' were a strange, blissful return to normalcy coupled with the occasional theological conundrum from her self professed devotees. Artoria threw herself into her roles as Grandmaster of the Knights of Favonius and the one she cherished above all others: motherhood.
Her eldest, her beloved little Jean was now ten, a serious, studious girl who spent her mornings sparring with her mother's squire, Varka, now a strapping young man of seventeen, and her afternoons buried in law books and military treaties, her ambition to be a knight just like her mother was burning brighter than ever.
Her adorable Barbara, now five, was a tiny, radiant sunbeam of a child, trailing her mother everywhere, her clear, sweet voice lifting melodies learned from the Church of Favonius. And lastly, Little Benny, her fiery little boy and adventurer, was a whirlwind of scraped knees, muddy boots, and improbable adventures, his uncanny luck turning every potential disaster into a delightful discovery. He was also five years old now, same as with his sister Barbara, and his 'explorations' had become 'legendary', often requiring Artoria to coax him down from the roof of the stables or out of the wine cellar with promises of apple tarts.
As for her nation, Mondstadt continued to prosper. The roads were paved, the trade routes secure, and the Knights of Favonius under her reformed structure were a model of efficiency and honor. Artoria's rule, though strick and disciplined for the Order, was benevolent for the populace, and the people loved their Grandmaster, their Lioness, with a fierce, unwavering devotion.
Then there's the 'Devoted Five', a self proclaimed group consisting of her most trusted companions now turned into HARD LINE worshipers. Their interactions had settled into a comfortable, if not bizarre, new rhythm. They were her most trusted confidants, her most competent officers, and they performed their duties with a zeal that was both gratifying and mildly terrifying.
Sir Hemlock, Captain of the First Company, still bellowed at recruits with the vigor of a man half his age, but his reports would occasionally end with phrases like, "May your continued wisdom guide our blades," delivered with a solemnity that always made her want to pour herself a glass of wine.
Captain Yuan's reconnaissance reports were models of precision, but they were always delivered with a bow and a murmur of, "As you command, my Archon," before he would catch himself, flush slightly, and correct to "my Lady."
Father Theron was the mostartful. His public sermons about the Archon's love for freedom remained unchanged, but his private conversations with her were laced with a knowing, gentle reverence!
He would often bring her small, thoughtful gifts (offerings) such as a rare flower from Sumeru or a beautifully bound book on theology from another land saying things like, "a small offering for the one who hears the nation's prayers," with a twinkle in his eye that dared her to contradict him!
They would even go as far as to make a secret chapel inside of the Cathedral itself! They would often gather there for their 'secret' prayer sessions. Artoria would later discover this 'secret' place of worship after one of her 'check ups' on the group, in which she saw an exquisitely crafted three-foot statue of the the Anemo Archonmonument outside the cathedral square but with her own divine likeness! She remembered being speechless at that time when she first laid her eyes on the icon. She then simply sigh and just pardon them after seeing how exquisitely crafted the statue was. Though she did warned them again not to over do it!
However, little did she and her merry band of fanatics know, another person with an incredibly sharp wit, had began to notice the subtle changes in the behavior of some of his well known colleagues in the Order towards their Grandmaster. And he was about to get into the bottom of it himself.
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One crisp autumn afternoon, the scents of ripe apples and woodsmoke lingers in the air, Artoria found herself a moment of respite in the orchard's of her estate.
The countless rows of Golden Delicious Apple trees in her orchard was a spectacle of bounty to behold, the branches heavy with fruit that glowed like captured sunlight.
Barbara sat beside her on a stone bench, meticulously weaving dandelions into a chain, while Bennett was a few yards away, attempting to teach a particularly plump frog the finer points of marching in formation. The scene was a perfect portrait of domestic peace.
"My most gracious Lady," a respectful and reverent voice called from the gravel path. It was Elspeth, the estate's head stewardess, carrying a silver tray with a single, sealed envelope.
"A message from the Ragnvindr estate. Lord Crepus requests your presence at an informal gathering this evening. He mentions it is a matter of some... cultural importance."
Artoria took the letter, the heavy, cream-colored paper bearing the seals of the Ragnvindr Clan and the Dawn Winery, a cluster of grapes surrounding a stylized flame.
She broke the wax seal, her eyes scanning the elegant, concise script. It was an invitation to a small supper, a wine tasting, to be precise. But it was the final line that made her pause.
"I have recently acquired a vintage from Fontaine that I believe will be of interest. It is said to have been the favored drink of a certain legendary bard. I thought you might appreciate the historical parallel."
Another migraine was about to form in Artoria's head yet, at the same time a slow smile also began to spread across her face.
Crepus Ragnvindr, a fellow Clan head, and the man she elevated into the position of Honorary Knight was no fool. He was shrewd, observant, and relentlessly curious.
For more than four years, he had served as her Honorary Knight of the Order, managing Mondstadt's burgeoning economy with a masterful hand. He had never questioned her authority, never shown any sign of the fanaticism but he watched, and he listened. This was not a mere social invitation. It was a feeler. A gentle probe, extended through the medium of history, poetry, and wine.
"Mama, who's that from?" Barbara asked, looking up from her daisy chain.
"A business associate, my little songbird," Artoria said, tucking the letter into her sleeve. "It seems Mama has to go on a small adventure tonight."
"Can I come?" Barbara's eyes went wide with hope.
"Not this time, sweetie. This is grown-up talk. But I'll tell you all about it when I get back." She ruffled Barbara's hair, her gaze softening as she watched her son, who had now given up on the frog and was trying to balance a shiny apple on his head.
"Varka!"
Her young squire, who had been practicing his forms by the stables, jogged over. "My Lady?"
"I have an engagement this evening at the Dawn Winery. Send a letter to Captain Hemlock, tell him that by my orders, you'll be temporarily excuse from your assignments in the First Company tonight, and instead assigned to guard duty around my estate. Coordinate with the knights of the Tenth Company who are currently patroling around the estate. Make sure you guard this place and of my children while I'm away." she added, gesturing to Jean and her two the younger children with a fond, exasperated sigh.
It has been 10 months since she had decided to allow her squire to have a proper experience around the Order. Thus, with the help of her captains, she assigned Varka on a rotating assignment in each of the Ten companies for a period of one month each per rotation. The plan is to allow him to gain valuable insights to the inner workings of each company and to expose him to the realities of their respective works. This month, he was assigned to the First Company, under the strick supervision of Hemlock, who would usually assign Varka into Night Patrols either within the City or the nearby countryside.
Her squire is now being molded into a proper sword and hopefully in time, would eventually succeed her in the position of Grandmaster.
"I expect the orchard to be standing, and my son to be free of amphibians when I return."
Varka grinned, a flash of white in his earnest face. "As you command, my Lady. I shall not fail!"
Artoria trusted him. The boy had grown into a fine young man, his loyalty as unyielding as the cliffs of Dragonspine. She knowns that he would protect her children with his life.
And she plans to elevate him to knighthood very soon.
With her home and children secured, she turned and walked back towards the mansion, a sense of pleasant anticipation replacing her earlier peace. This evening's event would sure be interesting.
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(Windwail Highland, Mondstadt)
The Dawn Winery at dusk was a vision of rustic elegance.
The setting sun cast a warm, golden glow over the vast vineyards, painting the rolling hills in shades of amber and rose. The air was thick with the sweet, fermenting scent of grapes, a smell of prosperity and patient craft.
Crepus Ragnvindr greeted her at the gates to his abode himself with a dozen maids and manservants flanking him on each side.
He was a handsome man in his prime, his red hair striking as the flame with a hue comparable to his deep red eyes, which held a sharp, intelligent light. He was dressed not as a nobleman, but as a vintner, in a simple white linen shirt and leather apron, his hands stained with the juice of his craft.
"My Grandmaster," he said, his voice a warm, welcoming baritone. He gave a deep, respectful bow. "An honor as always. I welcome you to my humble abode."
"The honor is mine, Master Crepus. Your invitation was most intriguing," she replied, her voice smooth and measured.
"I confess, a bottle of Fontainian wine is a temptation I cannot easily resist." Artoria added.
He then led her through the grand foyer of his home and into a private study, a room of dark wood, leather-bound books, and the crackling warmth of a stone fireplace. A small table was set for two, laden with cheese, bread, and a single, elegant crystal decanter filled with wine the color of liquid rubies.
Artoria then noticed two young figures who were already in the room.
A boy of about ten, with hair as red as his father's and a serious, determined expression, was trying to stand as still as a statue, his posture a perfect, if stiff, imitation of a knight at attention. This was Diluc.
Beside him, slouching with a practiced languor that seemed entirely at odds with the formal setting, was another boy of the same age. His hair was a deep, striking blue, and his eyes were periwinkle in color with diamond-shaped pupils which speaks of a lineage from a forgotten mysterious past. Overall, his appearance gave him an air of roguish mystery even for a child of his age. This was Kaeya, Crepus's adopted son.
Both boys idolized the Knights of Favonius, and by extension, her. She had taken them as apprentices a few months ago after their father, Crepus personally requested her. They, alongside her daughter Jean, would be taught personally by her, imparting lessons in the sword and in strategy whenever her schedule allowed it.
Artoria allowed a small, genuine smile to touch her lips. "Diluc. Kaeya. You boys are both looking well."
The boys straightened even further, Diluc's face flushing with pride. Kaeya simply offered a sly, two finger salute, which earned him an elbow from his now annoyed brother.
"Grandmaster. Father said we might be permitted to observe.", Diluc replied.
"Only if you observe the rules of silence and stillness," Crepus admonished gently, before gesturing for Artoria to take her seat.
Once they were settled, he picked up the decanter, his movements economical and precise as he poured the deep red wine into their glasses.
"This, my Lady, is 'Bard's Reverie'. A very rare vintage, aged for more than 50 years. The legend, as you may know, claims its flavor was inspired by the melodies of a wandering minstrel who once frequented the vineyards of the Belleau Region in Fontaine during its creation. A minstrel of some mysterious and whimsical renown, if the stories are to be believed."
Artoria raised her glass, swirling the wine with a practiced hand. She examined its color, its legs, before bringing it to her nose.
The aroma was complex, a symphony of dark berries, a hint of oak, and something else... something airy and bright, like wind through fields of cecilia flowers. It was an aroma that felt suspiciously familiar.
She took a sip.
The wine was exquisite, but it was the sensation it evoked that was truly remarkable. It was like tasting a memory, the feeling of a gentle breeze on a warm summer day, the sound of a carefree song, the image of a clear, endless sky.
"It is... remarkable," she said, setting her glass down with deliberate slowness. "The legend does not do it justice. It truly gives a unique and unforgettable taste, that reminds me of home."
Crepus smiled, a slow, knowing curve of his lips. "That is precisely what I thought. It got me to thinking about legends, and about how they often hold a kernel of truth."
He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a more intimate, conspiratorial tone. "Especially the legends of our own Archon, Barbatos, the god who often times wander in the disguise of a simple bard. He is an archetype, is he not? The freedom-loving spirit who shuns the trappings of power, preferring to walk among his people in disguise."
Artoria met his gaze, her own expression unreadable, a placid lake that gave no hint of the deep currents moving beneath its surface.
"That is the prevailing belief, yes. The people find comfort in a deity who is not a distant tyrant, but a kindred spirit."
"Indeed," Crepus mused, swirling the wine in his own glass.
"But it is also a convenient belief, is it not? A god who is absent is a god who cannot be held accountable. For years, our city languished under the greed of one man, while our so-called Archon slept. Then from out of nowhere, a savior suddenly appears, as if coming out from a legend.
A woman of immense power, bearing an uncanny resemblance to the Gunnhildr line, who single-handedly reformed our city, revitalizes the Order, and ushered in an age of prosperity we have not seen in centuries."
He paused, letting his words hang in the air, a fisherman casting a lure, waiting for a bite.
"It is a coincidence so profound," he continued, his eyes locked on hers, "that it begins to feel less like chance and more like... design. As if the Archon, seeing the desperation of his people, decided to take a new form. A form capable of not just singing hymns of freedom, but can also actively defend it."
Artoria remained silent, her expression perfectly composed. She had expected this. She had prepared for it. Yet, hearing it spoken aloud, articulated with such shrewd, respectful conviction, sent a different kind of tremor through her. This was not the fervent, unquestioning faith of her 'Devoted Five'.
This was a logical, evidence-based conclusion, and it was, she had to admit, worryingly persuasive.
Across the room, Diluc was watching with wide-eyed, rapt attention, his small fists clenched in awe. Kaeya, however, seemed more intrigued by the patterns the firelight made on the ceiling, though the occasional flick of his eyes towards his father betrayed his keen interest.
"Master Crepus," Artoria said, her voice a calm, steady counterpoint to his probing.
"You speak of legends and coincidences. But you forget one simple, practical truth. I am a woman. The Archon, as depicted in every statue in this city, is a man, somewhat androgynous, yet a man nonetheless. And a young, winged one, at that." She gestured vaguely towards the ceiling.
"A rather significant detail for the legends to have overlooked, wouldn't you say?"
Crepus chuckled, a low, appreciative sound. He was not deterred in the slightest.
"My Lady, you are thinking like a mortal. We speak of a being who carved a canyon with a single arrow of wind, who elevated a slave-girl to near godhood, who can command the very sky itself. Is it such a great leap to imagine that the form he chooses is not bound by... conventional limitations? Perhaps the depictions of the 'male' archon were merely his preferred disguise, a convenient one for a god wishing to remain anonymous. A goddess of freedom, however... a warrior queen who is also a loving mother... that is a far more powerful, a far more fitting image for the savior of Mondstadt."
He leaned back in his chair, his point made, his case laid bare. "I did not bring this up to cause you discomfort, my Lady. I bring it up because I am a man who has sworn fealty to you. And I believe a vassal should know the true nature of their sovereign, be they mortal or…. divine. My loyalty is to you, Artoria Pendragon Gunnhildr. It always will be. But my faith... I believe will always belong to Barbatos. And I have come to the delightful, humbling conclusion that you are one and the same."
Artoria took a slow, deliberate sip of the Bard's Reverie. The wine suddenly felt less like a memory and more like a mirror. This was not a challenge. It was an offering of faith on his own terms. A proposition. He wasn't demanding she confirm it; he was asking her to accept his belief.
She could deny it, of course. She could dismiss it as fanciful thinking. But she had tried that with the others. It had only strengthened their conviction. A flat denial to a man like Crepus would be seen as a strategic retreat, an exercise in divine modesty. He was too smart, he had pieced together too much. Denial was no longer an effective tool.
"Master Crepus," she began, her voice taking on a quieter, more intimate tone, one she used with Jean when discussing matters of honor.
"Your intellect is as sharp as any blade I have ever wielded, and your loyalty is a fortress. I value them both more than you can ever know."
She set her glass down and met his gaze directly, her emerald eyes holding a depth that seemed to borrow from the starlight outside.
"Let us speak of hypotheticals. Let us say that a god, in his infinite wisdom, saw his people suffering. And let us say this god chose to walk among them, not as a distant, untouchable deity, but as one of them. As a leader, a warrior, a mother. What purpose would there be in broadcasting this truth? A god who reveals their hand invites grander conflicts. The Tsaritsa's eyes would turn this way. The Sages of Sumeru would covet such a power. The very foundations of Teyvat would tremble."
She leaned forward, mirroring his earlier posture, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
"What if the greatest act of love that god could offer her people was not a miracle, but a secret? Not a throne of clouds, but a desk in the Knights' headquarters. Not a divine decree, but a signed order authorizing the repair of a bridge. What if the purest form of worship that god could ask for... is silence?"
Crepus stared at her, his breath caught in his throat. He had expected denial, perhaps even amusement. He had not expected to be drawn into the divine inner circle, to be trusted with the very logic of godhood itself.
Her words were not a denial. They were a confirmation, wrapped in a plea for discretion. She was not saying, "I am not a god." She was saying, "I am a god, and this is our sacred secret."
A profound, humbling understanding washed over him. He saw it now. The weight on her shoulders was not just the burden of leadership, but the burden of divinity hidden in plain sight. The late nights, the tireless reforms, the fierce protection to her children, it was all an act of worship, a prayer made manifest in duty and love.
He slowly and deliberately, rose from his chair. Diluc, watching his father, scrambled to his feet, his young mind struggling to comprehend the gravity of the moment. Kaeya, his lazy slouch gone, straightened up, his eyes widen with dawning realization.
Crepus walked around the table and, with a grace that belied his noble bearing, went down on one knee before her.
It was not the same abject worship of her inner circle; it was the solemn, heartfelt reverence of a knight pledging fealty to his true sovereign.
"My Lady," he said, his voice thick with emotion.
"Your secret is safe. My house, my fortune, my sons... all are yours to command. We are your silent shield. Your unseen blade. Your unshakable faith. We will serve the woman that the world sees, and we will worship the goddess we now understand."
Artoria rose from her own chair, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"Rise, Master Crepus. The Patriarch of the Ragnvindr Clan and the vintner of Dawn Winery should not kneel. He should stand proud, as a pillar of the community he helps to build." Her voice was filled with a warmth and gratitude that was more genuine than any divine pronouncement.
She looked past him to the two boys, who stood frozen, their faces a mixture of awe and confusion.
"And you two," she said, her tone softening, becoming that of the mentor they knew.
"This does not change your training. If anything, it makes it more important. The world is a dangerous place. A knight's duty is to protect the innocent and uphold justice, no matter who sits in the Grandmaster's chair. Do you understand?"
Diluc, his face flushed with a solemn, sacred fire, nodded vigorously. "Yes, my Lady! I swear it!"
Kaeya, ever the contrarian, simply offered a wry, lopsided grin. "Protect the innocent. Uphold justice. Got it. Sounds a lot more fun than polishing armor."
Artoria couldn't help but chuckle. She still couldn't believe how these unexpected things kept happening, one after another.
She came to Teyvat through some unknown means and waking up as a deity. She initially sought a life of adventure yet she got motherhood. She accepted motherhood, she became a national leader. She became a leader, and her people started thinking she was their long lost god. Now her most influential vassal had just joined the fan club. What's next? The Archons or even the Hexenzirkel themselves dropping by for tea?
The thought sent a fresh wave of exhaustion through her. She loved Mondstadt. She loved her children. She loved her life, and in a sort of odd way, she's starting to get use to being worshipped by those who sees her as a goddess. But sometimes, she just missed the simple, uncomplicated thrill of a good boss fight!
"Come, let us finish the wine," she said, gesturing back to the table.
"The Bard's Reverie should not be wasted. Oh, and one more thing before I forget."
Artoria then let a sliver of her divinity manifest bathing the entire room with a soft golden glow. She then stretched out her left hand and willed some golden tendrils of her power to gently flow out of the window and into the vast vineyard outside, softly bathing and nourishing it towards a promising bountiful harvest.
The very similar blessing to what she commonly perform to her own orchards.
Artoria smiled. "There, think of this as a gift and a compliment for your hard work Master Crepus. Expect a bountiful harvest, after all, we can't let the wine industry suffer or it would spell disaster to our nation right?" Artoria said with a sly and knowing smile.
Crepus for his part was stunned, not only did he confirm his belief he also just saw his Archon perform a miracle right in front of him. A small miracle, a miracle of a blessed harvest.
Crepus, overcome with emotion, could only manage a choked whisper. "A... a blessing... My Archon. You honor us."
The rest of the evening passed in a comfortable, if strange, haze.
Crepus was practically buzzing with a quiet, fervent energy, asking her opinion on trade routes and city planning with the reverence of a prophet seeking divine counsel.
Artoria, in turn, gave him practical, sound advice, her mind already calculating logistics and potential outcomes. The wine was drunk, the cheese consumed, and an unbreakable bond was forged between a goddess-queen and one of her most devout, and useful, follower.
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As her carriage and escorts made their way back towards her home under the silvery light of the moons, Artoria's mind began to wander. Her thought was not centered on various political maneuverings or the theological headaches that her inner circle would occasionally present her.
It was on a single, terrifying thought.
Her 'flock' was growing. First, her stewardess and household staff, then came her inner circle of five. Now, the richest man in all Mondstadt, a man of immense influence and intelligence. This made her beg the question of 'Who's next?'
Sir Hemlock is constantly spreading his particular brand of unwavering loyalty throughout the First Company. Muscovado's research, no doubt, now had a new, divine focus. Theron was likely drafting new hymns in his head at that very moment!
Her carefully hidden divinity was becoming less and less of a secret and had already began to sprout a religion being born the shadows, and she was its unwilling and reluctant messiah!
Little did she know that as she ponders about the current state of her life, somewhere in the hilly forests of Mondstadt, a being of untold power, a god who's life and struggles became the very cornerstone of Mondstadt itself, was beginning to stir out from his centuries of slumber. What he'll witness when he finally wakes up will lead to a monumental decision that will forever change the future of an entire nation.
(End of Chapter)
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The Ragnvindr Clan
- One of the three most influential clans of Mondstadt, and one of its four founding clans, alongside the Gunnhildr Clan, the Lawrence Clan and the Imunlaukr Clan.
- The Clan's lineage can be trace as far back as the era of Decarbian's reign, where a Red-haired warrior played a key role in overthrowing the Tyrant of the Storms, alongside other heroes such as the nameless bard and Gunnhildr.
- However, the clan's namesake came from Ragnvindr the Dawn Knight, a historical figure who lived during Mondstadt's Aristocratic period over one thousand years ago. He later joined Vennessa's rebellion against the aristocracy and was said to have founded the Dawn Winery later in his life.
- Currently, Crepus Ragnvindr serves as the Head and Patriarch of the Clan, who also serves the Knights of Favonius as an Honorary Knight.
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