In the pavilion in the Court of Fontaine
Earth Time: March 8th, 1941
The lights in the pavilion dimmed as the last of the audience settled into their seats. Aether sat between Paimon and Xavier in the third row, where they were close enough to see the screen clearly but far enough back that he could observe the crowd's reactions. Behind them, he could hear the rustle of the Wehrmacht uniforms as Meyer and his delegation took their reserved seats. The Fatui operatives spread through the theater like shadows, their masks catching the last glimmers of lamplight before the darkness fell completely. They watched the other films with the Sumeru film making people constantly laugh like crazy, some of the German delegates commented that it reminded them of Don Quoxite. The Mondstadt film was also greet with emotion and drama that played Vennessa's rebellion and a good recreation of someone acting as Barbatos. Aether wondered how Venti would feel about this adaption. Then the film ended with then their film played with the title of The Two Musketeers playing with the story of two siblings on journey for vengeance against the one who killed their mother. Chevyruse played her character really well, but Aether was especially caught in the way that Ayaka with her hair as white as snow and movement as graceful as a bird played her character. The two played as a good duo with emotional action and drama throughout the story. Then came the German-Fatui film.
The opening credits appeared in stark white letters against black:
UNIVERSUM FILM AGin Zusammenarbeit mit demSNEZHNAYAN KULTURMINISTERIUMpräsentiert
Then, in larger letters that filled the screen:
ZWEI WELTEN, EIN HERZ
(Two Worlds, One Heart)
Regie: Herbert Selpin
(Directed by Herbert Selpin)
The title faded, replaced by an aerial shot that made several audience members gasp. A city sprawled beneath winter clouds, its architect unlike anything in Teyvat. Massive stone buildings lined wide boulevards. Columns and domes punctuated the skyline. On all of the buildings were banners of flags of that crooked cross rippling the cold wind. The lens lovingly traced the grand architect and the busy streets that showed the sense of a society of order and purpose. Then a narration voice begin in German with translated subtitles appearing at the bottom of the screen.
"Berlin. A city of culture, of strength, of destiny. Where the old world meets the new. Where the impossible becomes real."
The film introduced its protagonists with calculated care. Yelena, a Fatui Electro Cicin Mage stationed at the Snezhnayan Embassy, beautiful and isolated in a strange world. Hans, a Wehrmacht officer, kind-faced and curious, ordered to attend a diplomatic reception. The camera work was sumptuous, the music swelling as their eyes met across a crowded ballroom with the crooked cross and eight-pointed star hanging side by side in the background.
"Remarkable," Hans breathed in one scene as Yelena demonstrated her powers, cicins dancing in purple light. "Perhaps together, our worlds can learn from each other. Your discipline, our gifts. Your technology, our ancient wisdom."
The courtship unfolded in a montage that made Aether's jaw tighten. Hans and Yelena in a snow-covered Berlin park.
Yelena experiencing Wagner for the first time, tears in her eyes,"Your world has such culture. Such strength and purpose. I understand now why the Tsaritsa sees Germany as a true partner."
Hans listening reverently as Yelena spoke of the Cryo Archon's vision, "Your Tsaritsa sounds remarkable. A leader who dares to forge alliances across the very boundaries of reality itself."
Every scene was designed to normalize, to romanticize, to make the alliance seem not just acceptable but beautiful.
"This is making Paimon sick," Paimon whispered, her voice tight, "They're making the Fatui sound like heroes."
The film reached its crisis: Yelena ordered back to Snezhnaya, Hans finding her at the embassy gates in the rain, declaring his love. "My duty is to build bridges between our peoples. What better bridge could there be than this?"
The music swelled as they embraced, the camera framing them against both flags. Then a montage showed them together across Berlin with her teaching him cicin magic and him showing her German engineering. Both of them commended at an official ceremony for their 'contribution to German-Snezhnayan relations.'
The final scene placed them on a balcony overlooking nighttime Berlin, cicins floating around them like purple stars mixing with amber streetlights.
"Two worlds," Yelena said softly.
"One heart," Hans completed.
They kissed as the camera rose above the city until Berlin was just a constellation of lights beneath winter clouds.
DAS ENDE
Ein Film über Freundschaft, Mut, und die Macht der Liebe,die alle Grenzen überwindet
(A film about friendship, courage, and the power of love that transcends all boundaries)
After the propaganda, the last film was played where the atmosphere in the pavilion felt different for Aether. The applause was there and loud, but it carried as if the audience was still trying to understand what they had just witnessed before them in Zwei Welten, Ein Herz. Aether especially watched Neuvillette rise from his seat at the front row with his long white hair and blue outfit. Iudex's expression was shown to be carefully neutral, he moved toward the stage with measured steps and the murmuring in the crowd died down.
"The committee thanks all the filmmakers for their entries," Neuvillette announced, his voice carrying that characteristic resonance that commanded attention without demanding it, "The judging panel will now convene to deliberate. We ask that all attendees remain in the plaza area. The results will be announced within two hours."
As people began filing out, Aether noticed Furina hadn't moved. Her blue crown-like tophat and tailored navy blue coat-dress with gold trim and buttons shined in the lighting of the pavilion.
"Furina?" Aether called softly as he moved to her row.
Furina blinked with her bright blue eyes as she was in a trance and then looked up at Aether.
"Aether….Paimon…." She said quieter than she was days ago, "That was ... .did you see?"
"We saw," Aether confirmed, sliding into the seat beside her.
Furina's gaze drifted back to the screen, "I couldn't even watch that last film properly without thinking about that….well….That film... it was masterfully done. Every shot, every line of dialogue, every musical cue designed to make you feel something specific. To make you think about something specific."
"It's propaganda," Paimon said by reminding her.
"Oh, I know," Furina replied, a hint of her usual sharpness returning. "But that doesn't make it less effective. I watched Fontainians around me and I saw them getting swept up in it. The romance, the music, the idea that two different worlds could come together in harmony..."
She shook her head. "It's a beautiful lie. And beautiful lies are the most dangerous kind."
Xavier approached, having been stopped by several other filmmakers on his way out.
"Lady Furina," he said with a respectful nod. "Your thoughts on the competition?"
Furina stood, smoothing her outfit with hands that trembled slightly. "My thoughts, Monsieur Xavier, are that we've just witnessed something that transcends film competition entirely."
She turned to face them fully, and Aether saw genuine fear in her eyes which is something that he'd rarely seen.
__________________________________________________________________
Two Hours Later
Two hours felt like an eternity as Aether, Apimon, and Xavier waited in the plaza along with the rest of the festival attendees. The German delegation stood in a tight cluster near the pavilion entrance, Meyer occasionally jotting notes in his small book. The Fatui operatives dispersed throughout the crowd, their masked faces unreadable but their body language gave the impression that they monitoring the reactions, conversations, and everything about the crowd.
Selpin moved among various groups, charming and affable, accepting early congratulations from some fontainians who seemed certain his film would win. Aether noticed the Director's confidence, the way he smiled and gestured as if the outcome was already decided. Finally, the doors opened where Neuvillette emerged, followed by the five judges.
The crowd gathered around as Neuvillette mounted the small stage and the plaza fell silent.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Neuvillette began, his voice carrying that ancient authority that demanded attention without force, "The First Fontinalia Film Festival has presented five exceptional entries, each demonstrating remarkable artistry and vision. The judging panel has completed their deliberations."
He paused, his gaze sweeping across the crowd, lingering for just a moment on the German delegation.
"This festival was founded on principles that Fontaine holds sacred: fairness, artistic integrity, and the belief that art should be judged on its merits, not on the power of those who create it. The panel was charged with evaluating these films on cinematography, direction, performance, technical achievement, and narrative strength."
He paused, and Aether noticed his hands were clasped behind his back, fingers interlaced tightly.
"Before I announce the results," Neuvillette continued, "I must acknowledge that this competition has proven more complex than anticipated. We invited filmmakers from across Teyvat and beyond. We established judging criteria focused on artistic merit: cinematography, direction, performance, narrative coherence, and technical achievement."
Another pause. Aether could see Meyer leaning forward slightly, his face intent.
"The panel debated extensively," Neuvillette said. "There were... differing opinions on how certain criteria should be weighted. On whether some considerations transcended pure technical assessment."
His eyes swept the crowd, "Ultimately, however, a decision was reached by majority vote."
He gestured to the judges behind him.
"Third place, for Excellence in Comedy and Cultural Storytelling: The Scholar's Quest, the Sumeru entry."
Polite applause followed immediately as the Sumeru director of the film, a elderly man with ink-stained fingers, accepted with a dignified bow.
"Second place, for Excellence in Historical Drama and Visual Spectacle: The Rebellion of the Falcon, the Mondstadt entry depicting Vennessa's uprising."
Stronger applause this time followed as The Mondstadt director stepped forward, a middle-aged woman whose calloused hands spoke of years working with actual film equipment.
Neuvillette's pause before the final announcement lasted several heartbeats. Aether saw Selpin stub out his cigarette while Meyer's expression had gone very still.
"And first place," Neuvillette said, his voice level and clear, "for Overall Excellence in Narrative Filmmaking, goes to The Two Musketeers, the Fontaine entry directed by Xavier."
For a moment, there was stunned silence. Until the fontainian section of the crowd erupted in applause and cheers. Xavier stood frozen for a heartbeat before Aether pushed him forward. The director moved forward in onto the stage and accepted the golden statue of Furina from Neuvillette's hands.
"Thank you," Xavier, managed to say, "Thank you all so much for your recognition and support, his film was created by many hands. Actors from across nations that made a crew who believed in the story we were telling made this possible, whom I owe a special thanks to."
The applause continued, but aether stopped watching Xavier and instead turned toward the German delegation Meyer's face had gone completely expressionless. Beside him, Selpin looked stricken as if he had been physically struck. The other Wehrmacht Officers stood rigid, but their applause looked cold. Meanwhile, the Fatui operatives hadn't moved at all One of the masked figures turned her head toward where Neuvillette stood. Even from this distance, even through the mask, Aether could feel the weight of that gaze.
"Oh boy," Paimon whispered. "Paimon thinks those soldiers aren't happy."
"No," Aether agreed quietly. "They're not."
As the crowd began to disperse, some moving to congratulate Xavier. Others heading toward the exits with nervous backward glances at the German delegation, Aether noticed Neuvillette descending from the stage. The Iudex moved through the crowd with purpose, his path bringing him directly toward where Aether and Paimon stood.
"Traveler," Neuvillette said, his voice pitched for their ears only. "Might I have a word? In private."
"Of course," Aether replied.
Aether and Paimon followed Neuvillette to his office at the Palais Mermonia, which was a long walk through the evening streets of Fontaine as it required taking an evaluator to the upper heights of the Court of Fontaine. They passed many citizens of the nation of law, most unaware of the brewing diplomatic storm that had just been unleashed at the film festival. However, after about 20 minutes, they arrived and passed through the grand doors, they saw a few Melusine doing various work. Aether recognized one as Sedene, who offered a small wave before returning to organize some stack of legal documents. Another, whose name that Aether couldn't recall, paused in her hurried passage down the corridor to bow to Neuvillette before continuing on her way. Neuvillette led them to office, which was a space that Aether had been very familiar with since his journey into Fontaine but never for something like this kind of situation. The room was elegant as Aether remembered with its grand space, furniture, the tall glass blue window shined with sun on it, and the two couches facing each other. As they entered, Sedene arrived to close the door behind them as Neuvillette walked up to his desk and sat on his chair.
"That was difficult," he said finally, his voice quiet in the stillness of the office.
"The judging?" Aether asked, moving to stand a respectful distance behind him.
"The decision." Neuvillette admitted, "Normally, I do not get involved in such affairs outside of my duties. However, I felt that the situation called for it, I agreed to ensure that the results were fair and were not pressed by outside forces."
Neuvillette leaned back slightly in his chair, his fingers steepled before him, "The panel was indeed split with three to two votes between the Two Musketeers and the German Film. Some of the judges were concerned as they were torn between their professional assessment and their instincts.
Aether settled onto one of the couches, Paimon floating down to sit beside him.
"What convinced them?" Aether asked.
"Ultimately, it was a question I posed to them." Neuvillette's ancient eyes reflected the lamplight, "I asked them to consider not just what they were judging, but what their judgment would mean. Especially what message Fontaine would send by crowning one film over another."
Neuvillette rose from his chair and moved to the tall blue window with his silhouette framed against the evening light filtering through as he continued to speak, "By purely technical measures, the German-Snezhnayan film was exceptional as they have everything that they need to make the film."
"But that wasn't the whole picture," Aether said.
"No," Neuvillette turned from the window, "There were concerns on the precedent that it would set for Fontaine especially in the fact that most of the directors do not have the resources of two nations combined. Plus some of the judges were not comfortable about the political message on the propaganda seen Eventually, they agreed that the Two Musketeers, while less polished but more honest in its intent, deserved the reward."
"But are you concerned about what the German's and Fatui will say or do now?" Paimon asked as she floated over to his desk.
Neuvillette closed his eyes with a smirk, which is a rare occurrence for him as he replied to Paimon's concern, "Not much really, the German's claim that they are fighting for a world of German righteousness. Well, I suspect if the film is a vision of what that world is, I believe that at the moment that they have their hands full on making that world. Plus I doubt that the film is enough for a casus belli at all. The Fatui, on the other hand….well, I guess we will see soon then."
Then the doors opened with Sedene arrived with a knock.
"Monsieur Iudex, Oberleutnant Meyer wishes to speak you about the decision of the judges at the Film Festival. He says that it is urgent." She said softly with her face troubled.
Neuvillette's smirk faded, replaced by his usual composed neutrality. "I informed him through Liath that I would see him tomorrow at ten o'clock. Did he not receive that message?"
"He did, Monsieur," Sedene replied, wringing her small hands nervously. "He said he received it, but that the matter cannot wait until tomorrow. That there are... misunderstandings that must be corrected immediately before they cause irreparable damage to relations between Fontaine and the German Reich."
She lowered her voice as she continued, "He was very polite about it, Monsieur, but there was something in his eyes that made me uncomfortable."
Neuvillette was silent for a moment, his gaze unreadable but then he glanced at Aether and Paimon as . "It appears the Oberleutnant is more insistent than I anticipated."
"Should we leave?" Aether asked, starting to rise from the couch.
"No," Neuvillette said firmly as he returned to his seat, "Stay. I suspect having witnesses to this conversation may prove... prudent."
He turned back to Sedene, "Show the Oberleutnant in. And Sedene, please remain nearby in case I need to summon additional documentation or witnesses."
"Of course, Monsieur," Sedene said, relief evident in her voice that she wouldn't have to tell the intimidating foreign officer 'no' again. She disappeared, and moments later, the sound of measured military footsteps echoed down the corridor.
Oberleutnant Meyer entered the office with the bearing of a man who was accustomed to being obeyed. His Wehrmacht uniform was immaculate, every button polished, every crease precise. He removed his peaked cap and tucked it under his arm as he stood at attention before Neuvillette's desk as he gave a salute extending his arm out and a sharp 'Heil Hitler'.
Neuvillette remained seated with his hands folded on his desk and did not return the gesture. After a moment of complete silence, he simply inclined his head slightly, "Oberleutnant Meyer. Please, sit."
Meyer's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly as he lowered his arm and settled into the couch that faced toward Aether and Paimon.
"Herr Iudex," Meyer began with his tone both cold and professional, "I apologize for the late intrusion, but the matter is of considerable urgency. What transpired at the festival this evening cannot wait tomorrow to be addressed."
"So I was informed," Neuvillette replied, his voice calm and measured. "However, I was under the impression we had scheduled a meeting for tomorrow morning at ten o'clock. Was that arrangement not satisfactory?"
Meyer's eyes narrowed slightly, "Under normal circumstances, it would be more than satisfactory. However, these are not normal circumstances, Herr Iudex. What occurred at the festival this evening represents a significant diplomatic incident that requires immediate clarification before misunderstandings harden into something more... regrettable."
"I see no incident," Neuvillette said evenly, "A film competition was held according to established rules. Independent judges evaluated the entries according to publicly announced criteria. A decision was reached through proper deliberation and majority vote. The process was transparent, fair, and conducted with integrity."
"Fair?" Meyer's voice remained controlled, but something sharp entered it. "Herr Iudex, with all due respect, I must contest that characterization with strong emphasis. The German-Snezhnayan film was demonstrably superior in by exceeding all other entries in all technological elements."
"Technical proficiency is only one aspect of artistic merit," Neuvillette replied. "The judges evaluated overall excellence, which includes narrative integrity, thematic depth, and artistic honesty. They determined The Two Musketeers best exemplified those qualities."
Meyer leaned forward slightly. "Or they determined that politics were more important than quality. That avoiding the awkwardness of honoring a film celebrating the Reich was worth compromising your competition's integrity."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop quickly.
Neuvillette's expression didn't change, but something ancient flickered behind his eyes, "Oberleutnant Meyer, I will assume you misspoke due to disappointment. Because the alternative in accusing Fontaine's institutions of corruption would be an insult I could not overlook."
Meyer held his ground. "I am stating facts as I observe them. The superior film was denied recognition due to political considerations which suggests either incompetence or bias among your judges."
"Your premise is flawed," Neuvillette said, his voice taking on absolute authority. "You assume technical superiority automatically equals artistic excellence. It does not. The judges concluded that The Two Musketeers, while less polished, told a more honest story with greater integrity. It explored genuine moral complexity without resorting to emotional manipulation for political purposes."
"Political purposes," Meyer repeated, "What I witnessed was a deliberate choice to punish the Reich for its Snezhnayan alliance."
"If you interpret honest evaluation as punishment, that reveals more about your expectations than our intentions," Neuvillette replied, "Fontaine has not taken sides in Earth's conflicts. We judged art according to our principles. Nothing more."
Meyer set his cap on the arm of the couch as he responded, "Then let me speak plainly, Herr Iudex. The Reich invested considerable resources in this film as a gesture of cultural exchange. Your rejection sends a message that Fontaine views the Reich with suspicion rather than friendship. And after years of being unfairly treated as lesser beings by Europe, this will be noted in Berlin."
Neuvillette's expression grew colder, "The Reich's interpretation is the Reich's concern. We cannot control Berlin's reactions, nor will we compromise our principles to manage them."
"Perceptions matter in international relations," Meyer said, his voice lowering, "Berlin will expect an explanation. They will want to know if Fontaine deliberately insulted the Reich, or if this was poor judgment by biased evaluators. The distinction matters for future relations."
"Then report accurately," Neuvillette said with finality. "Report that Fontaine held a fair competition. That our judgment reflects honest professional assessment. If Berlin manufactures insults from an honest process, that reveals more about Berlin's expectations than Fontaine's intentions."
Meyer's eyes went very cold, "You understand the Reich has many friends across Teyvat. That our Snezhnayan alliance opens many doors. Nations that cooperate with us find it... beneficial. Those who choose hostility..."
He spread his hands slightly, "They often discover isolation carries costs."
Neuvillette rose from his chair, drawing to his full height with a reply "Is that a threat, Oberleutnant?"
Meyer stood as well. "A simple observation about international relations. Actions have consequences and I would be failing my duty if I didn't ensure you understood the implications."
"I understand perfectly," Neuvillette said quietly, but with absolute authority, "You're attempting to intimidate Fontaine into reversing a fair judgment. By suggesting we'll face consequences unless we validate your propaganda."
His eyes held dangerous depths that Aether knew never those purple shaded eyes could hold, "Allow me to be equally clear. Fontaine rebuilt itself after centuries of crisis. We do not bend to threats and we certainly do not compromise our principles for convenience. If the Reich wishes to interpret honest evaluation as an insult and to punish us for refusing to validate propaganda, so be it. We will face those consequences with our integrity intact."
Meyer stood very still, calculating. Finally, he reached for his cap. "I see we will not reach an understanding tonight. Very well. I will report that Fontaine stands by this decision despite the obvious superiority of our entry and the diplomatic implications."
"Report that Fontaine stands by the integrity of its processes and principles," Neuvillette corrected, "How your government chooses to editorialize is your decision."
Meyer placed his cap on his head with military precision, "I hope, for both our nations' sake, that tonight's decision doesn't prove to be the beginning of unnecessary complications."
"Fontaine does not require a relationship with the Reich," Neuvillette said simply. "We are cordial with all nations, but dependent on none. Our principles are not negotiable with anybody."
Meyer turned toward the door, then paused, looking back at Aether, "Traveler, I noticed you helped with the winning film. I wonder how fortunate for Herr Xavier to have such influential friends. I'm certain that had no bearing on the judges' decision at all, I hope."
Aether met his gaze steadily, "I held a camera for a few scenes and helped on editing at times. The film won because Xavier is a talented director who told an honest story about justice and corruption. Your film couldn't manage that because it was too busy making an alliance with the Fatui look like destiny instead of what it really is."
Meyer's smile was thin and cold. "One nation's truth is another's propaganda, Traveler. What you call propaganda, we call presenting reality."
Meyer then turned back to Neuvillette,"Tomorrow at ten o'clock, Herr Iudex. I will be punctual."
"I expect nothing less," Neuvillette replied, the words formally correct but carrying no warmth.
Meyer gave a sharp nod, executed a precise about-face, and strode from the office. His footsteps echoed down the corridor with measured military precision. For a few moments, the office was silent and Paimon let out a sharp breath that she did not know that she was hold back.
Sedene appeared at the door. "Monsieur? Is everything all right?"
"Yes, Sedene. Thank you." Neuvillette's voice was tired. "Please inform the night staff I'll be working late as there will be documents to prepare."
After she left, Neuvillette moved to the window, looking out over Fontaine's lights. "Well. That went approximately as expected."
"He threatened you," Paimon said, her voice small.
"Yes. Wrapped in diplomatic language I have heard before, but a threat nonetheless." Neuvillette didn't turn from the window, "The Reich will not forget this, I have no doubts on that. They'll frame it as an insult because that serves their interests."
"What will they do?" Aether asked.
"Complaining through diplomatic channels, threatening to withdraw from cultural exchanges, and trying to pressure other nations to isolate us is what I imagine." Neuvillette's reflection was visible in the dark glass, "But Germany itself is limited. They're fighting a war on Earth. Fontaine is beyond their direct reach. Their anger is real, but their immediate options are few. One cannot fight two fronts at once with finite resources"
"Unless the Fatui act on their behalf," Aether said.
"Yes." Neuvillette finally turned, "That is what concerns me most. Although, I suspect that I will get a stronger response. Possibly threats to cut off trade agreements and other similar measures, but I doubt that the Fatui are going to start a war over this incident."
He trailed off, then straightened his shoulders for a moment, and then continued as he turned toward Aether, "But we'll deal with that when it comes, I suppose. For now, I suggest that you and Paimon enjoy the rest of the festival and rest."
"Will you join us?" Paimon asked.
"I am afraid not. I have much to do and prepare." Neuvillette replied, "Not only for tomorrow, but I suspect the months to come as well with our new otherworldly visitors.
Aether looked at Neuvillette as he wondered whether or not the Chief Justice, also called Iudex of Fontaine, was more concerned about recent events than he let out. If he was concerned about the German's, then maybe he was hiding concerns on whether or not that war of German righteousness would actually come to Teyvat and particularly Fontaine.
__________________________________________________________________
March 14th, 1941
Officers' Club, Berlin
The room was small and deliberately unremarkable with a private lounge on the third floor of the the Officers' club, where the Wehrmacht staff could escape the constant performance of Berlin's social obligations as a German soldier. Von Roon had chosen it specifically because no Part officials frequented it, no photographers lurked in corners, and the steward who brought their drinks had the good sense to disappear afterward. A steward brought Von Roon and Pug some drinks and disappeared quickly afterward.
Between the two was a low table and on the center of the table was a chessboard where Von Roon had white and Pug had black. This sort of thing had become a ritual between them over the past few months, where two professionals could speak more freely than protocol usually allowed. Von Roon opened with his King's pawn, where Pug mirrored it.
"So, tell me, what is this smoke screen from your President Roosevelt of things like lending and leasing and garden hoses?"
Pug advanced his own knight to buy a moment to frame his answer, "Well, It's a metaphor the President used. If your neighbor's house is on fire, you don't sell him your garden hose. Instead, you lend it to him so he can put out the fire before it spreads to your house."
"A charming image." Von Roon captured Pug's pawn. "And Britain is the house on fire while America is the house out across the other city where the fire will long have since died out."
"Britain is holding out against considerable odds," Pug said carefully, developing his Bishop, "Plus there is precedent for this. The British get whatever they want as long as they are returned to us in good condition."
Von Roon smirked at Pug and said, "It's Poppycock."
"It's Politics." Pug replied with his own grin and spoke in Von Roon's tone.
Von Roon studied the board, then moved his Queen's pawn forward, "Why is your President Roosevelt so afraid to tell the truth? In fact, I know what your dear Roosevelt should say."
"Oh….And what's that?" Pug asked curiously.
Von Roon looked Pug at the eyes as he spoke, "My friends, this War is for not only the mastery of our world, but now the other world too. We should achieve it with minimum american bloodshed. Let's encourage others to do the fighting for us against our enemies of both worlds.They will utilize our early models of war and useless equipment, then at the last moment step in and take the prize That is the meaning of Lend-lease, American victory….it's true meaning."
Pug moved his Rook, keeping his expression neutral, "That's a cynical way of looking at it. Since we are talking about other worlds now, how did your Fatui friends take the news?"
Von Roon's expression shifted to something between amusement and concern, "About as well as you'd expect. They perfectly understood the implications and measured what exactly Britain could get by the ton. Pantalone, in particular, explained it to the furher as the first domino falling. Today you are lending Destroyers. Tomorrow, you could be escorting convoys. Next month? Who knows? American troops in Iceland? Bases in Greenland?"
"We're just helping a friend put out a fire," Pug said mildly.
"You're choosing which house survives the fire," Von Roon corrected. "And the Tsaritsa is very interested in understanding why you chose Britain's house over... alternatives."
"You mean over Germany's house," Pug said.
"I mean over staying out of it entirely." Von Roon captured another pawn. "Your President could have remained truly neutral. Let Europe sort itself out while America profits from selling to all sides. Instead, he's mortgaging American resources to keep Churchill afloat."
He paused for a moment and continued, "The Fatui want to know if that's just about Britain, or if it's about something larger."
"Larger how?" Pug asked.
"Whether America sees Germany and by extension, Snezhnaya as a threat that must be contained." Von Roon explained.
A knock at the door interrupted them.
Von Roon frowned. "I left explicit instructions not to be disturbed."
The door opened as the steward stood there, his face pale, and stuttered, "Forgive me, Herr General, but there is a visitor who insists….."
Arlecchino stepped past him and dressed in her usual elegant outfit with the black, white, red, and grey that was perfectly tailored to perfection. Those red-crossed eyes found Pug first, then shifted to Von roon.
"General," she said, her voice carrying absolute authority that needed no volume. "I apologize for the intrusion, but I need to speak with Commander Henry."
Von Roon stood immediately, military instinct overriding any annoyance, "Your Excellency. Of course. I was just….."
"Losing at chess," Arlecchino said, glancing at the board with those burning eyes, "Your position is overextended, General. Too much pressure without adequate support where you have a bold strategy, but vulnerable to counterattack. I figured that you would understand that considering what we discussed today with Herr Hitler in certain situations."
Von Roon's expression didn't change much, but something seemed to have flickered behind his eyes as if he understood that this conversation wasn't really about chess. And if it was chess,it was on a much larger board than the one sitting between him and Pug.
"I'll leave you to your discussion," he said, inclining his head to both of them and collected his cap from the side table, "Commander Henry, perhaps we can finish our game another time. The Fuhrer has extended my stay in Berlin for another week before I am to inspect our part of pacified Poland."
"I'd like that," Pug replied, standing as well.
Von Roon paused at the door, glancing back at the chessboard one more time as he analyzing the words Arlecchino said on his position on the board. Then he left the room as his footsteps faded down the corridor.
The steward started to follow, but Arlecchino raised one gloved hand, "We won't need anything further. Please ensure we're not disturbed, this is especially strict orders from Herr Hitler and Ribbentrop themselves."
"Of course, Your Excellency," The steward practically fled, closing the door behind him with a soft click.
Arlecchino moved to the window, her silhouette framed against berlin's dimmed evening lights. The blackout regulations gave the city a muted shadowy quality.
"I have a feeling that you know why I used to talk to you, so soon, Commander Henry?" Arlecchino said.
"The Lend-lease Act., I would assume." Pug answered.
"Correct." Arlecchino said as she turned to face him, "Your newspapers have been quite enthusiastic as well as your President Roosevelt's speeches. Pantalone liked his 'Arsenal of Democracy' rhetoric."
"I don't doubt his sincerity," Arlecchino moved away from the window, her footsteps silent on the thick carpet, "But sincerity doesn't change strategic reality as it is evident that America has chosen sides. The Tsaritsa needs to understand what that means for Snezhnaya and what it means for the war your President claims he's not fighting."
She moved to a fireplace where she faced toward with a smirk. After a few seconds, she shifted her stance and lifted one hand, palm turned slightly toward the floor. Then what came next was subtle at first, where a high-backed chair unfolded out of thin air. The chair….a throne more appropriately can be called was slender, blade-like curves forming that looked carved from molten glass and shadow. The part that really shocked Pug was that it had no legs at all as the chair was floating as if by some form of demonic magic similar to that mushroom cloud.
Arlecchino settled into it with a perfect pose as she crossed one leg over the other and those red crossed eyes watched him with amusement.
"You're staring, Commander."
"Habit," Pug said, forcing his voice to stay level, "When something doesn't make sense, you study it until it does."
"And does it make sense now?"
"No," Pug admitted. "But I'm getting used to that feeling around you people."
That response earned Pug a faint smile with barely a curve at the corner of her mouth, "An honest answer is good. I prefer dealing with people who don't pretend to understand everything that they see."
Pug settled back into his seat, acutely aware he was now sitting while she floated on her conjured throne.
"Fifty billion dollars in military aid to Britain," Arlecchino said as her voice carried absolute authority, "Ships, planes, weapons, ammo….everything Churchill needs to continue fighting Germany and all of this done under maintaining the fiction of American neutrality."
"It's a loan," Pug said, keeping his tone mild. "We're lending equipment to a friend who'll return it when the emergency is over. Nothing in the act says we're at war."
"Commander," She said with amusement noticed again in her voice, "We both know that distinction is semantic. You are arming Germany's enemy while U-boats try to starve Britain into submission. From Hitler's and the Tsaritsa's position, America has just abandoned neutrality in everything but name."
Pug glanced at the chessboard again with Von Roon's pieces frozen in their overextended position, "I can't speak to Hitler's or the Tsaritsa's position. I can only say that there is precedent legally and congressed passed a constitutional law, the president signed it. We as a sovereign nation are acting in our rights."
"Of course, you are." Arlecchino leaned back slightly in her floating throne, "The Tsaritsa has no quarrel with America's sovereignty, we are not the British Navy in 1807 by doing impressment on your own waters against your ships. The Tsaritsa is only concerned about the trajectory that this will set up as lend-lease is the beginning of American entry to the war."
"So General von Roon was saying," Pug replied.
"And he was correct," She leaned forward slightly, "Lord Pantalone presented the Führer with detailed projections this afternoon. Economic calculations of what Britain can now receive, how quickly American industrial capacity can be mobilized, what it means for the timeline of this conflict."
She paused for a moment and then continued, "The numbers are... significant."
"I imagine they would be," Pug said carefully.
"This war just became substantially longer and more costly than Germany anticipated," Arlecchino continued bluntly, "Britain, which was months away from exhaustion, now has years of American resources behind it. The strategic calculus has fundamentally changed."
She tilted her head slightly, those burning eyes studying him, "The Tsaritsa does not want war with America, Commander Henry. She has no interest in seeing our alliance with Germany drag us into conflict with your nation. That serves neither Snezhnaya's interests nor, I suspect, America's."
"Then we're in agreement," Pug said. "Nobody wants that war."
"Then let us prevent it." Arlecchino explained, "Lend-lease is a provocation. Germany will respond soon, they must or appear weak before their own people and allies. That will provoke further American action, then your destroyers will engage U-boats. And then maybe Hitler will ask the Tsaritsa to intervene against the British, maybe find a way to cut off it's life-line from America before it becomes unmanageable. Then tensions between Snezhnaya and America will increase with the Mirror Maidens sabotaging British Ports and Fatui forces killing British soldiers or worse, American sailors escorting those convoys. We have already started to make improvements to the German military arm that I suspect that the world will soon see."
The floating throne drifted slightly closer, as if drawn by her intensity.
"Once Snezhnayan forces engage American personnel, even indirectly, tensions between our nations will escalate beyond anyone's control. Your President will face pressure to respond. The Tsaritsa will face pressure from Berlin to commit more forces. The spiral becomes inevitable."
Pug felt a chill that had nothing to do with the room's temperature as she painted a picture of exactly how this could go wrong. By proving the idea of Fatui operatives with supernatural abilities killing American sailors in the Atlantic.
"The Tsaritsa proposes an alternative." were the next words spoken by Arlecchino.
"Her Majesty is willing to send a Harbinger to Washington to negotiate directly with President Roosevelt. Arlecchino explained as her gaze never wavered.
Pug raised an eyebrow at the idea of a Harbinger someone like Arlecchino going to negotiate with FDR in Washington, DC with sovereign authority to negotiate.
Arlechino continued with a smirk, "The Tsaritsa has explained to our Director, Pierro, that she is willing to send either the Regrator or as you know him as Lord Pantalone, who oversees Snezhnaya's economic and the diplomatic affairs in Earth. However, if your President has a preference, there is Lord Tartagalia who is being transferred to earth mainly for military operations abroad. The two of them would come with full authority to discuss accommodations regarding American aid to Britain."
Pug kept his face neutral, but his mind raced through the implications, "What kind of accommodations?"
"A resolution," Arlecchino clarified, "Some arrangement that addresses both American and Axis concerns. Perhaps limitations on certain types of aid such as no American troops or no direct military involvement. Perhaps some arguments about which materials and its amounts that Britain gets or even post-war arrangements that would make continued British resistance pointless."
She spread her hands slightly and continued, "The specifics would be determined in Washington, between your president and our harbinger. But the goal would be finding a path that avoids full American belligerency to avoid escalation toward total war."
The idea was stunning, but not other only the calculated precision of it. The Fatui had no doubt thought through the flashpoints, the escalation ladder, the exact moments where things could spiral out of control. They were offering an off-ramp before any of it happened, where Hitler would just make threats and probably act on them. The Fatui were taking a different route completely. However, one thing going through Pug's mind was what is the price for all of this.
"And what would the Tsaritsa require in exchange?" Pug asked as he thought of the names of this new harbinger and the Fatui Director that he never meet. Pierro and Tartagalia…..The names with Arlecchino and Pantalone sounded very familiar. He swore that he heard of those names somewhere before in his life in the name. But it was a long time ago and he could not make the connection on why he heard those names before.
"One condition only," Arlecchino's gaze held steady, " Public recognition of Snezhnaya as a sovereign nation by the United States government. This would allows us to maybe appoint that Harbinger as a Charge D'Affairs in terms of relations between the US and the Tsaritsa where we can establish our own embassy in DC to continue our talks to try to prevent further tensions."
There it was the price for the talks. Recognition of this Wagner-like nation that Churchill calls it would legitimize everything about this fantasy alliance. The Fatui and the Tsaritsa with Germany recognized as being real would tell the world that America took this 'other world' seriously, that Snezhnaya wasn't Nazi propaganda but a real power deserving respect and negotiation. On the other hand, it would also open channels for intelligence, create opportunities to exploit any differences between Snezhnaya and Germany, potentially drive wedges into the Axis alliance…However, it would tell Churchill that maybe he should take the concern of the Fatui entrance into the Axis Alliance seriously.
The idea of wedging differences between Snezhnaya and Germany was not entirely wild. The British had been able to do that in keeping Francisco Franco's Spain from thus far joining the Nazi's against them after the fall of France. Pug remembered a talk that he had with Churchill's Foreign Minister Edward Wood in which Britain was able to convince Franco's Generals to press the idea directly to Franco that entrance to the war would be disastrous for the new fascist regime trying to rebuild from its victorious civil war that ended just months before Hitler's invasion of Poland.
However, the other issue running to Pug's mind was the idea of the Fatui having an Embassy in DC itself. If America recognizes Snezhnaya as a nation and allows it to build such a embassy, what is to say that they, the Fatui, would not use it to do their own intelligence operations on American strength. Pug was not exactly comfortable with the idea as he knew by now through Von Roon that the Fatui were very good in intelligence to the point that Henrich Himmler, himself, wanted to implement some of the information gathering that the Fatui used to bolster his Gestapo and SS.
Finally Pug responded to Arlecchino, "That's not a decision I can make on these talks. In fact, that's the President's call, State Department's and probably Congress's too."
"Of course." Arlecchino nodded. "I'm not asking for commitment, Commander. I'm asking you to carry this proposal to President Roosevelt and convey the Tsaritsa's genuine desire to prevent unnecessary escalation."
She leaned forward in her throne, and those red crosses burned brighter.
"We're not asking America to abandon Britain. We're not demanding you repeal Lend-Lease. We're simply offering a channel for discussion before positions harden and events spiral beyond anyone's control."
"Why now?" Pug asked, "Germany's winning. Most of Europe's under Axis control. Why negotiate from a position of strength?"
"Because Her Majesty thinks strategically, not emotionally," Arlecchino replied, "She knows Lend-Lease changes everything. As Lord Pantalone explained to the Führer this afternoon, this war could now drag on for years of attrition that serve no one's interests. Your first great war showed that exactly."
The throne drifted back slightly, "And because the Tsaritsa's alliance with Germany is one of shared interests, not shared fate. We fight our own war, Commander of rebellion against the heavenly Principles, our preparation for the day we challenge Celestia itself."
"I'll report this to the President," Pug said carefully, "That's all I can promise."
"That's all we ask," Arlecchino rose from her throne, and the chair simply dissolved fading into nothing like smoke dispersing in wind. She stood before him now on solid ground, though somehow still projecting that same sense of elevation and authority.
She extended her gloved hand.
Pug took it and could not noticed that her grip was firm, cool, utterly controlled.
"One more thing, Commander," she said. "When you write your report and we both know you will convey something personal from me to your President."
"What's that?" Pug asked.
"Tell him that the Tsaritsa respects leaders that act decisively when their nation's interests are at stake. That Lend-lease was bold…very bold. It took courage to push that through your Congress against considerable opposition, she paused for a moment and looking at her fingers, "But tell him that boldness sometimes leads to places no one intended to go."
She moved toward the door, then glanced back one final time.
"Tell him the door is open, Commander Henry. But doors don't stay open forever. Eventually, circumstances close them. The question is whether he's wise enough to walk through while the option still exists."
Then she was gone, her footsteps fading down the corridor with that same silent grace. Pug stood alone in the small room, staring at the space where that impossible throne had been floating moments ago.
__________________________________________________________________
At the Snezhnayan Embassy in the Tiergarten in Berlin
Three Hours Later
The office on the third floor of the requisitioned mansion had once belonged to a textile merchant. The walls of the stolen office held maps of Europe, the Balkans, and shipping routes across the Mediterranean as well as the Atlantic.
Pantalone stood before the largest map, a cup of tea steaming on the desk beside him. His spectacles caught the lamplight as he studied the borders of Yugoslavia, his finger tracing the rail lines from Belgrade south toward Greece. The door opened without a knock as Arlecchino entered, pulling off her gloves.
"Well?" Pantalone asked without turning.
"He'll deliver the message." Arlecchino explained, "Whether Roosevelt acts on it is another question entirely."
"Your assessment of Commander Henry?"
"Smart. Cautious. Observant. He's not convinced we're sincere, but he's intrigued enough to advocate for at least considering it. That's all we need at this stage." Arlecchino explain as she moved to the sidebar and poured herself a glass of wine.
Pantalone finally turned from the map with a smirk with those closed eyes as he spoke, "And you showed him the throne."
"I did." Arlecchino started with a faint smile, "Americans respond well to demonstrations. They're a practical people. Just show them what you can do, and they take you seriously. Show them nothing, and they assume you're bluffing."
"Practical, which is why they'll recognize us," Pantalone agreed moving to his desk to retrieve a cigarette from a draw and placed it on his lips. He took a fancy lighter in the shape of a panzer that he got as a gift from Nazi Minister of Economics Walther Funk during the meeting that Pantalone had with almost the whole German war industry and economy.
He took a breath out of the cigarette and a good puff as he continued, "The Americans will want to talk not because of altruism, but they want to know more about us and our world. Maybe to see if they can separate us from Germany."
"Can we?" Arlecchino asked, settling into a chair opposite him.
"Of course, we were never truly joined tightly. We could militarily challenge Germany, but we only need Germany to modernize our own forces especially," Pantalone's smile was thin, "Why do you think that I bought that cargo company that the Rosenfeld's owned from Goring's good friend Wolf Stöller. We now control five freighters with established routes to neutral countries."
Pantalone moved back to the map gesturing to the shipping landes, "Sweden for iron ore, Spain for Tungsten, Portugal for Wolfram, and Argentina for grain. All under Snezhnayan registry, which means we're technically neutral shipping but not belligerents in Britain's fight against the Germans. They legal can't touch our vessels without declaring war on Snezhnaya, which Churchill isn't prepared to do."
"And you assume that Churchill will care about that?" Arlecchino stated with a role of her eyes, "You assume that he would even acknowledge Snezhnaya as an actual nation? As far as the chain smoking man with a drinking habit that would put Babartos to shame. He will sink our ships saying that they are German vessels in disguise."
Pantalone opened his eyes finally with a widen smile, "Oh, Churchill will care. Not out of respect for international law on the planet. But you're right that he had little patience for legal niceties when it comes to strangling Germany's supply lines. But he has one main problem that will make him hesitate any action against our ships."
Pantalone with smile and smoking coming out of his cigarette explained it like as if he was talking about the weather. If Churchill decided immediately that any Snezhnayan flagged ships were stopped by the royal navy, heading to neutral ports to deliver the goods, then there was not much that they could do. As long as the ships were not sailing on their papers to a Germany or Italian port as their destination, then the justification to sink them was lost. But he explained the main problem in that should he declare that Snezhnayan-flagged vessels are legitimate targets, he's not just bending neutrality law. The chain smoker was effectively declaring to the world officially no matter the proof that Snezhnaya doesn't exist as a sovereign nation. This would open a unique situation for Roosevelt should he agree to hold the talks and recognize Snezhnaya as a sovereign nation in another world, then it opens up some serious complications from America for Churchill.
Arlecchino taking another sip of her wine looked at Pantalone with a look of curiosity.
"Churchill doesn't care about American complications," Arlecchino countered.
"No, but Roosevelt does." Pantalone explained, taking another drag from his cigarette, "Churchill needs Roosevelt more than he needs to sink five freighters of a neutral axis nation. If attacking our flagged vessels complicates Roosevelt's position to help Britain. I would have no doubts that isolationists would have a hell of a day on the fact that 'England is dragging America into a war with mysterious foreign powers'."
He tapped ash into the tray with his eyes closed back but that smile remained as he continued to explain. Even though America had recently passed the Lend-Lease Act, there are still a strong faction of isolationists in this planet's land of the free. Senator Wheeler, Charles Lindbbergh, and the whole America First Committee are already screaming that Roosevelt is steering America into Britain's war for Britain's own imperial interest. Pantalone explained that by adding the idea of Churchill sinking Snezhnayan-flagged vessels while America recognizes Snezhnaya. Then Roosevelt would be caught between two choices: defend Britain's actions using American lend-lease goods which would make him look like Churchill's puppet or condemn them which would damage the very alliance that he is trying to support with Lend-lease. In this matter, Churchill's hands were tied and it would be with Fatui not even having to fire a single shot of any element or steel at him if all goes well.
"Now what about those talks with Yugoslavia." Arlecchino questioned.
Pantalone's expression shifted subtly, the merchant's calculating smile giving way to something more focused. He moved back to the map, his finger finding Belgrade.
"I expect Prince Paul to sign the Tripartite Pact on March 25th which is 11 days from now," Pantalone continued to trace the borders of Yugoslavia where it is surrounded by Axis powers and satellites, "I think he is starting to accept that he has no real choice. He is an island in an Axis sea. His military leadership is split and would rather fight the germans, the Prince will not last past the point that the ink drys."
"Should we consider intervening for him? To ensure that we have another nation dependent on us?" Arlecchino suggested, "I can have House of the Hearth agents incapacitate his generals and opponents and say their Prince Peter is not ready to be king."
"Tempting, but ultimately counterproductive," he said, taking his drag and exhaling slowly, "The British have been building networks for years and your House is good, but I doubt that you can find all the links within 11 days. Plus helping to keep Paul in power will cost more than its worth, he will be resented by his people of different cultures in a nation struggling to keep order. Italy is already a untrustworthy partner in this alliance with its blunders in North Africa and Greece, Tsaritsa is willing to tolerate one. Any more the alliance becomes a liability to her. Plus the Tsaritsa wants to test Fatui combat effectiveness in action in this world and the terrain of Yugoslavia and Greece are perfect for us with it similar to the roughest areas of Teyvat like Liyue and Mondstadt, especially since we need preparation for Barbarossa."
Arlecchino nodded as she bid goodnight to Pantalone as she felt that there was nothing else to talk about, she took the remains of her half filled glass and walked out of the office to leave Pantalone to his devices. She walked down the hallway to reach her quarters as halfway to her destination, she thought about this whole plan and how it connects to the real reason why the Tsaritsa was willing to engage in a otherworldly alliance with a cabal of militaristic nations with dreams of nationalistic grandeur that made her sick to the core with Germany's racial policies for example toward Jews. If she had her way, she would throw this alliance out and withdraw completely from this planet. Normally, the Tsaritsa took any advice or suggestions that she gave to heart but now anything that was related to this planet and its war was not heard when it related to anything about pulling back. The Tsaritsa and by extension Pierro were wanting to draw deeper and deeper into the conflict for the project that they had set forth. The only thing that the Tsaritsa and Pierro were willing to compromise on was finding ways to avoid a complete America intervention into this war.
She studied the history of that nation called America and how it was founded by men that believed in principles that ironically were in opposition to everything that this disgusting Third Reich represented. Ideas of principles like self-governance, individual liberty, and the rejection of divine right and hereditary aristocracy. The phrase in their Declaration of Independence of 'All men are created equal' would get some people in Berlin shot and as people that lived in some parts of Teyvat. She could imagine Former Grand Sage Azar and Mondstadt's Schubert Lawerence arguing completely against that in every way shape or form. From what she learned about those two individuals especially, they would have been supportive of Germany's Nuremberg Laws and adopted it in their own forms. Azar would limit the rights of Emerites and desert folk, while Lawerence would gladly apply it to those that he saw less than him as an Aristocrat of the Old Mondstadt.
Arlecchino paused at a window overlooking the darkened garden as she sipped her wine. The pale rectangles on the walls where the Rosenfeld family portraits had hung seemed to watch her in the dim light.
"Three children," she thought, remembering what she'd said to Pantalone earlier, "Relocated with the files listing transfer to Łódź."
She knew what that meant, even if the Reich's bureaucratic language tried to obscure it. She'd seen the reports that crossed her desk, the ones the Germans thought they were sharing with trusted allies. Ghettos and resettlement were terms that meant many things. But the terms that were most important were starvation, disease, and worse to come if the reports as well as interests from Dottore were to be believed. The Rosenfeld children were probably already dead or would be soon. The House of the Hearth was rebuilt in her principles after she killed Crucabena for the Children to serve a true purpose as a family with her as it's 'father'.
But here she was, helping to prop up a regime that industrialized that very discard process.
"For the greater good," Pierro would say, "For the Tsaritsa's plan. For the war against Celestia."
Arlecchino resumed walking toward her quarters. This entire mansion was a monument to organized theft, down to the silverware in the dining room and the books in the library.
"At least in the House of the Hearth," she thought, "When we take something from someone, we're honest about what we are. We don't pretend it's legal. We don't stamp official paperwork on it and call it 'Aryanization.'"
She reached her door which was another stolen space, she had ordered the furniture replaced, the personal items removed and stored rather than destroyed. Small mercies that changed nothing but let her sleep marginally better at night. Somehow, the silent invisible ghosts that remained in this stolen house had begun to haunt her more than the afterimages of Clervie. She sat her glass down on a table and began to think about Commander Henry again. She had told him the truth that they were preparing to wage war against heaven itself for what it had done. But what she hadn't told him was that now the preparation apparently required them to enable atrocities that rivaled Clestia's genocide in their systematic cruelty.
"Different," she told herself, "We're not the ones implementing these policies. We're not running the ghettos or passing the race laws. We're just... allied with the people who do."
However, the distinction felt increasingly hollow week by week