Wriothesley sighed wearily, gently setting his cup of tea down as he leaned back in his seat. Another sigh left him as he began to rub at his temples, the stress of recent events finally making itself known. Still, he steeled himself, allowing himself only a moment's respite before he sat up and began his paperwork anew.
It was then that he heard footsteps climbing the stairs to his office.
"Head Nurse, is there anything you require?"
The form that greeted him instead was significantly taller but still of a woman's. Her features as stony as ever and with a hand on the hilt of her blade, the Champion Duelist approached him. "I apologize for disappointing you, Your Grace, but I am not the Head Nurse," came Clorinde's reply with an almost humorous lilt to her voice.
"Sarcasm, Miss Clorinde?"
"A mere statement of fact, Your Grace." Clorinde made her way to his desk where she placed a rather large tome. As she slid it towards him, the swordswoman was pleased to no end by the shift of his features from tired to surprised.
"You were serious," stated the Duke of the Fortress of Meropide as he began flipping through his new copy of Fontaine's legal code.
"My motives were reasonable." Clorinde shrugged, her stoic features softening into what seemed to be her impression of vague smugness.
Wriothesley's eyes narrowed. "I never took the Champion Duelist to be one for humor."
"This is no joke, Your Grace. Consider it my simple way of ensuring that you understand the crimes of those under your purview..."
Wriothesley's eyes rolled.
"... and a way of testing your manners."
"My manners?"
Clorinde nodded, striding gracefully around his desk to his side. "Why, yes, Your Grace. Your manners."
"How so?"
"Truly?"
Wriothesley's arms crossed and his jaw tightened, perhaps a little incensed and a little confused by her sudden playfulness. "Or what I might be mistaking for playfulness," mused the man in black silently as he locked eyes with the woman before him. "I never know with her."
"Hmph, perhaps it's to be expected. After all, a man who spends so much time away from the heart of Fontain's court would never realize the harm he's done to me," claimed Clorinde, barely a foot from his seated form.
"How so?" asked Wriothesley with a dark chuckle.
"It seems I will have to educate you, Your Grace. First, a young man such as yourself invites a young woman like me to undertake rather dangerous activities in a rather dangerous place."
"No problem there," countered the Duke of the Fortress of Meropide.
"Agreed. But that isn't the end of it, correct?" No, my Duke, not only do you invite danger upon a young woman. Your reception of her is cold. Why, the boatman that escorted me didn't even deign to greet me properly. Instead, I get his sycophantic fawning," came Clorinde's first cut.
"And this young woman expects such a greeting despite knowing full well the nature of her engagement?" came Wriothesley's first jab at her argument.
"Yes, after all, such is the nature of Fontaine, correct? Surely, these norms are something even the Duke of the Fortress of Meropide must abide by," finished Clorinde as she delivered her second cut.
"Norms aside, is it not unreasonable to expect such propriety in times of crisis? It seems as though someone is unable to forgive and forget certain oversights in etiquette considering present circumstances."
"Oh, you're forgiven, My Duke. That was a mere segue into another problem."
"Another?" was all Wriothsley could muster, his voice colored with subdued aplomb.
"Yes, another. Namely your own personal treatment of her. First, you set her about the thankless and harrowing task of chasing down a boy in murky waterways. Then the Primordial Sea which would have reduced her to a puddle with a single drop. Finally, all you do is complain about the gift she gives you in return for winning your bet. My Duke, most young women would be reduced to tears by such behavior from a man," was how Clorinde delivered her final cut as she animatedly examined her own clothing, waiting for Wriothesley's reply.
A sigh. A defeated one. "You have my apologies, Miss Clorinde."
The ghost of a smile graced her countenance. "And?"
"Your gift…"
The woman who had helped him fend off the Primordial Sea faced him, her serious veneer coated thinly in self-approval and victory.
"... is a welcome one. I will be sure to look through it."
"And you," paused Clorinde as she pushed off his desk, straightening herself. "Are most welcome, my Duke. With that, I will take my leave."
Wrioithesley sighed wearily, gently reaching for his cup of tea as he leaned back in his seat.
"My Duke…" came Clorinde's voice, her tone as professional as ever but with a slight quaver that drew Wriothesley's gaze.
"Yes, Miss Clorinde?"
"...can I expect a more appropriate reception when I pay your Fortress another visit?"
Her coquettishness.
Her sudden concern with etiquette.
Her sudden usage of "My Duke".
Wriothesley cleared his throat. "That will depend on the nature of your next visit."
"I assure you, my Duke," came a breathy shift in her voice as the electric violet of her eyes met the icy blue of his. "That my next visit will come under more desirable circumstances."
When Wriothesley regained himself, he realized it had been five minutes since Clorinde's departure. The signs were there. His tea had gone cold. His paperwork had gone unfinished.
His heart thundered in his chest.
He knew what he had to do.
An hour later, Neuvillette felt a chill in the air. "Ah, Your Grace," greeted the Iudex with a nod as Wrioithesley crossed the floor to his desk. "The Champion Duelist has just given me her report regarding the incident in the Fortress of Meropide. She says you two worked well together."
Wriothesley noticed the smirk Neuvillette tried to hide. "This is an informal visit. Could we speak about… more private matters?"
"Such as?"
Wriothesley sighed once more. "You know why."
The Iudex stood. He poured himself a crisp, pure glass of Mondstadt's finest water. He sipped from it. Then he spoke. "Clothes."
"Clothes?"
"Yes, clothes. Miss Clorinde sometimes has hers custom made at a boutique in the city. They can cost her quite the sum. The Melusine officers told me."
"You expect me to buy her clothes?"
Neuvillette sipped once more before replying. "Each and everyone of us has dreams. Desires. Aspirations. Sometimes we keep them hidden from the world."
"And Miss Clorinde's desire involves me somehow?"
A nod was the beginning of the Iudex's response. "Apparently. Surely you must have heard stories as a child. Young love and romance. Stolen moments away from prying eyes. The ideal love for all of Fontaine's fondness for drama."
"I have nothing but respect for Miss Clorinde but, Neuvillette, perhaps you're misinterpreting. Coming from the Champion Duelist, this all seems a bit…"
"Childish?" Neuvillette shrugged. "Perhaps. But could I not say the same thing regarding your work in the Fortress? Where you go about rehabilitating every violator of the law? Still, are these dreams, childish as they may seem, unworthy of pursuing?"
Another sigh from Wriothesley. "I see."
The two sat in silence for a few moments then.
"The address," spoke Wriothesley.
"Of?" Neuvillette smirked.
"The boutique."
One pale brow quirked upward, prodding Wriothesley silently.
"The boutique where Miss Clorinde gets her clothes."
"How kind of you to ask, Your Grace. Surely Miss Clorinde will appreciate you paying for her latest batch of clothes," said the Iudex as he scribbled the address onto a piece of parchment.
Wriothesley stood, taking the parchment from Neuvillette's hand and tucking it into his pocket.
"Thank you, Monsieur Nevillette. I'll be going now."
With those parting words, Wriothesley turned on his heel and made for the door, seeking only the peace and quiet he could find within the Fortress.
"Oh, Your Grace," came Neuvillette's sudden call. "I've decided to send you a book detailing etiquette in Fontaine. Miss Clorinde would greatly appreciate that as well."
"Thank you, Monsieur Neuvillette."
When Neuvillette next exited his office, he found the knob to be almost frigid.