Chapter Text
Little dove, why do you linger?
With tuft so soft, like snow freshly fallen,
Song like a beacon calling me home,
Waiting for me to find comfort where it once slipped between my fingers,
Like feathers on the wind.
How many times has Morax noticed the white dove sitting on his window sill? Resting under the petals of glaze lilies? On branches of trees overlooking the sea? It matters not the days that Morax spends in the Harbor or the evenings soaring cliffside into the sky. For every dream he’s had for decades, he notices… a white dove.
Sometimes it’s subtle and part of a blurry background he can’t quite place. Dreamscapes fading from one memory to another… and other times, he’s reaching out to it before he knows it, offering a finger for it to perch and coo sweetly.
Moments like this were the pleasant dreams so scarcely within grasp. He sees old friends, old loves, and feels like pieces of him were put back together. Morax could never crumble, despite knowing erosion was inevitable.
Time is a concept that transcends in dreams. Things that could happen in the blink of an eye spread too long for comfort. It’s unsettling on some days, the ones he knows he should get up and go tend to his business… but his dreams are an escape as much as they were sanctuary.
On this day, the pavilion was bustling in Morax’s dream, and that dove called out to him with a sweet song – turning half-recognizable faces into mere wisps lost among movement. Morax thinks his dream revolves around something mundane, a child looking to build a temple out of sticks and he had been tasked to find the wood for it – but all he hears is that song.
Nothing else matters.
He arrives at the bridge leading to the outskirts of Liyue Harbor, where the waves from the port rarely make the water ripple. It was still. Unsettlingly so. The scent of Cecilias waft in the air… something that leaves Morax feeling half drunk as each step becomes heavier. He settles with the drag of his scaled tail around his own leg – that bird still remaining perched on the guard rail.
Cooing, beckoning Morax to take him. So he does, offering an open palm.
“We keep meeting,” Morax says with a reserved smile, “but you bring such beautiful music with you.”
How could he not be happy to have this creature? The dove chirps, ruffles its feathers and nuzzles into the top of his palm. The softness was soothing, enough for him to not be too concerned about the deadlines or tasks his dreamself was designed to have.
The little girl would surely understand, would she not? The temple can be built later. The breeze catches and dances Morax’s bangs against his features.
“It’s nice, isn’t it? The breeze comes from Mondstadt, where the newly appointed Anemo Archon sends them off to the corners of Teyvat that need it. We’ve yet to meet, but surely our paths will cross. –There has been conflict at Liyue and Mondstadt’s borders recently. It’s only a matter of time.”
The dove remains still and shuts its eyes.
Morax’s eyes cast over the landscape, making note of small row boats making their way to the shoreline from a distance. Even if he is not quite fond of the ocean, he can’t deny that all life feels like it flourishes around it.
The bird was quite cute, like the other ones that gather at the pavilion grounds. Yet, this one just seemed to be the one that called for him directly. Morax can’t quite think much of it when the lure of dreams keeps him light, footsteps barely touching the ground and common sense floating just as much.
“You’re certainly comfortable, but I cannot allow you to remain. Here, let’s bring you to the shrubs.”
The dove isn’t too impressed, not fighting the Archon as he approaches over to the greenery at the end of the bridge. Taking the dove closer into the city means maybe he’ll take a nest into the rafters or roof of the city, maybe. That way, Morax can make sure that he will see him again.
When he lowers his hand, the bird doesn’t leave.
“Come now, we’ll meet again. As we always have.”
Morax can piece it together quickly enough; the bird still doesn’t leave, those feathers ruffled and its beak moving flat to the bottom of his wrist. Cupping at the top of his head lightly, the Lord of Geo sighs and finally kneels down. Pleading with the creature doesn’t do much… and despite his desire to return to his duties…
His knees keep rooted.
Kneeling in front of the shrub, he shuts his eyes. The small noises the dove makes as it rests in his palm ignites something fond and warm within his heart. Birds were always dear to him – fascinating creatures that had more freedom than he thinks many people in this world are gifted. Doves are so rare in the Harbor, but this one relents.
Accepting his defeat, Morax bows his head and allows the bird to rest in his palm. Warm and safe, allowing those wings to get some well-earned comfort. Light feather-like strokes are all that moves between them – the breeze timid and not daring move a hair on Morax’s head now. There was nothing but peace in these moments.
All is calm, for the first time in some time, in his dream… and for this moment – he’ll allow a bird to take credit for it. Simple things in Liyue were because of hard fought battles and sacrifices.
So… he allows himself these dreams, with a dove that won’t let him go.
===============
MANY YEARS LATER
===============
It was Barbatos’ favorite time to visit the Lord of Geo, as the sun painted the sky with hues of amber and gold, illuminating the timeless stones of Stonegate. It means that Morax has chiseled time for him, away from duties that would pull him apart. Barbatos may not be the most respected among the Seven, but Morax welcomes him in kind.
His admiration for the enigmatic Morax was no secret. The two share a border, drink together, and send gifts… but Celestia viewed them as unofficial allies. Despite Barbatos' genuine warmth, Morax remained reserved, his demeanor as unyielding as the mountains he governed. Barbatos made it easy to wish to give in, to freedom and all that comes from it… but the most he allows is a drink.
Which on a day like this? It was no different.
With a friendly grin, Barbatos offers a bottle of wine, hoping to spark conversation with his stoic counterpart.
“Why do you always look like that?”
The question is sharp, “Like what, Barbatos? Good evening to you as well, by the way.”
“You should be happy to see an ally! I only bring good winds and good wine when I visit.”
It’s true. Rarely were there moments in recent years where Morax was able to pry himself away for things so… frivolous. Looking at the Anemo Archon, there is a bit of hesitation in the man’s eyes. How can a being be the embodiment of freedom so easily? The wind comes and goes, there is music that follows him on crisp winds and … just by looking at him, he certainly doesn’t find himself stifled by clothing.
It makes him uncomfortable, because Morax can’t truly begin to understand what that freedom feels like.
“Your company has proven to be kind and I sense no ulterior motives,” Morax admits calmly. Barbatos soars up to his eye-sight, the distance closed between them so easily.
“You better not! The only thing I’ve been trying to do is to make you relax. The wine we’ve shared together is always best with good friends. Every time before I leave… you say that the wine was suitable. I don’t want that. Suitable isn’t worth dragging you from your duties or me brewing a batch,” those wings fluff with Barbatos’ assertion – Morax thinks they remind him of a dove.
…A dove.
The thought is here and gone before he realizes it.
“Misunderstanding my words do nothing for this conversation and as such –”
Barbatos reaches forward with his finger pressed to Morax’s lips. No other being had touched him, not since he lost lovers and friends alike.
The Lord of Geo does not flinch, instead a scowl and draconic grunt from his throat gives a warning. It was a warning that Barbatos did not listen to. Slowly, he pulls his finger away with a giggle.
“One day you will find the wine I bring you to be the most delicious thing to hit your tongue. All the good qualities available in this world, bottled and sealed with a cork. That is Mondstadt’s promise. All good things flow right here.”
Endearment is honey off the angel’s lips and Morax’s eyes soften gradually. What kind of declaration was that?
“You should be focusing on your lands, not on sharing libations with neighbors,” Morax advises.
“Why not both? My people are taking care of themselves, and by allowing them to learn to be on their own… perhaps it means the choices they make will be truly theirs.”
Morax perks a brow as Barbatos finally pops the wine’s cork and like clockwork… Morax summons his square cups. They were not Barbatos’ favorites and it shows when the angel wrinkles his nose.
The conflict is obvious in Morax’s words: “You have a responsibility to them to oversee in their strife and struggles. And such re –”
Cut off, Barbatos pours his cup to the absolute brim with a laugh, “There is no strife and struggle right now! A moment of peace allows my people to do what they do best: come together and celebrate. They’re developing a city together, building from the ashes brought by fallen towers and wars ravaged across their land. It is not me or Celestia’s place to interfere with that.”
How can Barbatos think so casually? Not worry or hold his people tightly in a grasp? The concept is lost to Morax now, thoughtfully as he brings his half-filled cup to his lips.
Barbatos continues joyfully: “Surely, you can appreciate some free time after such a long and arduous time of war?”
“There is much to be done,” Morax says softly even as the boy begins to take a big gulp of his own cup.
“Pah! And there always will be! Tell me, new friend, what do you do for fun?”
Is there time for that? Barbatos seems keen on the notion there is, but the idea of “fun” to him is but a foreign concept when these times are so delicate and frail. However, for the sake of a conversation, Morax does think…
“...I tend to a few gardens in the pavilion. The flowers can grow unruly if they are left unkept. A few of my Adeptus have taught me how to keep a steady hand and prune what overgrows.”
“Rumors have it you’re a brute,” Barbatos hums matter of factly which earns a scowl from the Geo. Instead, Barbatos raises a single finger from his glass before he continues, “But I believe moments like that show otherwise. Brutes would never allow something so delicate to grow.”
“Classifying a hobby like gardening as an indication against being a brute does not make sense,” Morax corrects as he finds a bench suitable to sit upon. The clearing was still developed, but the woodwork leading up to the cliffs and valleys into Mondstadt were still for travelers between the nations – they needed a place to rest.
Barbatos chooses to hover, laying on his side while sipping his drink.
“Brutes would uproot the entire garden instead of dealing with a few troublesome weeds. You’re as smart as you are strong. I like that!”
He likes it? The red on Morax’s face rises to a red, but he turns away briefly to shield it. How brazen…
“I am a god rooted in war, you know. Many would be fearful to share a drink with me,” admitting as such feels a bit self-depreciating, yet he pushes on.
“Many would not welcome a wind as pleasantly as you do, either. You haven’t even hurled a meteor at me!”
Barbatos has seen them across the horizon – they’re quite intimidating.
“Depending on how our visit goes, there’s still time for that.”
Barbatos erupts into a laugh, rolling onto his back with wings outspread. Legend says Morax cracked a small grin at his own joke, amused by how the angel reacted. Conversations turn from critiquing to caring – discussions of how to strengthen their borders and provide help to the other quickly became easy the more drinks they shared. By the time Barbatos found his fill at the bottom of three bottles of wine, Morax was happy with his two cups.
They depart long into the night, where the iridescent flutter of Barbatos’ wings puts the stars to shame. Morax doesn’t realize how long he watched the boy return back to the cliffs in Mondstadt, but he didn't move until the angel was out of sight. Something stirs in him, a fondness he doesn’t understand the source. Looking down to the empty cup remaining, square in his grasp – he wonders when the Anemo Archon will return back to him to fill it.
Perhaps, he will look forward to it more than simple dreams.