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Wind verzweifelt nun und ruht

Summary:

Barbatos' fame as the weakest Archon has been greatly exaggerated.

or, in granting Mondstadtians freedom, Venti has secured his power. For anyone can decide not to follow the reigning Archon's wishes and deprive them of their strength - but when said Archon's wish is to be free...

Notes:

title from Johann Gottfried Herder's "Wind und Sonne"

I finally cracked and started playing Genshin Impact and let me tell you, I might be a measly AR34 still, but I have so many ideas and so many FEELS. This one in particular is for the dear Anemo Archon, but even more so for two of my most hated Harbingers, La Signora and il Dottore! The rage I feel whenever I think about each of them is immeasurable, and I want to see them get their asses kicked, so I started this... but then Venti took over the whole thing, so. Angst and existential crisis plus badass Venti?

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

Venti - Barbatos, that is - has never liked fighting. After all, what is a crueler way to steal someone's freedom - someone's life - but beat them to the ground, crush their spirits, tell them they are not strong enough to freely exist? What is a crueler way to exercise your own freedom but steal another's?

As a wind sprite, there were many bigger, stronger beasts that delighted in snapping their jaws at his wings, that tore through their ranks to chase after the taste of the wind. Wind sprites are not fighters - they fly, they laugh, they sing with nature, they guide pollen to flowers and birds up to the sky, but they have no claws and no hulking forms and no secret poisonous weapons to defend themselves with, for the winds also possess none.

(But winds can also be treacherous - howling through ravines like the call of a siren, luring people out into the unknown with a haunting, mysterious voice; changing direction on a whim, carrying the scent of prey to predators and back again; blowing snow and people and houses down cliffs and mountains; freezing the blood of reckless travellers in winter and chilling their limbs and faces to frost-bitten black; whipping up sandstorms strong enough to peel skin off of bones in summer.)

Venti - Barbatos' old friend, who had no name and no story until he led the rebellion that brought freedom to Mondstadt, who lived a nameless, moraless orphan and died a nameless, moraless hero - knew that the winds would one day betray him; knew, in his last moments, that the winds that helped his people's arrows strike true in the name of freedom would lead the enemy's arrows to him. After all, Barbatos is the winds, yes, but the winds are not Barbatos and he would never think of making them obey him fully, not when asking has always been enough.

This time, it is not enough. The nameless, moraless hero of Mondstadt bleeds out with an arrow sticking out of his bleeding heart and a song on his lips.

For any other future-archon, to realise your wish for freedom is the reason your friend has died would mark a path of no return, would make them wish for control above all so nothing like this happens ever again; for Barbatos, whose old— only— best— friend dies in his arms, smiling, saying, you are not at fault, dear one, for your nature is what it is, it marks the point where he decides to free himself from any and all attachment to the mortal world.

(Barbatos remembers, in the early days of the revolution, that the songs his dear friend had sung had used 'freedom' and 'death' interchangably. He remembers a golden-winged adeptus, splattered in blood he unwillingly spilled, begging every day for the freedom death would grant him.

Barbatos the wind sprite blew flowers into people's hair; Barbatos the Anemo Archon blew arrows into their hearts, and for what?

Freedom comes in so many different shapes; who is he to try and police what it means to his own people?)

.

 

The first thing Barbatos does as an Archon is a selfish one - he takes the form of the one who should be remembered as Mondstadt's saviour.

The second thing he does is flatten the landscape until it's unrecognisable - harsh rocks smoothed down to rolling fields, deep gorges filled with water; Barbatos has no wish to see Mondstadt as it existed when his dear friend was alive, for he cannot bear the sight. (And if he uses the hard work to work through his pain, his fury - well, there is no one around to call him out on it. Not anymore.)

The third thing he does is bury Amos and his dear friend - in a sprawling meadow next to a bubbling brook, where animals would naturally gather, and birds would fly and sing.

(Barbatos sits down beside their graves for what feels like years, singing all of the little Bard's songs he can remember, but no matter how much he tries, his voice sounds nothing like his dear friend's.

Have I already begun to forget you? He wonders; how many songs more before he forgets the shade of blue of his eyes, the tinkling of his laugh?

How many years before Mondstadt forgets its own saviour?

"Dear friend, I am not ready to let you go quite yet. Forgive me for my selfish desire, but I want you to be remembered as you should be.

"In death at least, be free.")

.

 

He decides he shall name this body, this existence, Venti - for he is the winds, indeed, and he will carry his dear friend's songs and stories to his people, until they are forever engrained in their hearts.

He leaves his dear friend's Lyre with his people, as a reminder - he will not control them, they will be free, but freedom has been fought for and will be fought for again, if need be. (The fact he cannot bring himself to play on it is, of course, part of the reason as well.)

So Barbatos departs from Mondstadt as swiftly as he came; in his place comes Venti the Bard, who sings for his dear friend's people and watches them grow old and happy, watches them know of flight and sun and freedom. He sings about his dear friend, and about Amos and Ragnvindr, and about freedom, until he is sure his legacy will be continued, until he is sure every citizen of Mondstadt knows them by heart.

Work finished, Venti the Bard departs from Mondstadt one star-lit night; he lays down near his dear friend's grave and sleeps deeply, for is he even necessary to his people? Every living being is born free - now that they're free from Decarabian's tyrranical rule, there is no need for him to teach anyone what freedom is.

 

 

Except - he wakes up one day, hundreds or thousands of years later, and there are slaves in his city. Shackles rattle on their ankles and nooses tighten round their necks, and all the while the ones reponsible shield themselves with his name—

Barbatos sheds his mortal skin and leads his people to freedom, and mourns - he thought his people capable of much, but such cruelty had never been considered. It is not the first time he considers that for some, freedom is to enslave, to hurt others - he's known that for as long as he's lived. But it is the first time he decides firmly that he needs a way to stop such things from happening without enforcing his will on his own people.

The battle is fierce, but in the end, Vennessa ascends to Celestia, Mondstadt knows freedom once again, and Venti whispers to the winds what he has told all of his people - if you need me, speak my name and I shall come; freedom, like death, waits at every corner of the world. He might not want to rule this country, but neither is he going to allow his people to suffer in chains - his dear friend would have been sad to witness it, and, Barbatos is starting to realise, maybe he himself would be, as well.

 

 

Barbatos is woken up from his dreamless sleep by prayers, so many and so feverent that each word hammers into his brain with blinding pain, a starburst under his eyelids.

Please, my daughter is missing—

—my big brother hasn't come home yet—

—went in the woods with my niece and it's been three days—

—it hurts, Lord Barbatos, I want the pain to stop—

—don't want to feel anymore—

—I beg of you, Anemo Archon—

—please, Lord Barbatos—

—have mercy on our souls—

—bring our missing children home!

Someone is harming his people, is harming children. Is hurting them to the point that they're seeking the other face of freedom, the one children aren't supposed to know about until they themselves are old and have lived a happy, fulfilling life—

The wind howls through the Whispering Woods, whipping fallen leaves up into whirlwinds, ripping out flowers from the roots, echoing Barbatos' wordless fury. The crystalflies scatter, the birds rush to hide in their nests, feathers fluffed up and chirps worried as they round the little chicks up.

It seems Barbatos is going to be showing someone a rarely-seen facet of his person very soon.

.

 

It is not difficult at all to find the culprit; the winds carry every whisper of the evil being committed on his soil to his ears, and the agonised cries of his children are everything but quiet.

Venti the Bard is skilled with a bow and arrow, and knows his way around a few more weapons besides; Barbatos the Anemo Archon has no need for weapons, for in Mondstadt, the winds are everywhere - and they, too, are roaring with righteous fury.

Stormbearer Mountains have always been of a crueler nature; Barbatos hadn't flattened them as much as the other parts of the country, perhaps out of misguided nostalgia, perhaps out of something else he will refuse to name that has to do with Decarabian's memory. It is here that the culprit is hiding, confident the tall cliffs will protect his secrets - forgetting that wind, by its nature, cannot be stopped by mere rocks, only redirected. Wind always finds a way.

The Fatui guards stationed near the entrance of the lab are blown aside by a gust of wind strong enough to crack their skulls against sharp, protruding rocks. Their bulky weapons clatter to the ground and are promptly crushed by falling boulders. The winds whisper in Barbatos' ears, not human, not anymore, they are the successful result of what they are doing to the children.

An exhale in the vague direction of the tall metal door and it swings open soundlessly; even as Barbatos walks inside, bare feet hitting cold tiles, wings stretched out behind him, white robe fluttering in a breeze too merciful still, no sound follows.

The hallways tunnelled through the rock are clinically clean and bright, incased in steel and glimmering to perfection, but the smell of rot and death and the cloying, too-sweet, numbing taste of godly remains and their bitter grudges hangs too thick in the air. The winds can't carry it away from Barbatos' presence no matter how much they try, but that is fine - he's long since gotten used to it, for Decarabian still haunts Mondstadt even after all these years.

Their goal, the winds hiss, is straight forward, behind the heaviest door in this forsaken place that's still barely able to muffle the cries of his people. The breeze around him turns into a cutting, cold gale, whipping his robe around his feet, howling through the too-empty corridors. A Fatui member makes the mistake of attacking him as he rounds a corner; he is slammed into the wall with a dull crack, and doesn't get up again. More follow the same fate.

They reach the door soon enough, when there aren't any guards or scientists left except the head one, the culprit; the sinner. It's in front of him, heavy and metal like the one at the entrance; but this one, he doesn't have to open it himself, as it swings open with a bang.

Out of it comes a tall, thin man with a mask and the sort of empty maniacal glee in his eyes that people who think themselves above everyone else always possess. The Tsaritsa's elite Harbinger Il Dottore looks delighted when he focuses on the Archon standing before him, opens his arms as if to marvel at the miracle in front of him.

The winds that have carried all of his words to Barbatos' ears whip through his coat, tangle his hair, howl in his ears, don't let him utter a single word in their Archon's presence - this little mortal, who not only adores stripping people away to nothing, but dared do such a thing in Mondstadt— no, the winds do not like him at all, and neither does Barbatos.

Barbatos has never liked fighting - has never liked taking lives, never liked to give out this particular kind of freedom, for it feels more like a punishment - to die with no way to be remembered, to sink, forgotten, into the sands of time.

But this man has dared hurt his people, has dared steal their freedom away and expects no repercussions - a punishment is what he deserves.

In front of him, il Dottore freezes, mouth working but no sound coming out; Barbatos watches dispassionately as the man starts clawing at his throat, lips turning a sickly blue, red eyes bulging as he realises the fight he was confident he would win and get himself a new specimen isn't a fight at all.

(No matter its strength or speed, in the end, wind is just moving air; and what is breathing if not moving air?)

Il Dottore's final moments are spent in pain; less than he deserves, really, but there are still children here who have not given up on life, and Barbatos will not waste his time on worthless beings who don't know the first thing about kindness or humanness.

.

 

The winds lead him to his people, hurt and bruised and bleeding, fear in their hearts and his name on their lips, and the ghosts of those he had been too late to save follow his footsteps with cheers and songs and lively chatter, pulling him this direction or the other, delight blooming from them like cecilias in the wind.

Barbatos leads the children out of the cages they're locked in, holds their hands and pats their heads and hides them under his wings and sings to them whichever song comes to mind, until their eyes brighten with hope and life once again, until tears fall from their eyes and giggles from their mouths; and as they reach the surface once more, behind them, the winds collapse the tunnels and tear everything and everyone still inside into shreds.

"This song you just sang," one of the girls says, a grin on her face, "I want to know how to sing it! Teach me, pleeeeease?"

"Pleeeease?" A few others join in, alive and dead alike, and Barbatos sings for them and with them until the living dance themselves to exhaustion and the dead fade away in peace.

 

 

This is what Mondstadtians see come morning: a figure hooded in white, brilliant wings spread into the air, leading a line of children into the town with a heavenly voice, the rising sun at their back just enough to throw their face in shadows.

Flora rushes up to them, throwing herself at friends she thought she'd never see again, watering can clattering to the ground, flowers forgotten; Donna drops to her knees and sobs as one of the boys waves up at her with a beaming smile; from her perch on her balcony, Helen the Bard leans out as far as she can, eyes wide and disbelieving. Even Wagner the Blacksmith lifts his head from what he's working on and stares with something close to wonder; next to him, Schulz drops his hammer into the fire and starts praying.

Lord Barbatos has appeared, the wind repeats the words spreading around Mondstadt like fire, Lord Barbatos has returned our children to us!

By the time Barbara and the other Sisters rush to the main gate, Barbatos has left, fading away slowly like a mirage; but it is not Barbatos who she wants to see. Barbara hugs every child and wraps all of their injuries with a smile and a song, and is rewarded with beaming smiles and stories of the ones that passed on, happy and content and free, and of the songs Barbatos sang to them all.

(A breeze, unseen and unfelt, ruffles Barbara's hair; behind her, invisible, Barbatos pats her head with a soft smile.

"What a good child you are," he praises, and Barbara, in the middle of a song, wrapping a twisted wrist, feels a ball of warmth settle in her chest.)

 

 

(Il Dottore possessed no Vision, and was prone to disappearing for months on end because of his experiments; by the time anyone has an inkling that something might be wrong, Dvalin has been saved from corruption and La Signora is reaching to steal an Archon's gnosis, confident that the exhausted, powerless god in a mortal shell can't fight back.

But the winds of Mondstadt love Barbatos, who was once one of them, who never makes them do anything they don't like, who always asks for permission and is always gentle with them; they love Venti, who sings to them in the tongue of old, who didn't begrudge their nature even as they killed him, who loves the winds the way he loved freedom; La Signora goes flying, over the ledge of the cathedral, right into hard stone and merciless unconsciousness, and the Fatui agents with her follow their leader with groans of pain.

Barbara and Jean of the Gunnhildr clan rush outside to see the famous drunkard bard help up the Traveler, ice strewn around and Paimon crying in pain about meanie Fatui attacking them out of the blue and freezing them into balls. As Acting Grandmaster, Jean hides her animosity towards the Snezhnayan envoy and remains professional even as she calls back-up to collect the Fatui members lying around; the crowd of worshippers who'd ran outside at the first sound of a scuffle aren't quite so gracious with their opinions.

Diplomatic relations between the two nations are quite firmly ruined, and in but a few hours the rumours about a Fatui attack right in front of an Archon's temple are all anyone talks about in Liyue Harbour.

Well, thinks Tartaglia of the Fatui as he waves to the funeral consultant he's agreed to meet for dinner, firmly ignoring the suspicious glares thrown at him, now I know what not to do.)

Notes:

Is this a happy ending or just a satisfying one? I don't know and I don't care, @ mihoyo pls let me fight La Signora i will wipe the goddamn floor with her-

Concerning the 'speak my name and I shall come' bit, yes I did take it from Xiao; since both Venti and Xiao are immortals who use wind, it's easy to assume it's the winds who carry their name to their ears whenever it is spoken, or at least that was my assumption writing this. Now, if you ask who came up with it first, that's another story...