Chapter Text
Olga could feel in her achy knee that the storm would only get worse. The wind had been howling for hours, and now the snow had arrived, fine flakes at first, but then increasing to clusters of flakes then great clumps. Knowing that her mare and nanny goat would need feeding soon, she decided to do her evening chores early in the last of the midwinter afternoon light, then batten down the hatches. Bunded up in her heaviest hooded fur cloak, with a scarf wrapped around her face, she trundled out the front door, and into the lean-to which protected it from the brunt of the wind. Her late husband, Ilia, had built the house and barn with his two hands to survive the fiercest winter that the Tsaritsa could summon- Both the house and the barn were built into the side of a hillock, with double layer brick walls, insulated with a tight packed layer of wheat straw, fronting the outside of each building. Olga grasped the laundry line attached to the outside of the lean to, which doubled as a guide line in blizzards. The snow accumulation had picked up, and it was becoming difficult to see the 15 meters to the barn. “Best hurry up,” she thought. Her breath had already formed a frozen mask in the scarf, and she was only halfway to the barn. Her eyelashes were gathering ice crystals, and blinking quickly only dislodged some, not all. Just a couple more steps, right knee now aching properly. She grasped the handle on the barn door, and felt it come free in her hand, as if it hadn’t been properly latched. She didn’t ever lock the barn- she was a fair distance from the nearest town, and if someone needed shelter, she was more comfortable with tools being stolen than innocents freezing to death on their travels. She was however, not afraid to defend herself. Stitched into her fur cloak was a leather scabbard containing a hunting knife- she now reached a gloved hand into her cloak and readied herself for any eventuality.
Olga entered the barn to the friendly nicker of her grey mare and bleat of the goat, which relaxed her defensive stance. “Hello ladies, dinner will be early tonight.” She turned on the lights, grateful for the thoughtfulness of her husband and the technology of Snezhnaya. The barn was small- a large box stall shared by the mare and goat and another stall currently filled with grain, hay and stall bedding supplies. Across a barn aisle more hay bales were stacked, and some loose hay was already set out for upcoming meals. Absentmindedly, Olga set to work, milking the nanny goat, then preparing grain against a soundtrack of expectant nickering. Once she had placated the demanding mare with her evening grain, and stillness returned, she realized she was not alone. She could hear raspy breathing. Turning back to the hay storage area across the aisle, she noticed what she had thought to be a misplaced horse blanket strewn upon a platform of hay bales. Upon closer inspection, it was a black fur cloak. Olga grasped her knife in one hand, while gently lifting the cloak, to peer underneath. Brilliant red hair, in unkempt curls, tumbled out, framing the pale face of their unconscious bearer. Pulling off her gloves, she placed a hand to his neck, fingers searching for a jugular pulse; once found, Olga paused to inspect it properly, too slow for someone sleeping normally, also too weak. The raspy breathing was also concerning- was he ill or injured, Olga wasn’t sure.
“Son, can you hear me?” She asked to his face. She knew she couldn’t get him back to the house easily on her own, not with her dodgy knee. Could she get him standing and walk him inside? The barn would stay warm enough for the horse and goat, who were very fuzzy and dry, but an ailing human would struggle to be comfortable. She looked at his face- his youthful features wore recent struggles across them. His cheeks and nose were singed with fresh frost bite. Olga pushed on his nearest cloaked shoulder. “Son, if you can get up, I can get you warmer and comfortable.” His eyelashes fluttered and he groaned while he pushed himself into a sitting position.
“My apologies, I will be going. Just needed a quick rest. Thank you for your hospitality.” He muttered, through closed eyes, swaying slightly. Olga placed a hand on his arm, to steady him- he couldn’t have been in the barn for more than a couple hours- she had been out earlier and had rearranged the hay stack that he was upon.
“Son, I don’t know where you are headed, but you must come inside and stay the night- the blizzard is worsening, and you won’t survive outside for long.” She offered him a hand, to help him to standing. He lurched upwards, mumbling continued apologies, and staggering towards the door. Olga grabbed his hand and pulled his arm around her shoulders, then grabbing him at his waist. Pulling his hood back up, and latching his cloak high to cover his face, she then covered herself and made for the barn door. For being only barely conscious, her new lodger was compliant, probably due to exhaustion, she thought. Pulling the barn door tightly closed behind her, she grasped the guideline and slowly led the young man to the house.
Once back to the house, Olga guided her guest to into the warmth of her one spacious room of an abode. She had been this region’s midwife for multiple decades and her home was purpose built to help people, single and in families, through their best and worst times. Her bed and the kitchen area took up the leftmost area as you looked from the entry, a large hearth and sitting area in the middle, and a patient area was situated on the right. She could unfold a second bed in times of great demand, but the countryside was increasingly empty and its people aged- not as many babies being born on the farms these days. The one bed was all she currently needed, for her new patient. She guided him to the bed and helped him lower himself to the bed. He nearly landed gently, but the last amount of lowering was too strenuous, and he collapsed and then fell backwards. Olga grabbed his shoulders and slowed his decent. Once she was satisfied that he was safely landed, she approached the hearth, opened a metal drawer on the right side of the blazing fire. Inside were coarse cotton blankets, hot to the touch. She took one from the side closest to the fire and one from the other side, which was a bit cooler.
“Son, we need to get you warmed up, so I am going to take off your clothes. I will try to leave you your dignity, but if your smallclothes are soaked though, they will have to come off as well.” He didn’t respond, which didn’t sit well with Olga, but hypothermia was an acute risk to him, so she had to take action. Since his legs were still dangling off the bed, she was easily able to ease his boots off. She then grabbed his fur cloak and used it as a sledge to drag him up higher on the bed, before extricating it out from under him. As she gathered up the cloak, she noticed the smell of blood. Finding the source will have to wait until he is warm, she thought. Placing the warm blanket over his torso, and the hot one over that, she reached under and unlaced the front of his trousers and gently inched them down his thighs, until she could pull them down the rest of the way. Shocked at how cold he still felt, Olga felt even greater urgency. She grabbed three hot water bottles from some cabinets next to the patient bed, and opened a tap over the hearth to fill them all. She placed one in each armpit and one between his thighs. His upper body clothes felt damp to the touch, as did his boxers, so she decided to cut them off, with as much privacy as she could afford while keeping him warm. With sharp surgical shears and a deft hand making strategic cuts, she removed the rest of his clothing, and once she had gathered the remnants into her hands, she noticed the black fabric of his shirt was staining her skin red. He wasn’t bleeding to death, but he was definitely hurt. She reached a hand under the blankets and felt his torso for warmth- still too cold for a mammal. She pulled the blankets tight around him, trying to seal the warmth in. She grabbed another warmed one from the drawer, and unfolded it on his chest, then pulled it up to just under his chin. She gently lifted his head and gathered his hair from under his head and shoulders. The vivid ruby color still amazed her- she imagined what it might look like combed and cared for. No ordinary man would wear such a mane for no reason, she mused. She used some gauze to wrap the hair up and out of the way, then pulled the corners of the warm blanket up over his head, encasing him in a warm blanket cocoon.
Once she was happy with the comfort of her patient, Olga spent the evening catching up with her correspondence and record keeping. She asked new parents to send her daily updates on mother and child for the first two weeks after baby came. She would receive these missives, hand carried to her by partners and other family members, and if there were no alarming issues, she would add them to her pile for recording. She visited every family two weeks after birth, but immediately and earlier if there were any complications. After that, her visit frequency was decided by her and the parents, and varied widely. New mothers needed more assurance, experienced parents were happy to have fewer appointments to worry about. After organizing all the update notes, Olga assessed her schedule for the upcoming week, and added in a couple of new visits. It was well past midnight and her knee pain had started to subside- the storm had to be weakening. She stood to check on her guest once more, thinking that bedtime was drawing near. A knock sounded at the door.
“Comrade, the Fatui demand your assistance.” Olga felt a deep chill that was unrelated to the weather. She drew a privacy curtain that shielded the view of the bed from the door, and reached for her surgical apron, to add professional stature. Her apron was leather, and had a hidden sheath for a different, but similarly shaped hunting knife. She looked towards the pile of black bloody clothes, visible beneath the privacy curtain, and had an idea. She grasped the clothes in her hands, and called back to the door.
“Come in Comrade, the door is unlocked.” Two fatuus entered and quickly shut the door. “I would greet you properly, but I am with a patient. She is suffering from menstrual issues.” Olga gestured towards them with her bloodied hands. The two, both young men, visibly recoiled, both stepping back towards the door. “She is sedated heavily, so if you need to speak, you can speak freely.”
“We are searching for an enemy of the Fatui. His name is Diluc Ragvindr and he is from Mondstat. His long bright red hair is extremely distinctive, as is his greatsword. He was headed this way, but we lost his tracks in the snow. Have you seen anyone of this description?” Olga looked down at her hands, and stared back at the young officer who spoke.
“Comrade, I have been dealing with this bleeding patient all evening. I am sure I would have noticed a man with bright red hair had he stopped by. I will surely let you know if I see anyone of that description. I could wash my hands and offer you something warm before you return to your search, if that would be helpful.” The two squirmed again, edging back towards the door.
“No Comrade, we will simply do a quick search of your barn and be on our way. The Fatui thanks you for your assistance.”
“May Her Holiness the Tsaritsa protect you in your journey.”
“Thank you, you as well.” The two fatui turned and exited as abruptly as they arrived. Olga walked to the window, placed a hand on her sweater, near her collarbone, and blue light flashed. That little bit of Hydro should freeze the barn door closed nice and tight, she thought. This isn’t an uncommon issue in snowstorms, so the two men pulled a couple times, then gave up, too embarrassed to consider asking for assistance or using a Delusion on a stuck barn door. They will probably return with the dawn, she thought, while making a plan to feed, water and milk the animals earlier than first light. She heard rustling from the far side of the room and returned to check on her patient. For the first time, his eyes were half open in her presence: as striking a crimson hue as his hair, with an enduring sadness about them.
“Why did you protect me?” he whispered softly, meeting her eyes, then turning away.
“Protecting lives is my business. I help people be born, I don’t send them off to their deaths.” Olga moved to the side of the bed he had turned towards and sat on the edge. “It seems that young Mr Ragvindr, or young Master Ragvindr, as the case may be, has gotten himself into some trouble with the Fatui.” She reached for his forehead and assessed his temperature. “You are probably safe from hypothermia now, but your wounds will become a more pressing concern now that you are warm. Do you want to tell me how you got them?”
“I’d rather not,” he sighed heavily. His eyelids fluttered and fought against his exhaustion.
“Ok, well you need to rest more than I need my curiosity sated. I will give you a new set of warm blankets and then we should both get some sleep.”
“Thank you,” he mumbled, eyes closing, head lolling slightly to one side. Olga stood gently, walked softly to turn off the lights, then made her way to bed by the firelight.
Olga awoke early, as she planned, and made her way to the barn. After doing all her usual chores, she examined the haystacks and found a ridiculously large great sword wedged between the bales and the back wall. The handle, handguard and blade were all intricately adorned, with red metal inlays and lacquer work which made it clear that her visitor was young Master Ragvindr, and not a run of the mill ruffian. How to get this back to the house discretely was now the pressing matter- one passing traveller seeing an older woman with a monstrous sword would be all required to land Olga and her patient in the hottest of water. Lying in a corner of the hay storage area was Olga’s woven basket backpack, which she used for gathering kindling and willow switches. The hearth kindling storage could use restocking, and if she covered the sword in cloth, it might not get noticed if surrounded by last fall’s willow switches. She was surprised to find that she could lift the sword more easily than she thought, but it was truly unwieldly. The sword’s wielder did not seem so substantial of a man, but he must have a wiry strength to handle such a beast. She wrapped the sword in stable rags and placed it in the basket, then surrounded it with thin branches collected for kindling and then the longer willow switches. It was obvious there was something else in the basket, but it didn’t scream broadsword, so Olga shouldered the bag and headed out of the barn. As she stepped outside, she saw in the feeble dawn light visitors approaching. Probably close to a kilometer away, but close enough to see a figure leave the barn. She raised a hand to indicate she saw them, and walked unhurriedly into the lean-to, where she unleashed her urgency, and whirled into the house. There weren’t any obvious places to hide a great sword, but she just needed somewhere that didn’t attract attention. She settled on the vacant other side of her bed, where her husband had slept. Under the thick down duvet and the decorative pillow, it could only be noticed if someone actually sat on that side of the bed. Knowing the probable Fatui visitors would arrive any minute, she pulled the sword out of the basket, and slipped it under the duvet. She then grabbed her mortar and pestle from the kitchen and placed it on the table, with the basket leaning on one of the legs. She began to strip a willow switch, and had collected some bark in the mortar when the awaited knock sounded.
“Comrade, we have returned.” Said the voice at the door.
“Welcome comrade, please enter if you’d like. The door is unlocked.”
“There is no need, we only wish to search the barn. Thank you for your cooperation.” Cognizant that they could be listening closely, Olga resisted the urge to sigh in relief.
“Very well, good luck in your search.” She then resisted the urge to leap to the window and observe their movements- that would certainly be noted as suspicious if they noticed. Peel the willow switches, collect the bark, pretend nothing out of the ordinary was happening, soak the bark in cold fire-water, grind with the pestle, pour off the liquid. It was a perfect mindless task to consume herself for the interminable amount of time between knocks.
“Comrade, we will be leaving now. The Fatui thank you for your continued cooperation.”
“Thank you for letting me know. May Her Holiness the Tsaritsa protect you.” Knowing that this too could be a ruse, she stripped the bark off of two more switches before she left her seat, to check on her patient. He looked to be sleeping, and Olga was loathe to wake him, but it would be good if he could eat something.
“How are you this morning, young master?” She whispered. He groaned.
“Please, don’t call me that. Diluc is fine. Just Diluc. I’m not the master of anything anymore.” This being the longest conversation they had had so far had to be a sign of him improving, Olga thought.
“Master Diluc, just because you left your home does not mean you left anything of yourself. Would you like something to eat? I made some porridge.” He nodded.
“Thank you, I haven’t eaten much in a couple days.” He was soon being helped to a sitting position, and then handed a large bowl of a savory porridge loaded with bits of bacon. As he bent forward he groaned, spurring Olga to notice the state of his back- a jagged avulsion below his right shoulder blade and a neater laceration running down his spine.
“I should really take care of these injuries for you. Do you have other wounds you would like to tell me about?” She watched him try to shrug her question off and flinch from the pain of doing so, inhaling sharply. She put a consoling hand on the base of his neck. “Diluc, I am guessing you have been on your own for some time, and you aren’t used to depending on anyone else. You can let me help you.” Her well-callibrated hand indicated that his body temperature was beginning to rise- infection and fever were probably setting in. Almost as if he could hear her thoughts, he sighed in resignation.
“A crossbow bolt grazed my left thigh. Another is lodged below my last rib on the right.” Olga gave him a gentle squeeze on his shoulder, as a sign of thanks for the trust.
“If it is ok with you, I can make you a tea that will reduce the pain and fever, so you can be comfortable while I work.” Diluc started to protest, but Olga continued on. “If you are relaxed, the healing will be easier and you will be able to continue your journey sooner. I assume this is what you want?” The young man’s face flushed, whether from the building fever or something else, she couldn’t decide.
“That is fine. Continuing on sooner would be best.” He turned away from his empty bowl and Olga, sighing deeply; the unsaid words were loud in Olga’s head. I am putting you in danger being here any longer than necessary is what his posture conveyed.
The tea was a compounding of the willow bark extract in firewater and a poppy extract, made palatable with some honey and milk. Diluc sniffed it cautiously, then downed it quickly, before attempting to gingerly roll himself onto his stomach. Muffled gasps emerged from between gritted teeth, eyes shut tight with tears still managing to escape, he collapsed once finally prone. Olga placed her hand on his upper back, once again, offering silent consolation, while inspecting the state of him more closely. His wiry build disguised the strength across his back and shoulders, and she could feel the incredible tension held within those shoulders. He might say that he was master of nothing anymore, but he still carried the weight of his duties on his shoulders. The number of scars crisscrossing his back wasn’t going to change considerably with the addition of a few more. Olga’s stomach churned at the thought of what might drive such a young man to suffer so much. After this moment of quiet contemplation, his breathing slowed and he was comfortably napping, so Olga set to work. Deciding the ugly avulsion would take the most time and be the most painful, she started there, while her concoction was most effective. She brought a recently boiled kettle over, and placing her hand over her vision, a thin thread of water emerged from the kettle. Using this thread as a tiny hose, she ablated the flap of the avulsion with extreme precision to clean up the wound and expose live tissue. This painstaking process took a while, and occasionally, whispered groans indicated that an exposed nerve had been found. Once Olga was satisfied that the tissue was all clean and only healthy areas were exposed, she started stitching the wound back together, using her hydro thread. Starting at the base of the avulsion, where it looked like some muscle had been rendered, she put in a layer of stitches. She repeated this process until she had pulled the two sides of the avulsion back in a very respectable fashion- there would always be prominent scarring, but the muscle should heal well. Pausing to rest from so much use of her Vision, she sat back in her chair.
“Father!” her patient screamed, eyes still shut, and otherwise still. “Father. No, no, no!” Olga stood and walked to his head, and grabbed his hand, while stroking his forehead.
“Easy, dear, its ok,” she cooed, hoping that he would stay still and not disturb the healing. Her Hydro thread was infused with healing magic, but it wasn’t instantaneous.
“Kaeya, you traitor! How dare you?? Whose side are you on?” the howling rage bellowing out of his mouth was completely incongruent with his otherwise still body. His face however matched the emotions perfectly; eyebrows knitted and an infuriated grimace colored the face that Olga had seen only as nearly emotionless. He returned her hold on his hand with a grip that was certainly on his greatsword in his dream. His breathing was fast and deep, optimal for extreme athletic exertion, in a fight to the death. Her concerns being shown to be true, Olga looked on sadly. So these are the demons that haunt you, young one. She sat quietly as he raged internally, with periodic pulsing increases in his grip mirroring violent slashes in his dream. Eventually his breathing slowed, his grip relaxed, and then he began to weep softly. The gentle raggedness of his sobbing increased in intensity until he was nearly howling. A primal sadness rushed out of him, as if he had finally gotten the chance to understand what he felt, and the tears streamed forward to wash out years of pain. “Oh Kaeya, I am so sorry.” With that uttered phrase as the crescendo, he slowly unwound himself from the emotional height of his dream, and returned to sleeping quietly, freeing Olga’s hand to return to her work.
One of the two crossbow bolt injuries was a bit complicated, as Olga had to cut the bolt out, then clean then suture, but it was nothing she couldn’t handle. The long laceration on his back was a simple matter of clean then stitch, as was the grazing crossbow injury, so once those were done, she bundled her patient up in freshly warmed blankets, and let him sleep off the effects of her concoction.
It was early in the evening when he started stirring again, groaning as he tried to roll himself off of his stomach.
“Easy, Son, easy. Let me get you some pillows, so you can sit up. You don’t have too many uninjured sides to lay on.” Olga helped him settled down gently into the pillows, hoping the stitches in his back have anchored firmly by now. “You should eat again, here you go.” She was not about to argue- he needed to eat to heal properly, and she had prepared in advance to avoid any debate, handing him a plate with a substantial sandwich, layered with cheese, preserved beef and pickles. He accepted the plate and started to eat up, looking thankfully up at her. His eyes looked softer than they had before she had sedated him. Perhaps he gained something from that dream, she thought? She let him eat for a while, and when he was approaching finishing, she decided she couldn’t live with herself not asking.
“When I was working on you, you cried out in a dream. I am pretty sure you don’t want to talk about it but hear me out. Our dreams are how we deal with our trauma and better understand ourselves. I know I am just an old woman to you, but I was once young, and I too longed for things to be different. Back before we were married, my husband and I were just kids in love. His family wanted him to go off to study in the capital and my family wanted me to marry a rich landowner’s son. I wanted to go study in the capital with Ilia. Ilia wanted to love me and make me happy. My family accused Ilia of corrupting me and got him arrested. I went to the police and demanded his freedom but was laughed out of the station. I went home and sobbed into my pillow and fell asleep.” Olga paused, wondering if her ramblings had bored the young man, but when she looked at him, he nodded earnestly, as a gesture for her to continue. “As I napped that day, I dreamt of walking down a forest path and reaching a fork. I could see my family down one fork, and that rich landowner’s son. If I peered further down that fork, I could see children and a manor house, but it all looked very dark, as if shrouded in sadness, compliance and conformity. It was what was expected of me. I then turned to the other fork, and saw Ilia, reaching out a hand to me. The path was more barren, no fancy house, no people lining up to congratulate us, but I took his hand anyway, and felt our love illuminate the path. I realized, at that moment, our future was for only us to decide.” She reached into her high-necked sweater and pulled out a necklace that supported her vision, which she then closed her hand around. “When I awoke, I found this in my closed hand. I went downstairs and told my parents that if they didn’t drop charges against Ilia, I was going to rescue him and wash the police station away. It was a bluff, but they saw my vision, and realized I now had the power to at least try.” Olga stopped, feeling very self-conscious suddenly- she hadn’t told that story in ages, not since her son had left home. Both sat in contemplative silence until Diluc broke it.
“My father died protecting me- he used a Delusion, which backfired on him. I couldn’t do anything to help him. My brother came to me with a confession that same night and I lost control. I nearly killed him in a rage. He only survived because he was granted a vision. I have relived that night endless times, have seen that same dream for three years, but this was the first time I got to apologize to him.” Diluc leaned forward and cradled his face in his hands; this act disturbed his injured back, and unleashed a searing pain that caused him to cry out. Instinctively, Olga wrapped her arms around him, and held him as he began to shake, struggling to contain the cries that wanted to emerge. “I am a monster,” he mouthed, nearly soundlessly, into Olga’s shoulder. She teared up, said nothing, and stroked his unruly hair, while hugging him with her other arm, careful to avoid the tender injured areas. She could feel him still shuddering under the weight of the sadness.
“Son, there is no shame in letting it out before it consumes you.” Diluc took a deep breath, and then he did. Not the unreserved bawling from his dream, but still an earnest sob. With every cry and shaky breath, Olga could feel the tension seeping out of him. The tears flowed in such a quantity that she could feel the dampness on her shoulder, through her sweater and undershirt. She continued to gently smooth her hand along his hair, until finally the harsh sobs and jagged breathing softened to become one rhythmic sound, and Olga gently eased a sleeping Diluc back onto the pillows. She unfolded his arms to his sides and pulled the blankets up around his chest. Her previous attempts to contain his hair were failing at this point, so she carefully re-extricated it from underneath him, and piled it up on his head, giving his forehead a gentle pat as she moved away. You poor motherless child, she thought. It was late now, so Olga decided it was time for bed for her as well. As she approached her bed, she had a thought and went to the other side of the bed and crouched down to look in the drawers under the bed. She retrieved a pile of clothes and walked them back to place on the chair next to the patient bed, pulling the curtain across as she went back towards her bed.