During one sunny afternoon in the Gunnhildr Estate, we see the seven year old Jean, quietly gazing upon a window from her room.
The world from her window was a tapestry of autumnal gold and rust, the leaves of the great apple trees surrounding the Gunnhildr Estate turning in the crisp Mondstadt breeze. Inside, the air was warm, smelling of woodsmoke, old books, and the faint, comforting scent of lavender that always clung to Mama.
It had been just over two months since the picnic. Just over two months since Varka, the boy with the loud laugh and even louder dreams, had become her Mama's apprentice. Jean had watched him transform from a wide-eyed, awestruck farm boy into a focused, serious young man who walked through the halls of the Headquarters' of the Knights of Favonius with the quiet confidence of someone who knew his purpose. She saw him practicing in the courtyards, saw the way he looked at Mama, with a devotion so pure it was like a prayer.
From her perch on the window seat, Jean could see everything. She saw her little brother, Bennett, chasing a particularly stubborn autumn leaf as it danced on the wind, his giggles echoing faintly. He had Mama's laugh, bright and unburdened. He had Mama's luck, too. The leaf he was chasing skittered right into his outstretched hands.
And Barbara. Sweet, little Barbara. Now a toddler of nearly two (same as with her little brother Bennett), she sat on a plush rug on the floor, clumsily trying to thread colorful beads onto a string, her brow furrowed in concentration. She was humming a tune, a simple, off-key melody that was her own attempt at mimicking the songs Mama often sang while she knitted by the fireplace. Her blonde hair, the same shade as Jean's, was tied up in two tiny, uneven pigtails that bounced with every frustrated little huff.
Jean loved them. A fierce, protective love that felt too big for her seven-year-old heart. She was their big sister. It was her job to look after them, just like Mama looked after all of them.
Her gaze drifted back to the open ledger on her lap. It was one of Mama's, one of the simpler ones detailing the inventory of the estate's pantries. Jean couldn't read all the words yet, but she could understand the numbers, the columns of figures that spoke of order and responsibility. Mama let her look, sometimes even let her run her small finger down a neat row of sums, murmuring in her ear what each one meant. "This is how we ensure everyone has enough to eat, my little knight. This is the foundation of a well-run home, just as a well-run city needs its foundations."
Jean took her role very seriously. She was Mama's little helper, her shadow. When Mama met with her captains in the Grandmaster's chambers, Jean would sit quietly on a small plush stool in the corner, a little blue notebook and a piece of crayon in her hands, pretending to take notes just like Secretary Melisa. She didn't understand the talks of patrol routes, supply lines, or diplomatic agendas with Liyue and other nations, but she understood the tone.
She understood the respect in Sir Hemlock's grizzled voice, the sharp intellect in Captain Yuan's silence, and the way all of them, these powerful, important knights, looked at Mama. Not with fear, but with awe. With absolute, unshakeable faith.
Sometimes, when the meetings were over and the captains had bowed and left, Mama would look at Jean and a small smile would grace her lips. "And what is your report, Captain Jean?" she would ask, her emerald eyes twinkling.
Jean would puff out her chest. "The meeting was... orderly, Grandmaster," she would say, copying the formal addresses she had heard. "All were present. The mood was... serious."
"Mm," Mama would hum, walking over to ruffle her hair. "Excellent work, Captain. You are dismissed from your duties." Mama would pretend to dismiss her only for her to be cuddled by her while peppering her face with kisses, making her giggle.
Back home, her duties usually involved reading a story to Benny and Barbara, or helping the estate staff, kind people like Head Stewardess Elspeth, who still sometimes looked at Mama with a teary-eyed reverence and whispered about the 'Anemo Archon's true form.'
Jean didn't understand all the whispers, she found them odd, the way people sometimes froze when Mama walked by, the way their voices would drop to hushed, reverent tones.
She only knew her Mama. Her Mama, who had a laugh as warm as sunlight, whose arms were the safest place in the world, whose hands, though capable of wielding a sword with ease, were impossibly gentle when they wiped away a tear or braided her hair.
Before Mama, there was silence. There were nannies who did their job, and there was a mother, Frederica, who was a name, a face she saw in portraits, a distant figure who smelled of cold perfume and strict disappointment. Jean remembered the ache in her chest, the loneliness that was a constant companion in the big, echoing Gunnhildr manor before her Mama's arrival. She remembered clinging to baby Barbara, feeling a fierce, protectiveness over her little sister that was far too old for her age. She had promised to protect Barbara then. It was a promise made to an empty room, but she had meant it with all her soul.
Then, Mama came. Like a storybook hero. She appeared in the chaos, her golden hair shining like a halo, her voice cutting through the fear. She didn't just save them from the Treasure Hoarders; she saved them from the silence. She saw them. Not as members of a prestigious clan, not as burdens, but as hers, her own children.
"My little Jean," she had called her, her voice the most beautiful sound Jean had ever heard. "My precious Barbara." At that moment, the lonely little girl's fantasy had become reality. This was her real mother. The one she had been waiting for.
The crunch of gravel on the path outside pulled Jean from her thoughts. A blue elegant carriage just pulled over the gates of the estate, it was Mama's Carriage! She's finally home! Jean scrambled down from the window seat, her book forgotten. "Barbara! Benny! Mama's home!"
Barbara's head shot up, her bead project abandoned in an instant. "Mama!" she shrieked, her little legs pumping as she toddled towards the door.
Bennett, seeing the excitement, dropped the leaf he was proudly showing to a passing knight and ran on wobbly legs, yelling "MAMA! MAMA!" at the top of his lungs.
Jean led the charge, throwing open the heavy oak door just as Artoria was stepping out of the carriage. She looked slightly tired but regal, the day's duties etched faintly around her eyes, but when she saw them, her face transformed. It was like watching the sun rise.
"My precious little babies!," she said, her arms open wide.
Barbara and Bennett collided with her embrace, hugging her tightly. Jean hung back for a second, a wave of that old, familiar shyness washing over her, before she walked forward and gently wrapped her arms around her mother's waist. Artoria held them all, a fortress of warmth and love. She kissed Barbara's head, then Bennett's, before turning her full attention to Jean. She gently lifted Jean's chin with a finger, her emerald eyes soft and loving.
"And how was my little captain today? Did you guard the fortress well?"
Jean's chest swelled with pride. "I did, Mama. I watched over Benny and Barbara, and I helped organize the library ledgers with Secretary Melisa's instructions. I was very orderly."
"Wonderful," Artoria breathed, her smile a thing of pure joy. "My brave little knight, my precious songbird, and my fearless adventurer. What more could a mother ask for?"
She scooped up both Barbara and Bennett in her arms while Jean grabbed hold of her coat. "Come now, let's go inside. I believe the cook has made your favorite, apple tarts."
The chorus of cheers coming from three children was deafening. As they walked into the grand, welcoming hall of the estate, Jean looked up at her mother's profile. The setting sun caught in her hair, turning it into a shimmering halo of gold. Jean thought of the dandelions that grew wild in the meadows around Mondstadt. They looked simple, almost common, but when you blew on them, their seeds took to the wind, traveling far and wide, spreading life and beauty wherever they landed. Her mother was like that. She was so strong, so grand, but her love was like those seeds, light and free, finding its way into every corner of their lives and making them grow. She wasn't just a dandelion, Jean realized, she was the wind itself, carrying them all safely.
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In one quiet afternoon, Jean decided to go to a secluded place in their orchard, and practice swordplay.
It was her own secret spot, a small clearing tucked behind a thicket of apple trees, their branches heavy with unripe fruit. The air was sweet with the scent of blossoms and grass. Here, no one could see her, no one could judge her clumsy efforts.
She had a wooden waster, a smaller version of the ones Mama and Varka used. She held it with both hands, trying to mimic the perfect, balanced stance she had seen her mother demonstrate a thousand times. Feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent, back straight. Easy enough.
Then came the movements.
She tried to recall the fluid grace of her mother. The way a simple practice swing could look like a dance, a poem written in motion. Jean took a deep breath and swung.
The wooden sword felt heavy, unwieldy. The arc was wobbly, lacking power or precision. She ended the swing off-balance, stumbling a step to the side. Frustration pricked at her. She tried again, focusing harder. Another clumsy swing. And another. The more she tried to emulate her Mama's effortless strength, the more awkward she felt. The wooden sword didn't sing like Mama's did; it thudded and whistled awkwardly through the air.
But Jean never gave up, she's persistent. She wanted to be strong like her Mama, she wanted to show her that she can be better than that loud-mouth Varka. Her little mind rationalized that her Mama chose him because she might've seen something in him. But she will prove that Jean herself is also worthy!
She tried one of Mama's signature moves—a simple disarm she had seen her perform on Varka during a lesson. She imagined an opponent, a faceless Hilichurl, lunging at her. She sidestepped, brought her waster down to parry, and attempted to hook the imaginary blade.
It failed completely. Her timing was off. Her feet tangled. She ended up on the ground, her wooden sword clattering beside her in the grass. The impact knocked the wind out of her, and for a moment, she just lay there, staring up at the dappled sunlight through the leaves. A single, hot tear of frustration escaped her eye and traced a path down her face.
She was not a knight. She was a seven-year-old girl playing with a stick in an orchard.
"Your wrist is too loose," a quiet, calm and sweet voice said from behind her. "And you are leading with your shoulders, not your hips. The power comes from the ground, up through your legs, not from your arms alone, sweetie."
Jean scrambled to her feet, her face flushing with embarrassment and alarm. She spun around, wiping at her eyes with the back of her glove.
Mama was standing there, leaning against the trunk of an apple tree. She had changed out of her Grandmaster's attire and wore a simple blue shirt and trousers, her golden hair tied loosely at the nape of her neck. In her hands, she held two wooden practice swords. She was smiling, her emerald eyes held no judgment, only a gentle, patient warmth.
"How long have you been watching?" Jean asked, her voice small.
"Long enough to see your spirit," Mama replied, pushing off the tree and walking towards her. "You have courage, Jean. That is the most important part of being a knight. More important than strength, more important than skill. Courage cannot be taught."
She stopped in front of her and held out one of the wooden swords. "The rest, however, can be."
Jean stared at the offered sword, her own waster lying forgotten in the grass. "But... I'm clumsy. I keep messing up."
"Of course you do," Artoria said, a soft smile gracing her lips. "You're still a child and have had no teacher. You are trying to learn by watching a master perform a finished masterpiece. You do not learn to forge a sword by watching a completed blade; you learn by feeling the heat of the fire, by holding the hammer."
Jean looked down at the ground, a little pout forming in her cute little face.
Artoria tilted her head. "Does my little knight desire something?"
Jean looked up, her blue eyes, a different shade from her mother's emerald eyes, filled with a yearning she had never voiced. "I want... I want to be like you, Mama."
The confession hung in the air between them. It was more than just childish admiration; it was a declaration of purpose.
Artoria's expression softened into something impossibly tender. She knelt down on one knee, bringing herself to Jean's eye level.
"Oh, my darling Jean," she whispered, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of blonde hair behind her daughter's ear. "You are already the best part of me. You have my strength, my heart. You just need to learn how to let it out."
"But…but why did Mama never teach me how to fight like Varka? Mama always teaches me about some other stuff and would bring me to meetings, yet Mama never taught me how to properly swing a sword." Artoria can now see her lips trembling. The poor girl was about to cry from jealousy.
Seeing her eldest's state, made her heart ache. She then sat on the grass then reached out and gently pulled Jean into her lap and gave her a warm hug.
"Shhh, hush now my sweet girl. It's not because I don't think you can. It's because... well, it's complicated."
She pulled back slightly, looking into Jean's watery eyes. "Do you know why I started training Varka?"
Jean shook her head, sniffling.
"I started training Varka because I saw in his eyes what he can become, a sword and a shield for Mondstadt, someone who will follow in my footsteps," Artoria explained gently. "He needs to learn quickly, so that he can be ready to protect this nation and its people when the time comes."
She brushed a tear from Jean's cheek. "You, my darling, are different. You are not meant to be just a sword for others. You are my daughter. The heir to my name, my legacy. And I... I want you to have a proper childhood, a happy and memorable childhood."
"I want to see you laugh and play. I want to see you chase butterflies in the meadows and get your dress muddy. I want to see you braid Barbara's hair and read stories to Bennett," Artoria continued, her voice thick with emotion.
"I…I want to see you be a child, because... because I never get to see my own children be children. And I regret it every single day."
Jean looked at her mother, confused by the sadness in her voice. "Your own children? But Mama….you only have us."
Artoria shook her head slowly. "Long ago, before you're even born, sweetie, I had two other daughters." Her gaze grew distant, as if she was looking at a different time, a different place.
"The first one was... rowdy. So full of fire and passion, always wanting to prove herself, to be worthy of my love and attention. But....I was different back then, so focused on my duties, that I never told her not even once that I was proud of her. I never got to hold her and told her that she was enough, just as she was."
Artoria's embrace around Jean tightened, a subtle tremor running through her. "The other... she was always so happy, always seeking my attention, but I was always too tired, too busy with my work. I missed her first steps, her first words. Imissed everything that mattered, yet she was always happy to see me. Then...then one day...I..I was told that something..happened while I was away from work." Artoria stopped herself from finishing her sentence, her eyes now moist with tears. She could not bear the thought of remembering what had happened on that painful day. She's afraid that it might scare Jean if she continued her tale about her…lost elder sister.
"I failed them both, Jean. I failed them as a mother."
Tears flowed down from Artoria's emerald eyes, a sight Jean had never seen before.
Her mother, who seemed as strong and unshakable as the mountains, was crying. The sight broke Jean's young heart.
"That's why I'm so protective of you and your siblings Jean," Artoria continued, her voice cracking. "That's why I want to savor every moment with you, with Barbara, and with Bennett. I'm so terrified of the thought of losing the three of you, of repeating my mistakes."
She held Jean close, burying her face in her daughter's hair. "I'm sorry, my sweet girl. I'm sorry if I made you feel neglected. I just... I just want to keep you safe. To keep you close. To have you all in my arms."
Jean didn't fully understand the weight of her mother's confession, but she understood the pain, the fear, and the love behind her words. She wrapped her small arms around her mother's neck, hugging her tightly. "It's okay, Mama," she whispered. "I'm not going anywhere. We're not going anywhere."
Artoria held her daughter for a long moment, her body shaking with silent sobs. Then, she pulled back, her eyes red but resolved. "But I see now that I've been wrong," she said, her voice stronger now. "In trying to keep you close, I've been holding you back. You have a warrior's spirit, Jean. I see it now. And I will not let it wither. I will teach you."
Jean's eyes lit up, a bright, hopeful spark in their blue depths.
"But we will do it my way," Artoria continued, a faint smile returning to her lips. "We will start slow. I'll train you but I also want you to experience your childhood as joyfully as possible. We will build your foundation, not just with a sword, but with your heart and your mind. A knight's greatest weapon is not the steel in her hand, but the conviction in her soul."
She stood up, pulling Jean to her feet with her. "Now, show me your stance again. This time, I will guide you."
Jean's face was a mixture of surprise, joy, and a little bit of fear. "Now?"
"Yes, now," Artoria said firmly, though her touch was gentle as she adjusted Jean's feet. "Wider. Bend your knees a little more. Good. Now, hold the sword. Not with your arms, with your core. Feel the ground beneath your feet. That is your anchor."
She positioned herself behind Jean, her hands gently guiding her daughter's.
"Breathe in. And as you breathe out, swing. Not with force, but with purpose. Let the energy flow from the earth, through your body, and into the sword."
Jean followed her mother's instructions, her movements still a bit clumsy, but now there was a difference. With Mama's hands on hers, she could feel it. A subtle current of energy, a connection to the world around her. Her swing was smoother, more controlled. The wooden sword whistled through the air with a newfound confidence.
Artoria stepped back, her face glowing with pride. "There. That is a start."
Jean looked at her mother, her heart swelling with love and determination. She would make Mama proud. She would become the knight she was meant to be. Not just for herself, but for her mother, too. And for the two elder sisters she had never met.
She took a deep breath and instead of resuming the stance, Jean bolted back to her Mama and gave her a big hug which suddenly surprised Artoria.
"Love you Mama, I love you so much." Jean said while she snuggled closer to her Mama's chest. Artoria froze for a second, overwhelmed by her daughter's sudden action. The memories of her failures came surging forward in her mind, yet they seemingly disappear after a few moments replaced by the warmth given to her by the daughter who is currently embracing her.
Artoria's eyes began to water once again. Her chest tightened a bit. She...felt redeemed. For all of her failures, for all of her regrets. This simple hug from her eldest daughter washed away all of her guilt. She then gently returned the hug, tears flowing from her eyes
"Oh, my little dandelion," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I love you too, so very, very much. More than you could ever know."
She held her daughter close, her heart overflowing with a love she thought she had lost forever. In this quiet orchard, beneath the dappled sunlight of a Mondstadt afternoon, Artoria Pendragon 'Gunnhildr', the Grandmaster of the Knights of Favonius, Matriarch of the Gunnhildr Clan, the King of Knights, and fully ascended goddess, found her own personal Avalon. It wasn't a mythical island or a divine realm. It was here, in the arms of her daughter.
As they stood there, lost in their embrace, two small figures appeared at the edge of the clearing. It was Barbara and Bennett, their eyes wide with curiosity. The two toddlers were playing catch when they heard crying sounds somewhere in the orchard, hence the two decided to investigate only for them to find their Mama hugging their older sister.
Feeling slightly jealous of the sight of their Mama hugging their older sister instead of the two of them, they toddled over, their small legs carrying them as fast as they could. Barbara, her blonde pigtails bouncing, reached out and wrapped her arms around Artoria's leg, squealing a series of happy sounds. Bennett, with his messy white hair and a bright, honest smile, joined in, hugging Artoria's other leg.
"Ma-ma! Hug!" he squealed, his little face pressed against her thigh.
Artoria looked down at her three children, her heart overflowing with a love so profound it almost hurt. She knelt down, gathering them all in her arms. The setting sun cast a golden glow over the small family, a painting of perfect, unadulterated happiness. The scent of apples and crushed grass filled the air, mixed with the sweet, milky smell of her babies.
This was her kingdom. Not a realm of marble and magic, but this small circle of love. This was her victory, her Excalibur. Not a sword of light, but the fierce, protective love she held for her children.
"Ma-ma sad?" Barbara asked, her little finger touching a tear track on Artoria's cheek.
Artoria shook her head, a genuine, radiant smile spreading across her face. She wiped her tears with the back of her hand. "No, my sweet Barbara. Mama is not sad. Mama is very, very happy."
"Happy!" Bennett echoed, clapping his hands. "Ma-ma happy!"
Jean watched them, her own eyes shining. She saw the pure, unadulterated love in her mother's face, and she understood. This was what Mama was fighting for. This was what she was protecting. And Jean, her eldest, her heir, would stand by her side.
She picked up her wooden sword, not with frustration this time, but with a newfound sense of purpose. She would train. She would learn. She would become a knight worthy of her mother's name, worthy of this family's love.
"Alright, my little angels," Artoria said, her voice light and cheerful. "I think it's time for a snack. Who wants some apple juice and cookies?"
"Me! Me!" Bennett and Barbara chorused, their little arms shooting up in the air.
Jean smiled, her own troubles forgotten. "Me too, Mama."
Artoria laughed, a sound that was as clear and beautiful as the ringing of a bell. She stood up, a child in each arm, and started walking towards the manor.
"Then let us feast," she declared. "For we have earned it."
As they walked, Jean followed, her wooden sword held loosely in her hand. She looked at her mother's back, straight and strong, and she felt a surge of pride and love. She was the daughter of a queen, a goddess, a knight. And she would make her proud.
The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange, purple, and pink. The last rays of light caught the golden threads in Artoria's hair, making her seem to glow. The four of them, a small family against the vastness of the world, walked towards their home, their laughter echoing through the orchard.
The world could wait. The duties of a Grandmaster could wait. The whispers of her past, the ghosts of her failures, could wait. For now, in this perfect, fleeting moment, Artoria Pendragon was just a mother, walking home with her children. And that was more than enough.
(End of Interlude)
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The Pendragon-Gunnhildr Family
1). Artoria Pendragon 'Gunnhildr'
- Ever since arriving in Teyvat, Artoria found herself somewhat addicted to the art of knitting. In her down time, Artoria can be seen either knitting sweaters for her children, or learning some new knitting patterns from several books that she imported from Sumeru and Fontaine.
- She keeps a secret stash of sweets for her personal indulgence in her offices, both at home and at work. However, Bennett, with his unbelievable amount of luck, always keeps finding them.
- Artoria prefers to eat at home with her children, since she always eats more than the average person (more like 5 persons worth of food), a trait that her children also share. They are a family of gluttons, and every meal inside the Gunnhildr mansion is always a feast.
2). Jean 'Pendragon' Gunnhildr
- Jean (secretly) loves reading love stories, especially those involving a prince and a princess. Lisa, who regularly visits the Estate to play with Jean, was the one to introduce these kinds of stories to her.
- She has a pet tortoise that she named 'Sir Kay' which was given to her by Artoria during her seventh birthday. Jean always wonders why her Mama always giggles whenever she mentions her pet's name.
- Jean secretly enjoys being called 'Princess' or 'Little Princess' by most of the knights and captains of the Knights of Favonius.
3). Barbara 'Pendragon' Gunnhildr
- Barbara usually wakes up early, but would pretend to remain asleep while eagerly awaiting for her mother to snuggle her awake with kisses every morning.
- She loves spicy food so much that Artoria, out of concern for her daughter's well-being, ordered the kitchen staff in her mansion to hide all the spices in high cupboards, out of reach from Barbara (but not from Bennett).
- She loves playing horsie, with the horses in question being the knights stationed around the Estate.
4). Bennett 'Pendragon' Gunnhildr
- Benny's a mama's boy. He would not go to sleep every night without first having his Mama read him a bedtime story and giving him his goodnight kiss.
- Benny would always find stashes of candies in his Mama's private office either in their home or in the Knights of Favonius Headquarters (he remains oblivious to the fact that those candies belong to his Mama). He would then share his 'loot' with his sisters while burying the rest inside tin boxes (don't know where he got his hands on those) around the orchard like some sort of pirate hoarding his treasures.
- People (mostly the mansion's staff and knights) would often cuddle him, not just out of cuteness but because Benny somehow is able to share some of his luck with people that makes him happy.
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