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Jean is named Lionfang Knight at 15.
The reporter with the Kamera catches her kneeling to receive her title, shadowed by the Anemo Archon statue. She is looking up at Varka, and, beyond him, to the sky.
It is not a very good photo. Still, the next day, it is splashed across Mondstadt’s newsstands, above the fold for publications both reputable and otherwise.
The press headlines: Gunnhildr Heir Named Lionfang Knight.
The tabloid headlines: “She’s Just a Kid”: Senior Knights Weigh In on the Teenager Taking Vennessa’s Title.
Against her better judgement, Jean buys a copy. The article is lurid, ungracious, just this side of libel. She crumples it up and throws it in the bin. She does not tell her mother.
Still: “The headline is only ever half the story,” Frederica says later, as if she’d tasted Jean’s bitterness on her own tongue. She is looking at the clipping of her own induction as Alder Knight, pinned to a corkboard in Jean’s room.
“Mother?” Jean says—asks, rather, with no inflection, the way Gunnhildrs do.
Frederica turns. “The Kamera thinks it knows you, but it doesn’t. Don’t let the public eye make you anxious. And don’t let it make you complacent.”
There is a period of several years in which Jean does not figure in any headlines at all. She doesn’t mind. The Kamera turns its gleaming eye to shinier targets.
In the press:
Master of Dawn Winery Dead in Tragic Accident.
Ragnvindr Second Son Promoted to Cavalry Captain.
Knights Welcome Long-Time Critic Eula Lawrence.
And in the tabloids:
“He Wielded a Strange Power”: A Timeline of Crepus Ragnvindr’s Mysterious Death.
The Heir and the Spare: Ragnvindr Second Son Usurps Brother’s Captaincy.
Lawrence Spawn Infiltrates Knights: Inside the Clan’s Latest Plot.
“I’m sorry,” Jean tells Kaeya.
“It will blow over,” she tells Eula.
“The Kamera doesn’t know you,” she says. “The headline only ever tells half the story.”
Neither of them believes her. She sees it in the slant of Kaeya’s mouth as he nods easily and slips out of her field of view, and in the set of Eula’s shoulders as she asks to be dismissed, if it please you, Master Jean.
But Jean is proven right, eventually, and her mother through her. Kaeya and Eula stay in the Knights. The gossip dies down. The headlines become tomorrow’s kindling.
A year after Diluc leaves Mondstadt, Jean levels serious accusations at Eroch. The aftermath sees him removed from the Knights, exiled from Mondstadt in disgrace. Jean watches him go, uneasy. The Kamera beside her clicks.
In the press: Lionfang Knight Ousts Inspector, Claiming Treason.
In the tabloids: 18-Year-Old Precipitates Long-Time Leader’s Fall From Grace.
“They didn’t need to mention my age,” Jean says.
Her mother doesn’t look up. “I’ve told you not to read that drivel.”
“Two of the merchants were discussing it.” Jean’s tone is defensive, her shoulders drawn up against her mother's criticism even though she outranks her. “I wanted to know where they got their information.”
“And now you know.” Frederica shuffles her paperwork into a pile and stands. “Was it worth it?”
“No,” Jean says. Still, she can’t help adding: “My accusations against him were substantiated. They made it sound like fluff.”
Frederica comes out from around her desk. She tugs the tabloid out of Jean’s grip and looks down her nose at it: the lurid yellow letters, the terrible, unflattering photo of Jean. “We never had this nonsense in my day,” she says, almost to herself.
Then she throws it into the fire. Jean stifles a gasp as the logs crack, sparks flying from the fireplace onto the rug. Her Vision flares, sucking the air from the flames into itself, and the sparks are gone as quickly as they came.
“Half the story,” Frederica says. Then she disappears out of her office and is gone.
Lisa appears out of nowhere a year later. Rumours follow her like the static that rises in her wake. Jean puts very little stock in them and much more stock in the newcomer’s incredible ability, and is secretly disappointed when she turns down the position of Captain.
In the press: Knights Welcome Distinguished Akademiya Graduate Into Their Ranks.
In the tabloids: “What Kind of Person Turns Down a Sageship?” A Source Close to the Ordo’s New Librarian Tells All.
“It will blow over,” Jean tells Lisa, at the latter’s first invitation to afternoon tea.
“Hm?” says Lisa, preoccupied with the over-full teapot. She lifts it carefully, pouring Jean a generous serving of spiced black tea. “What will, cutie?”
Once Jean has finished almost choking at the nickname, she clarifies, “The gossip. The headlines. They never last.”
To her surprise, Lisa laughs. “Oh, darling, that doesn’t bother me at all. They said much worse about me in Sumeru.”
“That doesn’t make it alright,” Jean protests.
“No, of course not,” Lisa says cheerfully. “But I’ve learned not to care too much what other people think of me.” She leans over to pat Jean’s hand. “I don’t mind playing whatever part they make me out to be, as long as people like you still see the whole.”
The Fatui move in a month after Varka leaves Mondstadt. He’d been the one to play nice with them, trading diplomatic concessions for support with his upcoming expedition—but when they set up in the Goth Grand Hotel, it looks like Jean’s weakness that has allowed the incursion.
In the press: Snezhnayan Diplomats Establish Embassy in Mondstadt.
In the tabloids: Acting Grand Master’s First Move: Enabling Foreign Interference?
“They were going to find something to criticize anyway,” Eula points out, not unreasonably.
“I know,” Jean says, resisting the urge to drop her head into her hands. “I just wish I hadn’t made it so easy for them.”
Eula scoffs. “You can hardly blame yourself for Varka’s indiscretions.”
Jean can do whatever she wants, actually, but she doesn’t say that, opting instead to give Eula a small smile. “Thank you.”
Eula presses her lips together, which, on a less well-bred woman, would be the equivalent of rolling her eyes. “I don’t see what you’re so hung up on anyway. What are you afraid of: that the citizens of Mondstadt are going to suddenly turn on their fearless leader?”
“Public opinion can change at any time.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Eula demands, following that up with a bark of laughter. “I should hope that the Acting Grand Master realizes that you can do good work whether or not the public lauds you.” The look she levels at Jean makes very clear that this is not a theoretical.
“Of course,” Jean says quickly. “I didn’t mean… Of course public opinion has no bearing on the quality or importance of one’s work.”
Eula sniffs. “At least you acknowledge it.” She hesitates here, then adds haughtily: “If you’d like me to exact vengeance on any of those so-called journalists, my greatsword is at your disposal.”
In Jean’s second year as Acting Grand Master, a dragon lays siege to the city. This scenario had not featured in any of Jean’s contingency plans, and certainly not in any of the scribbled “in case of” notes Varka had left her. She sets some emergency measures in place anyway, sends a squadron off to Springvale, and sprints back to the Ordo, miserably aware of the many eyes upon her.
In the press: Stormterror Crisis: Timeline, Evacuation, and Everything You Need to Know.
In the tabloids: Is He Married to the Bottle? What to Do With an Alcoholic Husband.
Jean is staring blankly at the glossy cover when Kaeya sneaks into her office in the wee hours of the morning. “There’s nothing about Stormterror in here at all,” she says without preamble—then remembers herself a second later and says, guiltily, “Good morning. How are you?”
Kaeya brushes off her attempts at civility with a yawn and a wave of his hand. That he’s here before the sunrise means either that he’s decided to start his day early, or that he, like Jean herself, has not gotten any sleep at all. “Let me see that?”
Jean watches him carefully as he flips through it. Kaeya is a master of dissembling, but there is always something about the way he playacts surprise that rings a little false.
“Kaeya,” she starts slowly.
“Hm?”
“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about this, would you?”
Kaeya offers her his best wide-eyed expression. “Who, me?”
Jean tries to frown reprovingly and finds she can’t quite manage it. “Not that I’m not grateful—because I am—but I don’t need you fighting the press on my behalf. I can lead us through this even with the tabloids breathing down my neck.”
Kaeya smiles, dropping the innocent front. “I know that,” he says. “But I’d rather you didn’t have to.” He holds up a hand before Jean can interject. “‘The headline is only half the story,’ I know. But you and I both know how much damage half a story can do.”
The Stormterror Crisis is averted, with the help of Jean’s god, an outlander, and a friend she’d thought long past reaching. She and Diluc don’t manage to sneak away quickly enough as the press swarms the Honorary Knight, and so find themselves in the background of the photo that graces the front page of every newspaper the next day.
In the press: New Honorary Knight Saves Mondstadt From Dragon.
In the tabloids: Acting Grand Master Caught Canoodling With Wine Magnate During Dragon Crisis.
Kaeya drops that particular issue on Jean’s desk a day later, eyebrow raised so high it almost seems to disappear into his hairline. Jean casts one glance at the headline, curses under her breath, and takes off to the Angel’s Share, Kaeya’s muffled laughter trailing behind her.
“I am terribly sorry,” she tells Diluc, carefully not wringing her hands. “I ought to have been more vigilant.”
Diluc doesn’t even bother to glance up from his bookkeeping. “No one puts any stock in those tabloids except you. I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“Still, I feel awful for putting your reputation in jeopardy.”
“If I recall correctly, I was the one who embroiled you in this whole affair,” Diluc reminds her, finally looking up. “If anything, I’m the one who ought to be apologizing.”
“No,” Jean says. “No, I’m the Acting Grand Master. They drag my name through the mud every week anyway. You’re a private citizen.”
“Who heads the greatest wine empire in the nation,” Diluc points out, without a shred of ego. “And if they drag your name through the mud anyway, why would you keep listening to them?”
Jean hesitates. “It’s important to know where public opinion is leaning.”
Diluc shakes his head. “Jean, frankly, who cares? Do what you believe is right, and the rest will follow. The full story will come out eventually.”
It’s not entirely true—Jean recognizes this, as does Diluc, whom she knows understands the importance of public image more deeply than he lets on.
Still, she remembers his words later, when she hesitates to send off the week’s newspaper to her mother like she always does. She cringes at the thought of Frederica seeing the outlander and assuming Jean had done nothing to resolve the crisis—or seeing Jean and Diluc in the background and coming to the same conclusion the tabloids had.
But: “Do what you believe is right, and the rest will follow,” Diluc had said. So Jean grits her teeth and drops the rolled-up newspaper into the mailbag.
In the press: Knights Sticking to Hardline Foreign Policy Stance.
In the tabloids: She’s Wearing What?! Leaked Photos of the Acting Grand Master’s Vacation Look.
And in the return mailbag from the expedition:
Acting Grand Master Jean,
The Knights who joined our expedition have praised your leadership through the Stormterror Crisis.
I have read the press coverage, but we both know the headline only offers half the story. I look forward to hearing the rest.
F. Gunnhildr