Chapter Text
Ajax stands amongst rows upon rows of other recruits. All of them bear the same uniform and all of them try to pretend like the cold isn’t bothering them. He watches boys of many ages shiver against the bitter Snezhnayan wind. His village is much colder than this. On the border of the capital he can’t say that he feels the chill as much. He stands with his back straight and his eyes to the ground. In the pure white snow the moon casts his shadow in front of him. If Ajax looks hard enough he can see the familiar eyes of his teacher gazing back at him.
“Do they really expect us to just stand out here in the cold? We’ll die.”
They won’t die. It takes many hours for the cold to kill a man. They have only been outside for fifteen minutes. These boys must be from families much better off than his own. They stand with poor posture though, and their shoulders sag; Necks bending awkwardly, perhaps from years of work over a desk. Surely their backs will ache much earlier than expected in life. His mother always warned him of how poor posture can be indicative of a slacker.
The wind whistles against his ears and the other boys whine like dogs around him. He knows that most boys are sent to the Fatui for misbehavior. They will serve their three months and then they will go home completely changed.
His father sent him here for that very same reason but Ajax knows it won’t work. His father would never understand and Ajax no longer has the patience to explain his desire for bloodshed. He can’t relate to the foolish behavior of his own peers anymore. They stand around sniveling, shaking. Their untrained bodies stand out like sickly cows among a herd.
But their whines and whispers suddenly grow quiet. The field is silent. It’s as if nobody breathes as steady footsteps tread lightly against the snow blanketed ground.
Then a man appears. He’s short in stature and against the light of the moon his skin looks like porcelain. He has dark indigo colored hair and eyes that bear no certain emotion in particular. He’s a petite man but Ajax can tell he’s a man of respect. Only men with respect walk Snezhnaya’s snowy scape in shorts and sandals. He doesn’t even appear to be cold. His nose isn’t pink and his skin is noticeably free of goosebumps.
He watches the man’s feet as he walks over the snow. His footprints don’t leave a heavy imprint. Ajax searches his figure for a vision but finds none on his person. It may be tied to his back, or it may be disguised in the bobbles that hang from his ornamental hat. He recognizes his attire as Inazuman, but that’s all the information he can gather from him.
Sandaled feet stop in front of him.
“Raise your head, cadet.”
Ajax lifts his chin.
“Look me in the eye.”
He blinks once and recenters his focus. The indigo haired man’s eyes are mere inches from him. There’s little space left between them and he can sense the tension in the air, as well as the hundreds of eyes focused on them.
“What’s your name?”
Ajax looks down again, “It’s Ajax.”
A cold hand grips his jaw suddenly. He doesn’t dare resist, nor does he move. His superior squeezes his face with brute force. Ajax stares deeply into his eyes. His dark lashes are closer together now and he is clearly angry. How can such a small man be this strong?
“I said look me in the eye. Don’t make me repeat myself. Your name, now.”
“Ajax,” he says again.
He doesn’t leave his superior’s gaze but he watches purple eyes glance down to the tag on his chest.
“Tartaglia.”
“Tartaglia,” Ajax corrects, “The G is silent.”
Somewhere behind him a boy gasps. Ajax pays the mistake no mind but he sees the man’s gaze flicker into the crowd before meeting him again.
“You little shit,” he spits.
Ajax looks at the soft bow of his lips. They’re as pink as a petal and they look about as soft. He doesn’t understand how such harsh words can come out of a mouth so beautiful.
His jaw is released. The man backs off and addresses the crowd. Ajax doesn’t listenl. He stares at his superior until they’re dismissed back to their barracks to start training in the morning.
+++
He considers himself lucky for claiming the top bunk. It offers him a little more privacy. The barracks are separated by age and his building is made up only of other fourteen year old boys. He folds his uniform neatly, pressing the edges completely flat. His mother would kill him if he didn’t.
Underneath him he hears a knock against the wood frame, “Hey, Tartaglia?”
“What?”
“Why did you backtalk the harbinger? You could have gotten everyone in trouble.”
Ajax looks over the edge of the bed. The boy beneath him looks entirely average and uninteresting. Brown eyes blink up at him,
“Well?”
“I didn’t know he was a harbinger,” which is the truth. Ajax has heard stories of the Fatui Harbingers. Those favored by the Tsaritsa, and those favored on the battlefield. They fight with the aid of her delusions and are entrusted with the organization’s secrets. They also reign at the top of Snezhnayan high society.
Ajax wonders if he’ll ever reach that high of a status. He can win many battles on his own, but if he had a delusion.. He might never lose.
Options to debate on. His father may have sent him here to get sorted, but Ajax knows that will never happen. His only real option is to continue with the Fatui. He will train, and he will get stronger. This is what has been promised to him.
“Don’t mouth off next time. I don’t wanna get in trouble because of you.”
“Okay.”
He puts his uniform away for the morning and begins to lay down for the night. He’s been enlisted for one thing and one thing only. He will climb the ranks of the Fatui faster than anyone before, and he will become a harbinger.
Then. The world.
+++
Every day is structured to be the same. There is little room for chances to fool around and cause trouble. They wake up before the sun rises and go on a run. When they return they eat breakfast and since Ajax’s group isn’t of age yet they attend classes for two hours before they start drills. After drills they go to lunch and then they have sparring matches in the fields. As soon as that’s over they have a single hour of time to themselves before they have dinner and go to bed.
The days bleed into each other easily and Ajax finds himself craving something more than his training has to offer. He continuously thinks of his teacher. What would she have him do?
She would have him work from daybreak till sunset. Ajax would train and drill tirelessly until he ached deep in his bones. He thought that the Fatui would treat him the same but he was wrong. They keep him just busy enough.. But just enough isn’t what Ajax is after. How will he get stronger like this? All of his fellow squad members are too weak for him to spar with for real and he memorized all of his drills on the third day.
Child’s play. All of this is child’s play. He’s certain he could do this in his sleep.
“Hey, Tartaglia. They’re calling an assembly, we have to go.”
Ajax comes back to himself and blinks. That’s odd. They’ve yet to call an assembly of any sort. He stands up without comment and follows his peer through the barrack doors.
Outside the soldiers all march in neat lines towards a much larger building. There’s not a word uttered by the crowd. The only sound Ajax can hear is the marching. His footsteps join them. He falls into line with the rest of his squad for at any sort of ‘hearing’ they must stand together as one unit. Ajax hates this but he doesn’t speak his complaints out loud.
The march to the auditorium is swift and the second they are inside the building he takes in his surroundings. There is not a stage he notices. Instead there is an arena in the middle of the room, marked out with white paint and divided evenly across the arena. To him it looks more like an arena for fighting, not presenting.
He proceeds forward through the stands. Being in the newest set of soldiers to join the Fatui he and his squad get the worst seats, the nosebleeds.
Ajax sits and he watches the arena carefully. The boys around him speak in quieted whispers about what the assembly will be about. Meanwhile, Ajax imagines himself in that arena. Arenas are for fighting, for training.. He wants something exciting. The itch in his body wants to be scratched raw and bloody. He grips his forearms tightly in his lap to calm himself.
His fists curl around the loose fabric of his uniform pants. He feels the rough fabric against his palms as he stares out at the arena. He imagines himself fighting there, imagining himself victorious. In his mind’s eye the arena is tainted with blood, the white paint stained to forever mark his victory.
The stands quickly grow quiet as the lights dim. The center of the arena is all that is left illuminated and one by one heavily decorated people begin to enter.
Harbingers. The Fatui Harbingers. There’s ten so far. Ajax counts them as they flank to either side of the stage that is clearly being set. He can tell by the way they carry themselves that this is a performance of sorts. Their chins are held high, eyes scanning through the crowd. They’re eating up the attention. Why wouldn’t they? They’re at the very top of Snezhnayan society. Everyone looks upon them in wonder or with envy.
For Ajax it’s neither. He looks upon them with want. There is no envy there because he is certain he will stand among them one day. What will he even do with the kind of money they have? Probably fix the roof.. Fix that wobbly leg on Teucer’s bed. Finally buy his father the medicine he’s always needed but can’t afford...
He recognizes two of the Harbingers. One of them is Balladeer, he’s the guy that gave them their introduction speech. He’s the pretty one with the evening sky colored hair and petal pink lips. Ajax also recognizes Pulcinella; she helped recruit him. When he closes his eyes and balls his fists he can remember the way a soldier's bones gave way to his rampage of strength. They were like paper torn between his fingers, weak, and frail.
Suddenly the room grows cold. Ajax opens his eyes and watches his warm breath fog in the air. Reasonably he knows this shouldn’t be possible. The room is full of young soldiers. Their breaths should be keeping the building humid and stickily warm, not cold. His sweat chills his body and even he can’t stop the chill that goes down his spine.
His heart beats rackets against his ears as he stares into the arena. A snowflake brighter than a winter morning forms in the center and it slowly becomes crystalline. The gleam of frozen ice feels blinding before it erupts.
Ajax’s breath catches in the back of his throat as she appears. He has heard stories about her since he was born. None of them are good. ‘A loveless god’ his father used to call her. ‘A pious witch with no care for her people.’
But she is beautiful. He can’t take his eyes off her. She commands a great deal of grace despite her reputation. Her shoulders remain lifted, her chin high as she too examines the crowd around her. Her dress sparkles and gleams in the lamp light. He’s never seen clothing so exquisitely made in his life. Even her veil catches the light. Ajax can’t look at her for too long. His eyes drift back down again.
She’s a tyrant, isn’t she? That’s what his father had said about her. But Ajax cannot bring himself to feel the same way. His heart races in his chest and he feels light just from gazing upon her. Perhaps this is due to her status as an archon. Seeing her in person versus hearing of her. Well that’s different, isn’t it?
Everyone else must feel the same. He looks to his right and the boy next to him has his gaze fixed upon her, his jaw is completely slack. To his left the reaction seems to be the exact same. Everyone sits with perfect posture, their eyes glued to the center of the room.
Ajax looks back to the arena as well and realizes that the Harbingers flank her in a certain order. They stand at different distances apart and if he unfocuses his eyes he sees that they are meant to look like wings. They are the wings that will carry her to victory. Ajax knows this. Everyone in Snezhnaya knows this. The war against Celestia is common knowledge and a worn out dream for his people.
“Which one of you is Tartaglia?” Her excellency commands. Ajax thinks his heart stops. He does not breathe and he does not move. She knows his name, she just spoke his name- his family name..
“Rise.”
He feels the eyes of his fellow soldiers bear into his core. Ajax does not make a show of standing. He can’t bring himself to. Even from such a height he can see her clear as day.
Her face is beautifully heart shaped. Her nose is soft and elongated. But her eyes stand out the most. Ajax feels like he’s gazing into a mirror. Are her eyes gray? Are they blue? He can’t tell but he knows she is looking directly into his own. He can imagine how he looks in her eyes. Ajax probably looks feeble, pathetic against the men below him.
But her lips curl into a smile.
“One of my harbingers tells me you beat one of my troops. Is this true?”
Ajax swallows. He remembers that day very well, it was the first excitement he had since his return from the abyss. Not that he expects anyone to understand what that felt like for him.
Voices begin muttering around him and he wonders if he should sit back down. Was this a shaming?
“I asked you a question.”
And he is under obligation to answer as a soldier in her army.
His voice sounds small, even to himself, “Yes, your excellency. It is true.”
“How was fighting them?” Her eyes sing of amusement, her tone shockingly light against the tension in the air.
Ajax can still taste the battle on his tongue. He had no weapon on him when they came for him. Only his fists and his legs to fight against a dozen men. All of them were battle strong but Ajax reigned superior in skill. He still remembers how easily they fell, the stench of blood in the air and he can still hear the cries of grown men being bested by him, a child. It was an easy feat for him.
He owes his archon honesty.
So he answers, honestly.
“Exciting but easy.”
Chatter erupts around him. The crowd suddenly grows a bit louder. He can distinguish individual whispers.
He’s joking.
Look at the size of him, there’s no way. A whole troop?
Ajax swallows nervously and returns his gaze to the Tsaritsa.
“Come down, Tartaglia.”
He doesn’t move at first. He can’t believe what is happening. His legs move one after the other until he is walking down the stands. As he gets closer to the arena the Tsaritsa only gets taller. She towers over the harbingers, and somehow even with their power they look weak by her side.
Ajax stands before her and he bows. His pulse beats in his ears when his gaze meets hers again. He expects her to be staring back at him icily but her eyes are warm.
Her hands however are not. Her palms cup either side of his face and chill him to the bone. He doesn’t dare move a muscle.
“Well, aren't you just a fine young man? What a sweet face…”
This can’t possibly be normal. Is the Tsaritsa always like this?
Her hands recede, “You may have defeated a few soldiers but I want to see how you fare against a general.”
His breath escapes him, “I’m sorry?”
The harbingers part suddenly. They all walk off the arena as if on cue. At the very edge of the arena a throne forms of ice. He watches the Tsaritsa move elegantly across the ground as though she is floating.
She sits gracefully and painfully at the same time. Ajax fears looking away from her. A general she said. She said she wanted to see how he would fare against a general.
“You intend for me to fight a general?”
“Need I repeat myself?”
“No, your excellency.”
“Good.” There is not a hint of warmth to her words. Her speech is clipped short and cold. Maybe this is what his father meant. She quickly went from warm to cold. Ajax finds himself keeping up easily enough for her demeanor reminds him of his teacher. This is the way mentors should be. He thinks this must be the Tsaritsa’s way of teaching him something.
So he learns. When shelves of weapons form from ice he takes no time in picking out what he is most comfortable with. He can’t gather what the general will face him with so he relies on his own strengths. A spear is what his teacher taught him with. He also picks up a backup weapon in case the spear shatters. He affixes a shortsword to his belt. There is no rule against having two weapons.
The general enters the building and he is massive. Three times the size of Ajax and wider than a brick house. He is one who reaps the spoils of his successes like a dog.
“This is the kid? You’ve got to be joking.”
Ajax’s fingers tighten against his spear.
“I’m not fighting a fucking child. What is this?”
He keeps his own face cool. He was promised a fight, so he’s going to fight. Ajax looks over his shoulder towards the Tsaritsa and he notices the Balladeer attending her side. His face is shielded by his hat but he can tell they are whispering even if he cannot hear.
Her icy gaze meets him again and he assumes she must hear this language regularly from her generals.
Pathetic.
The Tsaritsa wants to see how he will beat the general. This must be the true meaning of her words.
Ajax turns again. The general idly picks up a shield.
“I will warn you boy. I have met the rage of children your age, it is nothing. Your inexperienced fists will do nothing. Do not think you can win.”
A challenge. Ajax feels his lips curl into a smile for the first time since before his fall.
He doesn’t let the moment last. He quickly closes the space between them and he blocks the downfall of the general’s shield with the pole of his spear. Above him the man growls but he sounds more like a beast than a man.
Ajax moves quickly. He cannot let himself linger in one spot for too long. He steps back and circles the arena. The general’s eyes never leave his body and he knows he’s looking for an opening. He keeps his shield in front of him to shield his most vulnerable organs. Practical, but he forgets the shield is made of ice. His body heat will weaken it from such a distance.
Timing will be his virtue. Ajax strikes again and his spear meets the shield again. Then again. Ice scrapes against ice. He dodges a blow that might have knocked him out with ease. The general is too slow for Ajax’s lithe body.
“C’mon son, fight like a man.”
Ajax grins, “You sure about that?”
“You can talk. Ah, that’s good. I was worried you were gonna fight me silently.”
For the first time since their fight began the general charges first. Ajax times his footfalls carefully. He can play this game forever. This dance is his favorite..
He steps away from another strike but the general’s elbow catches against his ribs. Ajax skillfully leaps to the other side of the arena before the general can get him twice. The burn feels good, he’s sure his ribs will be bruised in the morning.
But he has to win. He will win. The general charges again and this time Ajax turns the spear so the blade faces himself and he thrusts the blunt end of the pole into the general’s chest.
The stands suddenly break into howls. Ajax is not sure if they are for him or the general but the second the man staggers Ajax pounces like a wolf onto a deer. Spear discarded, he jumps onto him. He grips his thick shoulders and shoves him against the ground.
Big hands grip his wrists but Ajax locks himself in place. He straddles his wide lap and hooks his feet under his knees so he can’t move. Ajax has his own size on his side.
He releases his shoulders and strikes a blow down across the bridge of the general’s nose. Then he strikes again. He strikes until the skin of his knuckles splits and bloodies.
Ajax raises his fist for the final time and is shocked when the general’s whole hand engulfs it. He has two hands. The bastard glares up at him through bloody eyes and Ajax smiles back down at him.
He braces the flat part of his palm against his corpulent throat and he pushes. He pushes until he feels the hard part of his throat. The general’s larynx fits comfortably in Ajax’s palm as he slowly begins to push down. He watches dread fill the general’s eyes and he thinks that this feeling is what he has been craving. This exact song and dance, the excitement of taking another life.
“Enough.”
He hears, but he doesn’t move. Ajax continues to bear his weight down. He examines the general’s face for the telltale signs of oxygen deprivation. How much longer until his lips turn blue and his eyes bulge?
“Tartaglia, her excellency has said enough. Get off the general.”
No. He can’t stop. Not when he’s so close. This is too easy and the general isn’t even dead yet. Doesn’t the Tsaritsa want to see his victory?
He can’t stop. Ajax glares downwards and bears the rest of his weight down.
Then several things occur too quickly for him to realize. In an instant he is suddenly off of the general. He is held up by his arm and faintly he thinks he hears the hollow sound of his joints dislocating. Pain erupts from his shoulder but he does not cry out.
The Balladeer holds his disconnected arm in place with a grip that can only be described as iron tight.
“You’re done. Start walking.”
Ajax marches forward slowly and the Balladeer walks alongside him. He looks up at the other harbingers and at the Tsaritsa. They all make no individual expression. Their faces are all placid.
Except for hers. The Tsaritsa stares at him with amusement in her eyes and an entertained sort of smile. She’s pleased despite him not obeying an order. Interesting.
“I said walk.”
He walks forward again and just as he’s exiting the building he hears his fellow men erupt into cheers. Ajax’s heart beats and he can’t help but smile. He may not have obeyed her orders but he put on a show. That was what she was truly asking of him.
+++
One of the harbingers, Dottore, ends up popping Ajax’s arm back into place before he’s led outside again. This time he’s clad only in his pants and boots. The cold is blistering. Wind whips around his face and exposed torso and he swears his skin may split at any second. He is still pushed forward. He doesn’t question what’s happening. It is not in the place of the soldier to question his superiors.
And with Dottore on one side and Scaramouche on the other he knows he can’t escape.
He’s not sure how long they’ve been walking for but he knows when it’s over. Before him stands an intimidating flogging post. He’s seen them before of course. At the center of his own village there’s one that still stands but it’s more of a threat than anything else. He can’t even recall if it's ever been used.
This one however has definitely been used. The pale brown of the wood is flecked with dried or frozen splotches of blood.
Ah, this is punishment.
Dottore pushes him forward by the shoulder and Ajax approaches the post a little more cautiously than he thinks he should have. He can’t help it. Even if he knows its punishment he knows it’ll hurt and..
“Lift your arms.”
He raises his arms obediently and tries not to shiver as freezing cuffs wrap around his wrists. Ajax can’t move now. He has little choice in the matter. He’s going to be whipped.
The cold grows intense and Ajax knows for a fact this is due to the Tsaritsa’s presence. It’s not the same cold as he was experiencing before. This is the kind of cold that sinks into your very bones and chills you from the inside out.
“You put on an incredibly good show, Tartaglia. Unfortunately you will be punished for attempting to kill one of my generals. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
Does he? He knew what he was doing. There’s no excuse he can make for it.
He smiles to himself and looks up at the late Snezhnayan sky,
“I can say nothing at all. I was certain I would kill him, that is all.”
“Very well, Tartaglia. For this you will be lashed five times.”
That seems fair. He was only supposed to fight the general, not kill him. A fair punishment for a fair act.
He shuts his eyes and braces himself.
The first crack of the whip startles him. The noise rips through his ears but he doesn’t feel the pain at first. No. There is no pain. He inhales sharply through his nose and smells the sickly sweet iron smell of his own blood. His flesh begins to ache dully from being torn with the ice tipped end of the Tsaritsa’s whip.
For a moment he thinks he might be feeling clarity. It’s as if the fog is steadily being lifted from his mind. He can hear all of his thoughts, his desires-
And then the whip cracks again. Pain explodes once more across his back but he does not scream. His teeth sink into his bottom lip and he sighs through his nose. Yes. This is clarity. There is nothing to mistake about the pain the Tsaritsa is inflicting upon him. The message she delivers to him is impossibly clear.
The curtain of darkness seems to lift from his eyes. Everything around him is clear for the first time since he arrived.
The whip comes down again. He doesn’t hear it’s telltale crack but he feels the new slash against his skin. Blood wetly drips onto the snow. The perfect white canvas for bloodshed. Ajax inhales again and looks towards the sky.
He will rise through the ranks of the Fatui, and he will become a harbinger. These are his new goals, this is what he will work towards.
Another crack. He doesn’t even flinch. The pain is a simple spice. It offers him a type of clarity he didn’t know he needed until this very moment.
One more, and then his punishment will be over. He feels completely invigorated. Before, he was merely stumbling around in the dark. He was fulfilling the wishes of a father who no longer looked at him with compassion.
So. He would perfect his punishment. The trade off only seems fair.
Ajax clenches his fists as the fifth and final whipping comes to an end. For a moment they all stand silently. He exhales the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and shifts his stance.
He stands taller now. He watches Dottore unlock the cuffs and Ajax’s wrists aren’t even red.
“You didn’t even fight it. Well done.”
He cannot tell the expression the man wears from behind his mask but if Ajax had to guess, he’s probably grinning.
Ajax turns to face Scaramouche and the Tsaritsa and despite his aching back he bows slowly onto the snow.
“I’ve always believed that snow is the perfect backdrop for bloodshed. Thank you for this experience. Il Dottore, Balladeer,” Ajax looks up again, “Your excellency.”
Ajax tries not to think about the look of disbelief on the Tsaritsa’s face. For the first time since he’s seen her her eyes seem.. Alive. They glint and sparkle dangerously at him with a predatory sort of interest. She grins at him how the wolves in his village do, like an animal.
But she is beautiful. There is no mistaking that moment as anything other than pure beauty. Her lips curl into an awful grin as she extends one delicate hand towards him.
“You are an interesting one.”
Her hands are as cold as he expected but he hesitates to reach his own hand out. His arm hovers in the air before she clasps his warm palm and leans forward.
Her breath tickles his ear but her kiss against his temple is.. Warm.
Ajax closes his eyes against her as she sighs.
“My dear summer child, you’ve been marked.”