Work Text:
It was a small thing that triggered him. Really.
He had been fine with the constantly damp floor within the cave, the sporadic battles with cursed creatures he had never seen before, and even the lack of food security in not knowing when he would get his next meal. It was all okay, and he had felt okay for a month.
But while his back was turned, starting a fire (which was unbearably difficult in an area with no dry wood), some nasty samachurls had gotten ahold of his meager pack and rations, and so Ajax was left with a fire and nothing else.
And that’s what did it--which is silly, because having his pack stolen wasn’t something new. He had gotten used to chasing them down and had thought he was more vigilant than this. He thought he was stronger than this, more immune, more--
But Ajax finds out that no, a boy is still a boy and that it is often small fissures that present large cracks.
So he weeps, and sobs for a dry bed in a warm room with something hot to eat, where all his belongings would be stashed in a place where he could see them yet not worry about them being stolen--
And to find somewhere he can feel safe and loved again.
It is with this thought that Ajax finally falls asleep, in the driest spot he can find with stalactite infused water dripping on him.
And it is in this pitiful spot where the person who can teach him that he is strong finds him.