Archive of Our Own ^beta

He’s in the kitchen helping Tonia wash the dishes when he hears a knock at the door.

“I’ll get it,” he offers, but his father just holds up a hand and says, “Stay where you are,” with a glare as he storms out of the kitchen, Ajax’s mother following nervously behind.

“Yeah, alright,” Ajax mumbled, still unused to the cruel treatment he’s been receiving since he crawled out of the pit. Tonia glances warily between him and their parents but doesn’t say anything. She tries not to act like it but Ajax isn’t stupid.

She’s just as scared of him now as everyone else is.

“Ajax!” His father shouts from the living room. “Get your ass out here! Now!”

Rage flares up, so hot and fast in his stomach that Ajax’s vision swims and he feels almost nauseous with it. Taking a moment to breathe, hyper aware of the knife in his hand and his little sister at his side, he dried off his hands and patted Tonia on the head as the two of them grabbed their coats and headed outside.

Every single one of Ajax’s newly honed senses scream run when he steps outside to find a whole party of Fatui and the Fifth Royal Harbinger standing before his family’s small home, his father off to the side and his mother cowering at his side.

“What’s going on?” Ajax asked, but no one answered him. Glancing over his shoulder,  he sees his siblings flocking in the doorway, come to see what all the commotion is.

“And how old is he?” The Fifth Harbinger asks, clasping an expensive looking cane in his hand.

“Fourteen,” Ajax’s father replied.

The Harbinger hummed, turning back to Ajax who felt his heart begin to race, the feeling of being trapped, cornered, analyzed growing and growing and growing. He begins to wish he’d brought the knife with him.

Should’ve brought the knife with him.

“A bit young,” the Harbinger remarked.

“Look, I don’t give a shit what you do with him but I want that monster out of my house,” his father snarled. “He’s a threat to my family!”

“What’s going on?”

“Are you going to take him away or not?”

“Father?”

“Shut up.” His father won’t look at him. Ajax doesn’t feel safe. “Well?”

The Fifth Harbinger sighs, then nods to the agents. As soon as they start towards Ajax, he lunges . It’s a fight and a bloody one. Ajax won’t go down without it but despite all the training Skirk has provided him, he’d foolishly left a knife inside.

They take his Vision and restrain his arms. Ajax screams , thrashing and struggling against the hold as he is forcibly dragged away from his home. 

Anthon and Tonia are standing in the doorway, horrified expressions on their faces.

His older siblings have already gone back inside.

His mother buries her face in his father’s shoulder, unable to even watch, and his father…

His father counts the Mora he was given in exchange for his son.

…………………………..

Ajax excels. He’s one of the best agents in his regiment. The fastest, strongest, bloodiest. In four years, he makes it to senior agent, the fastest in the history of the Fatui. He’s proud. He enjoys what he does and he’s good at it.

He doesn’t think about his family. There’s no point. They don’t want him anyway.

Lord Pulcinella approaches him one day and Ajax bows, as is customary. He thinks he should hate Lord Pulcinella. This is the man who ordered him taken from his family, after all. But he also thinks Lord Pulcinella saved him. If he hadn’t been taken in by the Fatui, he thinks his father probably would’ve found a way to kill him.

So he’s grateful to the Fifth Harbinger instead. The man very well may have saved his life.

“Rise, Agent Ajax,” the Fifth Harbinger says. “I have news for you.”

“Yes, my Lord?”

Lord Pulcinella smiles. “The Tsaritsa has decided we shall elect our Eleventh Harbinger from within our ranks,” he explains. “I’ve nominated you.”

Ajax blinked. “For what?”

“For the position of Eleventh Harbinger.”

“Oh.” Ajax isn’t sure why. There isn’t anything exciting about him, other than his willingness to take people’s lives in the bloodiest way possible.

“A thank you is the correct response.”

“Thank you, Lord Pulcinella.” It’s hollow though. He doesn’t need to be Harbinger. He isn’t worthy of the title.

Too bad Lord Pulcinella comes to him a week later to say, “Congratulations. Your induction into the position of Eleventh Harbinger is in two months.”

……………………

Ajax shivers. The Palace is colder than anywhere else in Snezhnaya. He tries not to clutch the thick white coat he’s been given, the one that matches that of all the other Harbingers’, other than his being adorned with red and gold, his colors.

He feels sick, trying not to look too worried. Trying to look like he feels that he deserves this promotion. But the ceremony is twenty minutes late to starting and they still haven’t called him in…

They’ve changed his mind. There’s no other explanation, surely it;’s because they’ve–

The throne room doors open and Ajax is called inside.

…………………………

Doctor On Wheels

He feels like he stands out. Everyone in this room is elite. The elite of Snezhnaya, the Queen Tsaritsa herself!, and the ten other Harbingers. Tartaglia stands on one end of the room, thanking and greeting everyone who comes up to him.

He’s trying to breathe and play his part, despite the nerves. None of the Harbingers have spoken to him, but he’s okay with that. He’d much prefer to be left alone.

A loud shout draws his attention to the other side of the room and he finds one of the Harbingers on the floor while two others stand over him, laughing. A second later, Pulcinella comes up beside him and grabs his arm.

“Come boy, let’s go this way,” he says, frantically ushering Ajax— Tartaglia, as he’s now called —to a different part of the ballroom. Glancing over his shoulder, Tartaglia sees the Harbinger on the floor frantically struggling to his feet as The First approaches them and the two other Harbingers stop laughing.

…………………….

In Eighth’s Embrace

A knock comes at his door. Tartaglia’s eyes go wide and his gaze snaps to Agent Ekaterina.

“What do I do?” He hisses.

She raises an eyebrow. “You answer the door, sir.” He starts to stand but she places a hand on his shoulder and pushes him back down. “Not like that.”

“Well how else am I supposed to answer the door?” he demands.

“Call out,” Agent Ekaterina replies.

“Call out?”

“Call out ‘ enter’ .”

Tartaglia is silent for a long moment, trying to gather his courage. He takes a deep breath and hopes his voice doesn’t shake as he calls,

“Enter.”

The Eighth Harbinger enters his freezing cold office and looks around. He grimaces. Has he already done something wrong? He hasn’t brought anything in and it’s completely empty. Surely he can’t get in trouble for leaving the office as it was when he got here, right?

“Lady Signora,” he greets.

“Tartaglia,” she returns. “I was wondering if you might like to take a walk with me.”

…………………..

Got No Strings

Curiosity is what drives him to overcome his fear long enough to bluntly say, “Dottore says you’re weird.”

For a second, he thinks the sixth is going to kill him. But the smaller man just scoffs and says,

“He’s one to talk.” He gives Tartaglia his full attention and the Eleventh Harbinger shivers. “Weird how?”

“I dunno, he didn’t really say,” Tartaglia confessed, pretending to be confident when all he wanted was to turn and run. “I was talking with him a few days ago and he just said you were weird.”

“Don’t take Dottore’s words as truth. He’s not the most honest Harbinger.” Tartaglia wonders if any of them are. The sixth invites him to sit and chat. He’s surprised, but he does as instructed. Four years being trained to obey a Harbinger’s orders isn’t going to stop just because he’s been made a Harbinger.

“Dottore scares me a little.”

“Good. I’d be worried if he didn’t scare you.”

“He won’t, like, try and dissect me in the middle of the night, will he?”

“He’d vivisect you, not dissect you.”

“...what?”

“Dissection only happens when you’re dead. Vivisection happens when you’re still alive.”

“Oh.”

The sixth, Tartaglia decides, is his new favorite.

…………………………..

You Will Not Die

Dottore holds his hand. Everything hurts, but The Doctor is gentle. Any noise of pain Tartaglia makes is swiftly hushed, pain meds pushed. Dottore talks to him in a language he doesn’t understand but wants to learn, if it’s The Doctor’s first language.

It sounds nice.

As he’s recovering, confined to his bed with Dottore visiting frequently to check on him, he asks,

“What language were you speaking last night?”

Dottore doesn’t answer at first, measuring out Tartaglia’s next dose of painkiller.

“It’s a dialect native to the main city in Sumeru,” he replied, without meeting the Eleventh’s gaze.

“Will you teach me?”

Dottore pauses. “Teach you?”
“It’s your first language, right?”

“...yes.”

“I want to learn it. You learned mine.”

“A requirement, when working in Snezhnaya.”

“Well maybe one day I’ll be working in Sumeru,” Tartaglia says. “So I have to know it, right?” He grins. “Who better to teach me?”

Dottore sighs, administering the medication. “Shut up and go rto sleep,” he says once he’s finished.

“But I’m not tired.”

Dottore holds up another syringe. “I can make you tired.”

Tartaglia pretends to go to sleep after that. He hears The Doctor sigh. After a moment, the man whispers,

“I’ll start teaching you the language of Sumeru tomorrow.”

……………….

What’s A Spending Account?

Is he mad? Pantalone sounds mad. Was Tartaglia supposed to be spending money? But shouldn’t he be saving for heating and clothing and his rooms? Wasn’t that what people did with Mora?

“Tartaglia, I want you to listen to me very closely.” Oh, he sounds so mad. “All of your ‘essentials’ are covered. They are not taken from your paycheck, they were provided for free.” Are they though? That feels hard to believe. “Your home, your clothing, your food and your heat are all generously provided to you.” But what’s the catch? “You do not need to save for them, nor do you need to pay for them or prepare for an emergency.”

Pantalone sounds…less angry, now. Exasperated is maybe a better word.

“I can do anything with it?”

“Anytihng you like.”

“Could I send some of it to my family?”

“Of course.”

“Great. I…have no idea how to do that.”

“Let’s head to the bank and gather from your savings how much you wish to send to your family.”

“And then what?”

“And then we’re going shopping !”

……………………….

I’ve Brought You A Friend! (That’s A Child)

“Do I really look thirteen?” Tartaglia asked as he and Lyney returned to the Palace after a very eventful and entertaining sparring session.

“Um…no sir.”

Tartaglia eyes the boy. “Are you just saying that because I’m a Harbinger?”

“...no?”

Tartaglia sighed. “Tell me the truth,” he requests. “Do I look younger than eighteen?”

Lyney takes a deep breath,” Yes…” he says carefully. “But…but I mean, like you look young for eighteen,” he stammers. “But…but you don't look thirteen.”

“Arlecchino seemed pretty confident that I was.”

Lyney’s quiet for a moment before murmuring, “She asked if I was eight, a week ago.”

Tartaglia scoffs. “I’m sorry,” he says slowly. “The one in charge of tons of children is the worst at guessing ages?”

“She thought my sister was eleven.”

“How old is your sister?”

“Thirteen. We’re twins.”

“She guessed your twin sister was eleven–”

“The same day she guessed I was eight, yes sir.”

Tartaglia shakes his head. “Someone needs to teach her how to properly guess children’s ages.”

“...could you correctly guess someone’s age?”

Tartaglia laughed. “I said someone , not me.”

For the first time since they’ve met, Lyney smiles.

………………….

Hands On A Harbinger

Pulcinella is going to kill him. 

No. Worse. 

Pulcinella is going to kill his father.

Tartaglia knows he can’t avoid him forever. He’s been stupid enough to go to Pulcinella after every visit to his family and now today he hasn’t, hiding away in his office in the hopes of concealing his injuries from the others, and he knows it’s only a matter of time until–

There’s a knock at his door.

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. “Come in,” he calls, and immediately ducks his head when the Fifth enters the room. He shouldn’t have done that. Pulcinella knows something is wrong and Tartaglia is weak. He caves as soon as Pulcinella threatens to get the others.

Because whatever they do would be far worse than anything Pulcinella would do. They talk, but Pulcinella doesn’t get it so Tartaglia barely listens. The Eleventh had had two choices today and he’s made the logical one.

It was either let his father hit his little sister or let his father hit him and unlike Tonia, Tartaglia has taken his fair share of hits, both from monsters, comrades, and his own family.

What’s another?

“This is abuse, Ajax.”

“It’s not abuse.” He can’t look Pulcinella in the eyes. “He doesn’t hit anyone else.”

He tried to. He tried to hit Tonia while Ajax was right there. If he tried to hit her while Ajax was there, what does he do when Ajax isn’t .

“He hits a child, that’s child abuse. He hits a Harbinger, that’s treason. If I ever met your father I will make sure that he knows there are ten Harbingers waiting or the moment you give us the green to take him down.”

“I won’t.”

There’s no confidence in his voice. He thinks he will, one day. He thinks if he sees his father try and hit his brothers or sister again, he’ll do something bad . He thinks if his father raises a hand to someone other than him, he might actually kill him.

And the Ajax from before the fall is waiting for that day with bated breath.

………………………

Nationwide Celebration!

She meant well, and he feels so awful for ruining it but he just can’t stand his birthday. But she apologized, they all did, and that just makes him feel all the more worse. He stays in his rooms for the rest of the day and is only bothered once, by Signora bringing him dinner.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. She just kisses his head and says,

“We should’ve asked but we got caught in habit. It won’t happen again. We’ll ask next time.”

“I’ll say no next time.”

“You might change your mind.”

“What about Pantalone?”

“He’s redirected the party to Dottore’s lab.”

Tartaglia gives a weak laugh. “I’m sure Dottore loves that.”

“Oh, his segments are having a blast ,” Signora replied. “Dottore? Mm, not so much.”

“Tell him if he gets drunk it’ll get better.”

Signora laughs and cups his face, tilting his head up to kiss his forehead. “I will,” she says. “You’re welcome to join.” He opens his mouth but she cuts him off. “Not a party for you. Just a party in general.”

“I don’t know. I’ll think about it.”

“Okay.” She smiles. “We’re all downstairs if you need us.”

He does, eventually, join them. 

And Dottore does, eventually, get drunk.

…………………………..

Vessel of Abyss

They’re going to lose. Both of them are using their Delusions and they’re still going to lose. Anger grips Tartaglia, hot and burning in his stomach. Their Delusions aren’t good enough and if two Harbingers lose here, call a tactical retreat, it won’t look good for the rest of the Fatui.

There is one card left up his sleeve. At the start of this fight, he had no intention of using it. He’s never had any intention of using it, ever since he joined the Fatui in the first place. But if it means saving face and not letting Her Majesty down, he’ll do anything.

So he activates Foul Legacy and decimates the enemy in a second. As soon as it’s over, he stumbles off to a nearby clearing and falls against a tree as he returns to himself. His coat falls from his shoulder and he closes his eyes, shivering.

It isn’t long before he hears Capitano approach.

“That was you, wasn’t it?”

Tartaglia can’t breathe. It’s over now. They know he’s a monster, just like his family did. They know and now they’re going to…to kick him out or demote him or…kill him. He’s a monster and now that they know that, they’re just going to kill him.

He knows too much so now they’re just going to kill him.

“Are you going to tell?” Tartaglia manages to ask.

Capitano’s quiet reply shocks him to the bone. “Why would I tell?”

…………………………..

It’s an honor to be called upon by Her Majesty. A greater honor to be called upon in private, into her chambers all on your own. Tartaglia bows to her and rises when she instructs him to. She’s seated on an icy couch, a gentle and tender smile on her face.

“Tartaglia,” she purrs, reaching out a hand and taking his in hers. “How long have you been with the Fatui?”

“Since I was fourteen, Majesty,” he replied. Practically eight years, now. He’s just turned twenty-two a week earlier.

“Have you ever had a mission that you’ve led on your own?”

Tartaglia’s heart begins to race. “No, Majesty.”

Her smile brightens. “How would you like to go to Liyue and steal Morax’ Gnosis?”