Chapter Text
He has always worried for his third son. His older two brothers are strong and Snezhnayan in every sense of the word. Talkative but brisk, handsome but with the perfect streak of meanness that ensured no one would find them an easy mark. Ready recruits for the military but both had ended up in a much more comfortable and profitable position as merchants or security. The harsh Snezynahan military bred obedience, control and a reputation that he never wanted for his sons. His eldest daughter is the image of a fine lady not to be trifled with. She is poise and elegance, but should anyone try to mug her they are in for a terrible surprise. He is proud of them.
And then there is little Ajax. The first year of his life the child was so quiet that he worried something might be wrong. The wide eyes of the infant reminded him too much of something small and fragile. By age seven Ajax had still not said a word, but it was clear he understood everything being said to him. He silently doted on his younger siblings Tonia and Anton and was as good as a child could be — the occasional fit, some spontaneous rambunctiousness, but given Ajax’s older siblings, everyone thought it was almost angelic in comparison.
Still, he worried.
When Ajax was ten he started bringing the boy on fishing trips with him. By then the boy was speaking, though not very much and most often to his younger siblings. Ajax would sit quietly, intent on listening to his father’s stories or on the simple hole dug in the ice. He was attentive, eager to learn and it turned out once he was shown a task he could replicate it fairly easily. It was their private time, and the few moments he didn’t worry about his — now — middle child.
Finally, after his thirteenth birthday, Ajax seemed to be becoming the boy he had hoped he would. He had opened up, started being a proper troublemaker — something his parents would never have admitted they wanted but were glad to see a more cheerful and inquisitive son. Enamored and buoyed by tales of heroes, Ajax would make snow forts, break off large icicles and pretend they were swords, he got in trouble for trying to make and then deliver a wood horse to the closest house to theirs (still, rather far away). To Teucer, the youngest child, Ajax was always the cheerful big brother with a bit of mischief to him.
He really would have preferred it stayed that way. But then Ajax was fourteen, and then Ajax disappeared. It was only three days that the boy was gone, but what returned. . . he wasn’t sure he could call his son anymore.
Alena is six years older than Ajax, and importantly, she is five minutes older than her twin brother Troy. She is only one year older than Theseus and far older than she wants to think about for the younger siblings. She knows her little brother well, when Ajax was four their mother had fallen ill and been bedridden for two years, Alena had taken care of him then.
When he had disappeared, even with the hastily scrawled note — I’ll return when I have a sword, a shield and a helmet all fit to be gifts from the gods! I’ll return a hero — she had assumed they would find his frozen body in the summer. But still, she had gone with their mother to look. Alena suspects that their mother felt guilty for her illness and had been trying to make up for it recently.
Then, there he is.
He isn’t looking at anything, he isn’t wearing shoes and the snow falls around him in Snezhnaya’s constant slow drift. He can’t have been there long as he isn’t covered in it, there’s no sign of frostbite despite him having been missing for three days. The clothes he wears are not the clothes he left in (the black jacket their mother had made, the blue scarf Troy had brought for Ajax after a long trip, the grey trousers with huge pockets Ajax was prone to stuffing full of random odds and ends), instead wearing something else entirely, definitively, not Snezhnayan. There’s dried blood on his cheek and his clothes and she is certain under the dried blood there is even more dried blood.
Then, there is the sword. The same sword he took when he left home. It is almost unrecognizable, rusted and chipped. But she would know that sword anywhere, having been there when their father got it for Ajax and how her brother’s face had lit up with joy.
Ajax clutches it tightly in both hands. Even though his face is placid and distant, his body is tense and the sword trembles with the force of his hands. Alena shoves little Tonia behind their mother, shushing them both and carefully walks towards him.
“Little Ajax, you’ve worried us all.” She starts, “Let’s go home.” Her voice dies in her throat when he turns to look at her.
It’s sudden and quick, his whole body twisting and she’s reminded for some reason of an obscene amur cat all liquid muscle and sharp teeth. The sword doesn’t raise because — and she can see it in the way his eyes flatly regard her and the lopsided grin that stretches across the whole of his face — he doesn’t see her as a threat. For the first time in her life, despite living in Snezhnaya, facing down overly aggressive suitors and wild bears alike, she is terrified.
In an instant though, the expression is gone. His eyes are still flat but the smile shrinks, regains a childish roundness.
“Alena! Mom! Tonia!”
He doesn’t drop the sword, but he does run to them, opening his arms for a hug. Alena considers trying to pluck it from his grasp, but decides it’s much easier to grab him in a fierce embrace, wrap him in her arms and the trailing edges of her big coat and press his face into her shoulder. It wouldn’t do for Tonia to see the whole bloody mess of him. Their mother also presses around them, crying with relief.
“Where are your shoes?” Their mother asks between tears.
The first time, no one thinks it strange. Ajax and Teucer are heading down the path from the family home towards the cvillageity, there’s a few things to pick up from the shop and even though Ajax’s attitude seems to have changed, he’s still a responsible older sibling. Teucer runs ahead of his brother and crashes into another kid, a bit older than Ajax. The kid shoves Teucer into the snow, laughs and calls him a crybaby.
So when Ajax is on the other kid, breaks her arm in two places as well as her jaw, it feels like a bit much. But boys will be boys, and most people know Ajax is fiercely protective of his younger brother. Teucer thinks his brother is a hero.
The next time, it’s harder to say ‘well, it’s fine.’ Ajax is in the center of the village with his father, there to help carry a number of vegetables back home. One moment he’s talking to the blacksmith and the next moment he’s slammed the man’s head into the anvil and grinding his face down with all of his weight. Luckily, he’s still a teenager before a growth spurt, too small to kill the man. Ajax’s father apologizes profusely, leaves compensation money, drags his son home without any of the food they were meant to procure.
The time after that and the time after that and the time after that — they all became less and less excusable. No one can figure out exactly what makes Ajax turn from a sweet smiling kid to a violent feral child, but his parents try to keep him home. His father disallows Ajax from spending time with his younger siblings unsupervised.
It isn’t enough.
Ajax can’t stand being bored. At night he slips out through his window, easily descending down the three story family home like one would a single flight of stairs. His parents always know when he’s gone out, because the next morning there’s bloody footprints in the snow, perhaps a bear’s head, the great horns of an elk torn off not cut off, once, twenty tiger claws. Ajax does not escape unscathed either, but his father hasn’t seen the boy smile so happily as he does now when drenched in blood, skin splitting from a grand gash in his side or a bruise covering the entire left side of his face.
His mother talks to him, locks him in the bathroom with her so she can wash blood and dirt off of him. She tries to understand him. Begs him to not let his siblings see him like this. She worries. She wants him to be happy. She doesn’t understand what he means when he says ‘but there’s still more out there.’
His father tries taking Ajax with him everywhere with him. The only peace the boy seems to carry with him is when with his younger siblings or, surprisingly, ice fishing. But even that doesn’t last, eventually the boy gets antsy, will scoot to the edge of the hole and shove his arm into the dark, coming up with a fish every time. It’s unnerving. Not as much as how Ajax shrugs off the ice that forms on his skin, laughs and says it does hurt but he doesn’t mind.
The last time, however, is the worst. Out of his family, only his father is there to actually witness it, thankfully, but it would have been easier on his heart had he not been.
Like all things concerning Ajax since he returned, the flashpoint is indeterminate. What is certain, however, is that the boy has left a trail of broken bodies through the village square. The smart ones, or lucky ones, had gone down easily. Ajax doesn’t waste time with the weak, he isn’t someone who seeks to dominate, but to challenge. His father isn’t sure if that’s a good or bad thing.
It’s when his father comes to the eye of the storm that he understands: there’s nothing he can do for his son. Ajax sits on a man’s — a full grown man! — chest. He’s holding a knife essentially upside down, blade in the air, as he beats the man’s face in with the handle. Around there are other men, and women, all of whom most likely tried to stop Ajax in various states of injury.
He can hear the crunch of bone and he isn’t even that close.
“Ajax — Ajax! Stop!” At the command he watches his son pause, knife still held up in the air for another strike. Then, Ajax waves with his other hand and smiles. It’s the most jarring thing, Ajax with the same smile he’s always had, bright and innocent, and then blood. So much blood.
“No one’s dead, yet. I’m following the rules.” Ajax replies. His father stares at the reversed knife, the blood and meaty chunks clinging to the handle. It is true that he and his wife had tried so hard to impress on Ajax to not kill anyone. But when his eyes drop to the mutilated face of the man beneath his son, he wonders why he had ever thought that would be enough.
The Fatui have always had a reputation for being brutal. Their training is strict, meant to beat obedience into any who pass through the halls. Military training is meant to breed soldiers, and anyone who sticks out too much gets hammered down. Even the mark of the Fatui — a mask — speaks to who they are. They are not the individual, but the many beneath the Tsaritsa’s will.
Well, with an exception.
The Tsaritsa’s chosen, her Harbingers.
Some make it through carefully backstabbing and working their way up the chain of command. Others earn commendations — and show their multiple facades to be useful in the service of the Cryo Archon. It seems some simply have a skill or interest that cannot be duplicated and is immensely useful.
These exalted humans are the closest anyone has ever been to god in Snezhnaya.
The Fatui are known for their harsh training, but also for their dogma. Am I a trembling creature, or do I have strength? The weak are punished but the strong can move up the ranks. Unfortunately, discipline in the Fatui also hinges on the disobedient being weaker than the commanding officers. By the time one makes it up the ranks, their loyalty and behaviour should be adjusted enough. Rarely does one make it high in the ranks without learning conformity, but those who do. . . well, there’s rumors certain Harbingers have vested interests in maintaining order. No one escapes the Fatui unscathed.
But, it does all hinge on a superior’s strength overwhelming a subordinate. In the long history of the Fatui, there has never been an issue with such a thing. Even if a single officer cannot punish a cadet, two can, or three, or a squad.There have been tales of those unwilling to bend to the Fatui way
Unfortunately for both the Fatui recruiting officers and Ajax’s father, there is no taming Ajax’s wild strength. He cannot even ‘pass’ the recruitment test as chaos erupts around him and in no time there is a brawl. Ajax defeats every Fatui member that tries to get him to do a simple task: stand in line. It’s with a cheeky grin that Ajax refuses and an even wider grin when they try to ‘discipline’ him. Ajax doesn’t fight to escape punishment, he fights because he wants to, because his disobedience is simply another avenue to bring the battle to him.
Ajax only slows when his father calls out to him, practically begging his son to behave. It’s only because of his father does the boy get tackled, and even then it’s a struggle to keep him down. His eyes are bright and someone landed at least a hit on him, as his lip is split and bleeding.
His father can’t believe it’s his son. He stands there in silence as the recruiters try to keep Ajax down. He doesn’t notice the man who joins them until the recruiters snap to attention, letting Ajax up and giving deference to the newcomer. Even Ajax, halfway to swinging a fist at one of the officers again, pauses.
“Sir!” The officers say in unison.
“What’s the commotion?” The man asks. He’s well put-together, some cross between perfectly normal and ostentatious. Ajax’s father feels uneasy just looking at him. “A new recruit?”
The recruiters bumble through trying to explain how Ajax had thrown several grown men and how they cannot defeat a single teenager when Ajax interrupts. “Hey, you must be strong since you’re in charge.”
No irritation shows on the man’s face, instead there’s a naked curiosity and calculation that either Ajax can’t read or doesn’t care about. The boy steps closer, something that puts both his father and the recruiters on edge.
“Insolent.”
“Yup.”
“You’re not fit for the Fatui.”
“Dunno.”
“Hungry.”
Ajax doesn’t answer that one, but his pupils are huge and black and his smile is that of a starved man.
“Sir — we apologize. He’ll be dealt with —” More fumbling from the recruiters had the man shaking his head.
“You’re looking for something bigger, hmm?” The man asks.
“There’s nothing I can’t defeat.” Ajax boasts in reply.
“Well, then I’ll issue you this challenge. See me at the top, and I’ll show you the best of the battlefields.”
It turns out, that’s all it took.
“You must think you’re so clever.” La Signora, eighth of the Fatui Harbingers inclines her head to the just just enough. She’s the picture of Snezhnayan icy beauty and most men would tremble before her.
Pulcinella, no ordinary man, returns her level gaze. “And to which of my ‘clever’ matters are you speaking of?”
“I’ve been to visit your pet project.” She shakes her head, “You’ve really outdone yourself.” It sounds like a compliment, but since it’s from her — it isn’t.
He knows she’s seen right to the core of the issue immediately. Of course it’s no secret that a new recruit to the Fatui is rowdy and powerful — and that said recruit started at the bottom, not even as a recruit but even lower than that. Even Pulcinella had been somewhat surprised at how easily the boy Ajax had gone along with it, easily taking on the role of essentially a servant. Though honestly, given how fast the boy climbed ranks, perhaps it hadn’t mattered in the first place.
“A useful future lieutenant.”
Pulcinella has plans. Plans to send the young Ajax into battle and let him devour their enemies with his wild chaos and strength. An easy to aim explosion.
Signora starts laughing before the word ‘lieutenant’ finishes. It’s a full laugh, her head thrown back before she finishes, single visible eye glittering with absolute malice. He waits for her to explain, because he knows she will. When it comes to interactions like this, Signora doesn’t do them without purpose. She wants him to know he’s in danger.
“Lieutenant. . .? The pawn might be crossing the board faster than you can plot.”
Pulcinella wants to laugh but he’s struck with how Signora is all danger, no mocking in that moment. It’s been some time since he’s made a miscalculation.
Ajax’s superior officer doesn’t dislike him, but she knows that there is a possibility someday he’ll kill her. She’s heard tales, of course. Unpredictable yet talented Ajax. He takes orders well but simultaneously is unruly and chaotic. He only listens to people stronger than him, or people who can appear stronger than him. And once he surpasses them he becomes a loose cannon yet again.
It isn’t even malicious.
There’s a weird naivete to how he operates. She’s seen him walk straight up to the most grisled of warriors and ask them to show him their weapons. If they hit him, he hits back harder. Most go along with his requests to learn their weapon, to fight, to be taught whatever thing they’re doing. His eagerness is charming. Until he breaks someone’s arm, several ribs, defeats a grown man without breaking a sweat. And he learns far too quickly. Battle strategies and combat techniques he sees once he can instantly replicate.
If he were a scholar, it would be precocious if not pedantic. But he’s a warrior. So instead it’s dangerous.
“Easy job this time, hm?” Ajax asks. He’s one of the few newer recruits who gets fieldwork and some of that is simply because keeping him busy keeps their ranks healthy. When he gets bored his pent up energy comes out in brawls and blood.
She snorts. Only Ajax would look at the brief — total annihilation of an enemy encampment — and call it easy. But the boy crushes troops easier than most people can swing a sword. In some ways he seems better equipped to fight armies, his attention and action able to move swiftly between targets. She does wonder if she hasn’t seen his true strength, given there has never been a singular opponent to require all of his focus.
She honestly hopes she never meets someone who can go toe to toe with his true power.
“Easy enough.” She agrees, though.
He nods absently, going over his weapons and uniform. He’s surprisingly meticulous about these things, she observes, sorting through the rest of the briefing. There isn’t much to it, the higher ups have sort of dispensed with the normal protocol when it comes to sending Ajax out. Sometimes she thinks it’s like a game to them, just picking somewhere random and letting the boy slaughter his way through his enemies.
Soon, they’ll either have to remove him or promote him even higher. If it were her call she would recommend they poison him. There’s no telling what a straightforward fight would cost and he’s too much of a liability. However, she’s seen Harbingers drop by, keep tabs on his progress.
The uniform suits him, almost making him look mundane. Greys and blacks are as customary for the Fatui, coat thick enough to be warm but thin enough to be agile. Just hidden under the longer flap of his coat his Vision is strapped to his thigh. She has no idea why he chooses to put it there, but most Vision holders seem to find some mild compulsion in where they hang the glowing orb. It doesn’t surprise her that he keeps it somewhat hidden, Hydro Visions in Snezhnaya were somewhat unusual. Most Hydro users couldn’t do much besides make ice chunks, since the cold air froze water before it had a chance to form.
But she had seen Ajax’s weapons of water, glorious and fluid and easily fighting back against the nature of Snezhnaya. She is certain, this boy is an enemy of the world.
“I’ll be on my way then!” He says, as though it were a picnic and tugs his mask down over his face before jauntily heading off.
Occasionally, she feels guilty hoping he won’t ever return, but watching his thin frame, still gangly with growing, her fear overrides her guilt.