Chapter Text
A week before Ajax turns 23, he almost floods a country.
Almost is the key word there – though he feels the need to say it wasn’t for the lack of trying. Sometimes you win, and sometimes you lose. Adaptability is a critical feature for a warrior, and Ajax learned how to roll with the punches over the years. If he succeeds, he presses the advantage. If he gets knocked over, he springs back up, ready to throw himself at the problem again until either it breaks or he does.
He stifles a cough behind a tattered glove, limping through the backstreets of Liyue. His boots leave traces of blood in the puddles he splashes through. There's a stench of copper and ash that won’t leave him for a few more hours at least. His head pounds, his whole body aches, but he keeps moving. One foot in front of the other. Ajax is as good as dead if he stops, defenseless against whatever citizen or soldier might find him in his weakened state. Even prey can band together to kill a predator if it’s weak enough, and it wouldn’t take much to do him in right now.
Archons, he just wants to take a bath.
His apartment complex sits at the top floor of a building on the edges of the residential district, less than a five minute walk from the Northland Bank. The Fatui bought it to use as housing for its employees and operatives, with the upper levels reserved for high up executives and trade partners the bank intends to wine and dine. With his body feeling like it’ll shake apart at the seams, those five minutes drag out to fifteen, with the stairs taking an another ten minutes to climb. His body forces him to rest every five steps, gripping the railing hard enough to turn his knuckles white so he doesn’t fall over. Tartaglia, eleventh of the Fatui Harbingers and the Tsaritsa’s bloodthirsty vanguard: done in by a set of stairs and gravity. It’s the kind of ending you’d expect from a two-bit villain in an opera, and his sheer indignance at the thought keeps him upright.
It takes five tries to fit the key into the lock, his shaking hands smearing the metal with red. He steps inside and locks it behind him, turning to survey the damage to his apartment. It’s far too high to have suffered from the storm tide Osial’s rising created, but a stray branch broke through his window, letting the brutal rain soak half of his living room. Nothing unsalvageable. He wishes he could say the same thing about his life here.
He was able to push it out of his mind for the journey back, but here, in the confines of his own residence, Ajax cracks.
He stumbles his way to the couch, falling back as his knees give out from under him. His breath comes in short bursts, fluttery and shallow as the tightness in his chest – completely unrelated to the aftermath of his Foul Legacy – starts to spread.
“The contract is fulfilled. That which thou seeketh is now bestowed unto thee, for my promise is solid as stone.”
Ajax doesn’t have friends. All a Harbinger can have are enemies or allies, and even those are capable of switching up in an instant. Use and be used, that is the life Ajax accepted upon his appointment to Harbinger status. In exchange for the chance to hone his skills and seek powerful opponents, he points his blade where the Tsaritsa commands and asks no questions. His Archon puts him to good use, sending him into the fray to decimate her enemies and further her grand design of taking on the heavens. And oh, how he’s thrived under her command, cutting down traitors and enemies alike. Once a humble fisherman’s son with dreams of heroism, Ajax had grown into a beast on the battlefield, sating his thirst with the blood of Snezhnaya’s most troublesome roadblocks, getting status, wealth, and a stable future for his family in return. Really, the Tsaritsa was getting the short end of the deal – but he’ll never say that out loud.
He had no reason to question it when she assigned him to Liyue to attain Morax’s gnosis. Why would he, when all the Tsaritsa has ever done has been to his benefit? Even her most dangerous missions were a chance to improve, and the few times he returned heavily injured, she spared no expense to get him back in fighting shape. When the Tsaritsa deems a tool valuable, she takes pains to ensure it stays sharp.
While most might have seen being tasked with taking a warrior god’s gnosis as a death sentence, he saw it as the ultimate chance to prove his mettle. How would Ajax, wielding the powers of Celestia, the Abyss, and man, compare against Morax, who shaped his very country’s geography with spears of stone? A godkiller, the oldest Archon of the seven, someone who secured his place among Celestia’s ranks through sheer martial might.
And, Ajax has come to learn, a complete liar.
The pain in his chest grows tighter, a bowstring pulled taught, the line quivering with tension as bloodied fingers try to hold on.
A liar, a cheat, a complete financial moron – unless that was an act, too? Ajax isn’t sure, he’s not sure of anything right now. Morax, that manipulative bastard. He must have laughed himself sick every night he parted ways with Ajax, confident in the fact that he had no idea of the true happenings behind the scenes. But how could he have known? He was played by both sides: his own Archon – of whom his trust in was absolute – and someone he had thought was a friend.
He doesn’t mind being the Tsaritsa’s puppet, he agreed to that when he accepted his place among her elite, but he’s ashamed to say that he expected more from Morax. Wanted more.
Betrayal is an old acquaintance, one who left scars too deep to hide entirely the last time he encountered it. To be betrayed, you need to trust, and the last time Ajax trusted someone further than he could through them (which is actually quite a distance) he followed his father into a clearing where a group of Fatui were waiting to take him.
He fought it. Oh, he fought it. He fought it until Pulcinella himself had to come and see what the ruckus was. At that point, Ajax had been fighting for eight hours straight, only pausing to shovel snow in his mouth and let the new groups come in and pick up where their comrades left off. The Rooster cocked his head and asked him for the reason behind this surprising show of chivalry. Ajax’s reply had been simple: there was no glory in continuing to beat someone after they’ve all but given up.
The Rooster looked him up and down. Even at fourteen, Ajax could recognize the assessing light in his eye – he saw it enough in the fishmongers at the docks trying to put a price to his father’s haul. It didn’t matter what he said, Ajax knew he was leaving with them – his father had long since run off, leaving Ajax alone in the wilderness with a bunch of sniveling cowards nursing their wounds.
“Come with me,” the Rooster said, “and you will find worthier opponents than this sorry lot.”
After that, trust was a distant concept. He tried to trust his comrades, but their abilities always came up short, leaving Ajax to rely on himself more often than not. It’s not like he minded, in many ways it was reminiscent of his time in the Abyss, only there was no looming threat of abyssal monsters and no Skirk to randomly ambush him and keep his senses on high alert. Ah, if only she were there, then his new comrades would see that no matter how bad they thought Ajax was, there’s always someone worse. He’s sure a few of them would’ve fainted at the thought.
Trusting people in an official capacity became a necessity after his appointment to Harbinger status. On paper, he was the Vanguard, but the reality of it included a lot of bureaucracy – supply shipments, training regimens for his troops (he had troops! ), and correspondence with the other Harbingers – his brand-new coworkers who, upon seeing a baby-faced Ajax at his first meeting, did their best to haze him with what felt like every inane task under the sky (which is apparently fake). Thankfully, not everyone was interested in dogpiling Ajax with their busywork. There are three who abstained, although one technically isn’t a Harbinger at all. The Jester didn’t care for the interpersonal relationships of the Harbingers as long as no one slit any throats, the Captain was largely uninterested in Ajax (which sort of stung, but Ajax resolved to work hard and become worthy of the Strongest Human’s acknowledgement), that leaves, of course, the Rooster. In a surprising show of sentiment, he sent one of his aides to assist Ajax, a woman a few years older than him (not hard) with a no-nonsense tone as she introduced herself as Ekaterina.
Their relationship was rocky at first – which was mostly Ajax’s fault, he could admit. Her strict adherence to procedure didn’t mesh well with his tendency to rush into things. She sent many, many apologetic letters to the other Harbingers when he inevitably stuck his foot into one of their operations, but really, they should expect something to go wrong when they have their fingers in so many pies. Ekaterina did not appreciate the sentiment when he told her as much and threw a paperweight at his head. He dodged it, of course, but he was impressed enough to compliment her – she didn’t appreciate that, either. But they got used to each other, soon enough, to the point she already had the apology letters pre-written and he made an effort not to make so much work for her.
Seven years Ajax has operated as the Tsaritsa’s Vanguard. Many soldiers have come and gone, the nature of the front lines is inevitable. Only those capable of keeping up with him continue to see another day, but even they fall eventually. The clerks and paper pushes always threw hands up in surrender eventually, completely exasperated by how many incident reports Ajax accrues in a week. Ekaterina was the only one who stayed. If she weren’t his direct subordinate and most definitely reporting his every move to Pulcinella, Ajax might have called her a friend. When he was dispatched to Liyue, he gave her the chance to stay, but she leveled him with an insulted look and went to pack her bags for the ship without a word.
There was a refreshing quality to Ajax’s time in Liyue. No one but the executives of the Qixing were aware of his true identity, leaving him a charming bank manager from afar to most people he met in the harbor. Plenty of the local vendors tried to get close to him, but he saw their intentions for what they were. He was a profitable venture, no more, no less. He appreciated their honesty, at the very least. The only one who had been different was… Zhongli.
The consultant was under no illusions like his fellow countrymen and women, yet he harbored no fear of Ajax. His face didn’t twitch with discomfort when Ajax went into gruesome detail about his latest battle, he did not flinch when Ajax tried to reach for him and point something out. Sure, he might have been paid a stipend by the Northland Bank to act as Ajax’s guide around Liyue, but the hours they spent together went far beyond what was stipulated in the employment contract, and he never requested for this extra time to be compensated. Perhaps it was his way of repaying Ajax for every little trinket and bauble he’s paid for while on their strolls. Did Ajax have to foot the bill? Not at all, but Zhongli’s eyes always shimmered with such warmth when Ajax offered. There was too much gratitude in those eyes for greed to hide in their depths, and hailing from the nation of snow and permafrost, Ajax savored that warmth, actively seeking out chances to be on the receiving end of such affectionate regard.
Back in the present, Ajax digs his fingernails into the meat of his palm in an attempt to distract himself, but it’s no good. He can’t stop thinking about it – the plays they watched side-by-side, the meals they shared, his own laughter and the subtle turn of Zhongli’s mouth as he graciously gave Ajax the chance to pull himself together.
He’s no better than the strays in Morepesok. Give them some food and attention and they’ll stick to your side like they’ve been sewn onto your hip. Ajax made that mistake once and only once, with the end result being a front-row seat to his father kicking the poor dog in the ribs and yelling at it until it skittered away with its tail between its legs. Those big brown eyes had been so trusting, so hurt. All it wanted was some smoked salmon and a gentle hand, it didn’t understand what it did to deserve being kicked and chased off. Ajax cannot claim the same.
It’s just too pathetic. Ajax is just too pathetic.
He groans as the room spins, keeping his eyes pinned on one corner of the room to keep himself oriented. If he ignores the blood, the ruined clothes, and the full-body ache as he develops into one giant bruise, he can almost pretend that today didn’t happen at all. He just had a bit too much to drink at the Third-Round Knockout, that’s all. It’s not like it hasn’t happened before.
Ajax was by no means a lightweight. Whatever happened to him down in the Abyss changed his body enough for him to process most poisons quickly and efficiently, alcohol included. Only the purest firewater could do the job these days. Ajax took one sip from the cup Zhongli poured for him and realized he might be in for some trouble. The firewater was exceptionally pure that night, even purer than what Ajax personally imported for his own stash. It wasn’t surprising, Mr. Zhongli was a connoisseur of everything under the sun it seemed, but where the hell did Zhongli get it?
He can almost hear the ‘consultant’s’ voice from that night, low and soothing, tinged with amusement at Ajax’s surprise. “While firewater is not one of my preferred choices of alcohol, I would hardly be an accommodating host if I only indulged in my preferences and not those of my guest.”
He took one look at those golden eyes watching him expectantly and threw the the rest of his shot back, just how the veteran skirmishers taught him to back in the motherland. His cup hit the hardwood table with a solid clack as he rested his forearm on the table and leaned in close, a daring smile stretched across his face.
“Mr. Zhongli, I propose a challenge,” his voice was louder than he meant for it to be, his cheeks were already warm. Perhaps the firewater was already getting to him, or perhaps it had something to do with how the lanterns reflected in Zhongli’s eyes. “We’ll match each other drink for drink. If I win, you’ll have to pay for the tickets to miss Yun Jin’s next performance. Front row seats.” He planned to get the tickets one way or another, but this challenge was in part to see if Zhongli’s mythical wallet actually existed. Ajax had certainly never seen it in the half a year he’d been in Liyue.
Zhongli hummed, Ajax felt the fine hairs on his arm raise at the low sound. “Drinking competitions like this are commonplace in Snezhnaya, yes? Very well, I’ll indulge you just this once – but be sure not to regret it tomorrow morning.”
Ajax waited for him to say more, but all Zhongli did was pour another shot for him. He cleared his throat with a smile. “Xiansheng, you’re supposed to state your terms, too.”
Zhongli blinked at him. “Ah, I see…” he went silent, considering, but ultimately shook his head. “I’m afraid I cannot think of anything I want from you that I do not already have.”
Oh sure, maybe for now. But come tomorrow Ajax was sure some trinket or the other would catch Zhongli’s eye on their daily walk and that would change. Not that Ajax minded.
He leaned in close, wielding a teasing smile like a butterfly knife to hide how his heart beat faster in proximity to Zhongli. “Nothing at all?” Ajax asked. “Should I be offended?”
“Hardly so. Your generosity is abundant, Childe, yet I find that your company alone is enough for me. Considering your terms should you win, I’m afraid I stand to benefit no matter the outcome. As such, I see no need to make my own condition should I win.” He was more refined about taking his next shot than Ajax, tilting his head back to swallow it all in one gulp. Ajax was ashamed to say he could not rip his eyes away from the bob of Zhongli’s throat.
He threw his next shot back, hopefully before Zhongli could notice his wandering eyes.
They went for eleven rounds. Any normal man would be on the floor groaning to his Archon for mercy, but Zhongli kept pace with Ajax. more than that, he overtook Ajax, taking a twelfth shot before he realized Ajax had fallen behind. He tried to deny it, to hold on for one more round, but his body betrayed him, slumping down so his forehead rested against the table. His memory was murky, but he could remember Zhongli gently prying Ajax’s hand away from the glass and motioning for the bill to be put on Ajax’s tab (because of course). The consultant didn’t so much as wobble as he propped Ajax up against his shoulder and began to walk back home.
“Just what are you made of?” Ajax had mumbled against Zhongli’s shoulder, leaning far too much of his body weight against the consultant. It was a disgraceful display, getting so drunk in the middle of enemy territory. The other Harbingers would surely have ripped him a new one if they ever caught wind of it. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to mind so much with how Zhongli’s hand rested on his shoulder, holding Ajax steady against him. For a guy who did deskwork all day, the guy’s unreasonably strong. Maybe adeptus blood? He’s seen Lady Ganyu and that young lawyer girl running around the port.
Did Zhongli have horns? Would he let Ajax see them one day? Touch them?
Thank the Tsaritsa he said none of that aloud, but the thought lingered in his good-for-nothing drunken skull for a good while.
Ajax’s memory gets too blurry after he and Zhongli reached his apartment, all he can truly recall is that the consultant ensured that Ajax drank a large amount of water and ate something before sending him to bed.
By some mercy, Ajax had no hangover when he woke up the next morning. Although the look Ekaterina sent him when she got the bill from the Third-Round Knockout made it clear there would be no mercy from her.
When he saw Zhongli next, the man smiled gently and handed two tickets to Yun Jin’s next performance. Front row seats. And since there was no hangover to blame, he could not dismiss the pounding in his ears as a headache instead of his own heart racing.
(Ajax later found out that the tickets was billed to the funeral parlor instead of the bank, but it was the thought that counted, right?)
All it took was a little attention. He never saw the boot heading for his ribs.
Ajax’s chest spasms in what might have been a laugh in anyone else.
Exhaustion dogs his thoughts, but he forces himself to focus. He can’t lay about forever. Signora might be able to leave victorious, but Ajax will have to clean up his mess – at least until he receives further instruction for her majesty. There are over three hundred people on the Fatui’s payroll in Liyue, from regular bank workers to debt collectors Ajax has taken to whipping into shape whenever he’s bored. He just made diplomatic relations between the Northland Bank and the Qixing, putting it nicely, very fucking complicated. If he wants to make sure his subordinates suffer as little consequence as possible, he needs to get his damn act together.
His first order of business is to schedule a meeting with the Tianquan to start the process of smoothing everything over. Liyue’s government is practical with its interests, they’re – fuck, his head’s swimming. What’s the word he’s looking for? Ergonomic? No, that’s for furniture, not– Economic! They’re economic with their decisions. Ajax just has to convince them that continued relations with the Fatui will be in their best interests. But he can hardly go and meet her while he’s barely capable of focusing his eyes. He can’t let anyone from Liyue see him like this right now, they’d abuse his vulnerability for their own benefit. The Tianquan will think he’s scrambling for a way to get out of this the longer he takes to meet her, but that’s fine. A strategic sacrifice to prevent a heavy loss. She cannot see his weakness. No one can see him like this.
No one.
No…. one…..
His body slumps, finally using up that last bit of energy he could muster. His head dips until his chin rests against his chest, with locks of blood-caked hair blocking the last rays of the post-storm evening from his eyes.