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Tartaglia sat perched atop the tallest tree in the Queen’s Garden, feeling the Snezhnayan chill on the tips of his fingers.
Below him, palace servants scurried the stone pathways like rats, sniffing around for any trace of him. Footsteps in the snow, a piece of red wool stuck in a bush’s branch, the frost over the tree’s trunks melted in the shape of hands. He’s gone this way! He’s gone that way!
The satisfaction of watching them run without aim was a short-lived one, however. His eyes caught on a dark figure walking underneath the trees’ limbs. Were it not for its immense size, he would have assumed it was just a shadow.
Anticipation rose high in Tartaglia’s throat. He pulled his knees to his chest as the figure approached his spot. Muted sunlight caught on a sharp-curved helmet, and Tartaglia released his breath slowly. It was no shadow. It was his superior, Capitano. And he was now following one of the trails Tartaglia had left for his chasers.
“How odd,” Capitano’s baritone rang clear in the quiet of the morning, “these footsteps are deeper at the end.”
Capitano planted his feet near the spot Tartaglia had planted his own.
“Predators in Snezhnaya are trackers. Prey had to learn how to deceive them. Leaving behind a fake trail,” he explained aloud. Tartaglia snicked to himself, knowing he’d been caught, even before the large man raised one foot behind him.
The hard sole of Capitano’s foot slotted itself perfectly inside the dent in the snow, and he backtracked his own trail in the snow. Two sets were now printed on it, side by side. One large and one small.
Tartaglia pushed himself straight when Capitano stopped by the tree, and looked up.
His heart was racing; he ignored it. “You hunt, Lord Captain?”
“Quite frequently,” Capitano said, whirling his body so he could face him completely. His arms crossed over his chest. “Trying to see the sun above the clouds, boy?”
“Trying to reach Celestia, actually.”
That pulled a sharp exhale from the man. A laugh, Tartaglia told himself innerly, with great glee.
“Pulcinella is looking everywhere for you.”
“Oh, I am aware.”
“Come down.” It didn't sound an order. “He’s making the entire place unlivable, and I have work to do.”
Tartaglia’s brow furrowed with annoyance. “Did he tell you to come find me?”
Capitano shrugged off his question. The answer was obvious.
A similar thing had happened before, on Ajax’s fifteenth name day, when he made his only successful attempt at running from the barracks. He spent one month on the road; stealing food from wandering merchants and the farthest shelves of food stalls; sleeping in haylofts and under the roofs of people that took pity on the lost child; leaving before the Fatui could answer the people’s call. He had felt unsafe during those few weeks, but, until he had woken up and seen Capitano silhouetted in the bedroom doorway, that had only been paranoia. Capitano was cold, but he wasn’t hateful. On that day, after an awkward conversation with the elderly couple that had offered him a place to stay, Capitano had picked him up in his arms and allowed him to cry in that silent, crumbling way of his, as he was carried inside the carriage back to the palace. He hadn’t argued back when Capitano touched his hair and said, in response to Ajax’s admission to wanting to see his family again, You now belong with us.
Tartaglia stared down at Capitano. Capitano stared back up at him. His size and clothes made him stand out in the Garden like an obelisk of darkness, attracting the attention of the palace servants. They gathered under the tree, calling his name and reaching for him.
“Young Lord!” A salt-and-pepper man called out. Next to him was a short, pudgy woman, and she shouted the same in her thin voice. “Young Lord, you’ll catch a cold up there!”
Tartaglia flushed, embarrassed. He was not a child anymore!
“All of you!” Capitano commanded them to silence before Tartaglia could. “I got the situation under control. You can return to what you were doing.”
“But the Mayor said—”
“The Mayor asked this of me. Tell him I got it under control.” He made a wide swiping motion of his arm. “Dismissed.”
They needn’t be told twice.
Tartaglia sighed as he watched them leave.
“We haven’t seen each other in years, and when you return, you find me like this.” He pushed out a laugh without any weight of humour. Tartaglia hoped Capitano would just leave. He was not going to relent, even if it was him.
Capitano heaved a weary sigh, shoulders dropping. He extended both arms.
“Come down. You’ll spend the rest of the day with me.”
Tartaglia swallowed thickly. “Swear it.”
“On my honor as a knight."
Tartaglia’s mood swelled with déjà vu.
Smiling, he pushed himself off the branch legs first. He’s caught between a hard chest and a strong pair of arms, but the discomfort lasted only for the moment of the impact as then it got quickly replaced by pleasant warmth. It seeped through his clothes, through his skin, and into his heart. He caught the smell of snow and cedarwood, and he pushed his face against it, arms coming around the other man to hold onto as much of him as he could.
Capitano lowered himself so Tartaglia’s feet were on the floor. Tartaglia pushed away, still smiling. Blood rushed back to his face and he felt the sting of the cold on his nose.
“What were you working on?” He asked.
“Reviewing records,” Capitano replied.
“Boring.”
“It is boring,” Capitano agreed. “You’ve done that already?”
Tartaglia suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. “Oh, don’t even get me started. It’s all I’ve done for the past year! I miss Liyue.”
“Really?” Capitano sounded surprised. “I heard you did nothing but complain about it the moment you arrived.”
The corner of Tartaglia’s eye twitched. Pantalone… You loose-mouthed bastard!
"So you’ll have me sit around while you file paperwork?”
“That was my intention, yes.”
“The entire day? We could go to the training grounds—”
“No.” The refusal hurt more than Tartaglia would like to admit. “I do have somewhere else in mind,” Capitano went on, getting back his attention.
“Where?”
“Somewhere the Mayor won’t find us.”
Capitano treaded a path towards the rose labyrinth. Tartaglia followed close behind. The gravel crunched under Capitano’s and Tartaglia's feet as they took turn after turn. The bushes had been trimmed earlier, and the pathway was barren of leaves and petals.
Whether by memory or instinct, Capitano led him to the exit, into a field of snowdrops surrounding a single pathway leading to a white-painted pavilion.
Tartaglia blinked, then twirled on his feet, taking in the surroundings.
Blue spruce trees grew near the Palace walls, stopping a little above the windows of the Tsaritsa’s unused ballroom. Tartaglia’s ears caught the flutter of a bird’s wings and his head turned. A brown finch perched itself on a branch and sang softly and melodically. Various calls emerged from afar, filling the air.
“I’ve never been here before!" He exhaled. "This place is so nice!”
Capitano had stopped in the middle of the path, waiting for him. Tartaglia ran back to his side and they walked together along the clean path.
“It used to be Pierro’s,” Capitano explained after a beat, “but then he began to come here less frequently, until he stopped coming at all. It stayed abandoned for years. I only found it a year back and took a liking to it.”
“You told them to renovate it?”
“I did all of it myself.”
Tartaglia let out a hum, impressed.
He could see why Capitano had taken a liking to the place. Besides the beautiful scenery surrounding it, the pavilion had its strategic qualities: from inside its airy lattice walls one had a great view of the pathway and the Palace’s east wing, while staying unseen himself.
Capitano motioned for him to go in first, and Tartaglia stepped inside the wooden structure. There were two plush chairs, a table and a small heater by the foot of it. He could tell the place was lived in; there were books piled on top the table and the chair on the left; the heater snapped quietly, its burning embers creating warmth and light that filled the space in a comforting way.
A hand rested on his back. The touch was unexpected as it was electrifying. His shoulders jumped up to his neck, but he made himself relax when he saw Capitano’s distinctive helmet over his shoulder. The First Harbinger guided him further inside by the hand on his back, and made him sit on the right chair. Capitano picked up the book pile off the chair on the left and set it on the table before he took his own seat. Tartaglia picked up the book with the white cover and turned it around in his hand to read the title. In black elegant letters; ‘Contaminated Hearts’.
“You come here to read?” He opened the book, skimming over the pages. The book appeared to be a romance. All passages he’d read referred back to the same two characters, likely the main couple. He quickly lost interest and closed the book shut, setting it back with the others.
“I find it a lot quieter than the library. I hope it stays that way.”
“Are you implying taking me here will change that?” Tartaglia laughed. “I won’t reveal your secret.”
“This place is no secret.”
And as if to prove his words, he picked up the small bell from the tabletop and rang it.
A woman arrived soon after, and Capitano requested she bring food and wine. She nodded, then disappeared back inside the labyrinth.
Tartaglia bit his lip, considering if it would be too impolite to jest it still being too early to be drinking. The last thing he would want to do right now was imply Capitano was a drunk. How did he even drink with that mask on all the time, anyways? Would he take it off? Was Tartaglia about to see what was underneath it?
“I am trusting that you won’t speak of it to anyone, however,” Capitano suddenly said, making Tartaglia blink in surprise. He recovered quickly. His fingers rose to his mouth and made the motion of locking a door and throwing the key away.
Capitano huffed another ‘laugh’ that had Tartaglia smiling again. He propped an elbow on the table, hiding it into the shell of his palm.
“Why were you hiding from Pulcinella?”
“He upsetted me today.”
“I see. I shall not speak further of it, then.”
“Thank you.”
The woman returned alongside two others, carrying trays of meats, cheese, fruit and freshly baked pirozhkis, as well as jars of fresh red wine. Tartaglia helped them set the books aside for everything they brought. He thanked the women, and they bowed to the two of them, wishing them a nice lunch before they left them back alone.
Capitano went straight for one of the wine jars and poured himself a cup. The liquid swirled inside the crystal glass, making it glow red under the pale light of day. Tartaglia watched intently; Capitano’s platted, clawed fingers curled around the glass, but didn’t bring it up. Tartaglia’s gaze averted upwards, but it was pointless. Behind the curtain of darkness, Capitano’s emotions were indiscernible. Even in the words he spoke and the ways his body moved.
Wordlessly, Capitano pushed the plate of pirozhkis in his direction.
“I’m not really hungry…” Tartaglia began to say.
“Eat.” Capitano cut him. “Your Lord commands it.”
Tartaglia picked up one of the buns. It was still hot in his palm, and when he brought it up to his mouth to give the first bite, the minced meat inside almost burned his tongue. He munched slowly. If Pantalone had told Capitano about Liyue, who’s to say he also didn’t tell him about his binging. He had told Pulcinella many times to be wary of that man with the many faces. Just because he was ranked low, it didn’t mean he was less dangerous.
When he looked back to Capitano, his glass was empty.
“You look well,” Capitano said.
“Thank you...” The words conveyed the truth, yet they still felt insufficient. “You as well,” he added.
“Last time I saw you, you were half a child, about Pulcinella’s size. I told him then you would amount to nothing. ‘The Rooster’s chick’, they all called you. Now look at you—” He could feel Capitano seize him up. “A Harbinger. Who would’ve thought, the imp actually succeeded.”
“I succeeded,” he corrected. “I did all of it myself.”
He could feel Capitano’s amusement at having his own words used against him. He allowed himself to feel a little proud of that. Like a true Harbinger, he picked and used his opponent’s weapon against them. He would show Capitano how good he could be, how he was destined for more than being someone’s glorified pet. He was a true warrior. His body was all blade. Sharp and deadly. A sword crafted specifically for Her Majesty’s hand, just as Capitano had been.
Together they could be unstoppable. Twin blades. Covering each other’s blind spot.
“Are you really leaving for Natlan?” Capitano nodded. Tartaglia worried at his bottom lip, debating to himself whether he should say it… Ah, fuck it. “Pulcinella and Pantalone want to keep me in Snezhnaya for a project.”
The part where they decided that because he was no longer of use to the Gnosis Hunting was left unsaid. He wouldn’t have Capitano think of him insufficient, even if he had already expressed his congratulations on the accomplishment of rising to Harbinger status. Tartaglia wanted to distance himself from ‘Ajax’ as much as he could.
“And that upsetted you?”
“I can’t stand being idle…” It made him restless. Like his body was forever stuck in fight or flight mode, always wary of the creature that might finally catch up to him. “You hunted. You know the worst thing a prey can do is stand still.”
“You’re no one’s prey, Eleventh.”
Tartaglia laughed. For Capitano, that may be true. He was the strongest the Fatui had to offer. The few that could win against him in a fight were either dead or far away from; their paths never to cross in a lifetime’s worth. Capitano was the apex; no one was over him. As long as Tartaglia was not at the top, he would always be someone’s prey. He needed to get stronger. Strong enough to be able to make his own rules, instead of following Pulcinella’s or Pierro’s. Strong enough to provide his own protection to his family, outside of Fatui dealings, to choose his own fights, to alleviate his Tsaritsa from her heavy burden, to find Master Skirk again.
“Perhaps if you stopped isolating yourself so much, you wouldn’t feel so insecure.”
“That’s easy for you to say, Sir.”
“You think I got where I am today through personal strength alone?” He could imagine Capitano raising an eyebrow. “I was a mere soldier once. Just like you. I was a part of something bigger. One unit of five thousand men strong, and we tumbled entire cities and Gods with the power to destroy islands.”
Tartaglia caught himself grinning at that. “I never knew that!”
“It is seldom talked about,” Capitano conceded, and poured himself another glass. Tartaglia stared intently, determined to watch him drink it this time. “That I am human.”
Tartaglia's head snapped up. “You are?”
Capitano tipped his cup forward, as if to say, See?
“Trust is a two-way street. For it to exist, there must be a mutual sense of reliability. It’s not easy, but it’s necessary if you wish to survive. You seek shelter in the herd until your claws grow, as long and sharp as mine. Then, you can lead the herd.”
“So I should just rely on a stranger?” Just the idea of it made his skin crawl. If he had done that, then he would truly be dead. Tartaglia had seen what happened to the less bright children in the Fatui.
“Not just any stranger. You’ll have to make the judgment on who is worthy of your trust. Like now. I’m talking to you. I’m willing to put my trust in you.”
Tartaglia’s mouth parted, but no words came out.
Throughout all his teenage years, he had wanted nothing but to hear those exact words from Capitano. But now, he did not know what to say in response.
“Then… You must have been made aware there was trust coming from my side.”
The tip of Capitano’s helmet tilted downwards, touching the middle of the man’s collarbones, above the golden heart sitting on his chest.
“You have made that quite obvious.” There was laughter in Capitano’s tone.
Tartaglia reached for the wine jar and drank two cups of it in quick succession. But the warmth in his throat stayed separate from the one on his face.
They continued to enjoy each other’s company, getting interrupted only two more times, when servants brought in the cakes and then again when they cleared off their table. Tartaglia was never good at judging the passage of time, so he’s shocked to see the sky had darkened beyond the walls of rose bushes.
Capitano got up to fetch fresh coals for the heater.
Tartaglia followed him with his eyes. He looked up at the man’s towering frame and suddenly, he was reminded of a time when he was twelve, standing amongst the gathering crowds as the Lord Harbinger marched back from another victorious war; and when he was fourteen, clinging onto his wooden sword and thinking about how Capitano wouldn’t cower down; and when he was fifteen, shunned and isolated from the rest of his unit, just a scrawny little thing with a fuse too short; and he was seventeen, standing before the Tsaritsa, Pierro, and a large crowd with many different faces, and not a single of them being the one he was looking for.
He must have stared for a while because Capitano was making his way towards him.
His knees rose off the chair’s rest, the instinct to hide strong, but he forced himself in place.
Capitano extended a large hand. “Do you trust me, Eleventh?”
His gaze dropped to the hand before him. Something clawed at the insides of his ribcage. His heart, suddenly aware that it was a beast trapped within a cage of bone and flesh, attempted to break out. It was up in Tartaglia’s neck now, roaring.
“I trust you,” he whispered, taking the man’s hand.
Capitano’s fingers closed around the smaller hand, the tips of his claws barely touching skin. The touch was cold, but not freezing. Tartaglia could feel the tendons gripping his flesh, how solid the grip was. Capitano was alive. Capitano was human.
He’s pulled gently by Capitano until they’re outside, stepping on and then out of the stone path. Snow crunched under their boots as Capitano continued to lead him along, until he gave a last tug and he was in his embrace. One hand went around his waist, the other holding his hand out.
“Close your eyes.” The words were felt on the crown of his head.
Tartaglia took in a deep breath, then released it as slowly as he could, closing his eyes.
“Can you hear that,” Capitano whispered, as quiet as the cold freeze. Tartaglia’s brows knitted into a frown, and he attempted to shift the focus from the hands touching him to the sound around him. A bird landed on a branch, pushing snow on the floor. Two men chattered, too far away to comprehend what they were saying. The heart-piercing shriek of a violin.
Music?
“Keep your eyes closed,” Capitano reminded, warning lacing his words. “The Knave likes to practice at this time of day.”
Capitano moved to the right, dragging Tartaglia along. Tartaglia struggled to match the wide strides of Capitano’s side steps, but found the correct rhythm soon, once it dawned on him what Capitano’s intent was. They danced together, drawing circles in the snow. Tartaglia had never taken the feminine role before, but he found it easy to adopt. Capitano was a great dance partner; communicating through subtle noise, correcting Tartaglia with gentle pulls at his waist. Tartaglia’s body flexed and bent to the will of the large hands cupping his body.
The violin's song lowered to a deep tone, and their movements became languid. Tartaglia could feel Capitano’s controlled breaths through the places where their bodies touched. They were coiled around each other like snakes trapped in a fight; Capitano’s palm pressed to the width of the small of Tartaglia’s back, Tartaglia’s ankle propped against the back of Capitano’s thigh.
Capitano dipped him, and the music stopped, indicating the end of their dance.
Tartaglia was panting, his breath white. Capitano pulled him back up. Stars donned the night sky. The sky and the palace shimmered behind Capitano. His helmet shimmered too.
Tartaglia pushed himself on the tips of his feet to kiss it.
Hands fell over his shoulders, and a spark coursed through his body. He’s pulling away in an instant, his eyes wide.
“I-I’m sorry! I don’t know what—”
“Close your eyes again.”
Tartaglia swallowed thickly. Every nerve was felt at the edge of his skin. Still, he made the effort to close his eyes once more. I trust him.
A hand caught his chin, the grip firm but not unkind. Tartaglia followed its guidance, tilting his head back. Hot breath tickled against his lips, and Tartaglia shuddered, knowing what would happen before he felt something press against them. His mouth parted like instinct, and the taste of wine coated his tongue. The hand on his chin moved to cup the back of his head, and Capitano deepened the kiss.
Gods.
Capitano was kissing him.
This had to be a dream. But when Tartaglia reached up, his hands found only the warmth of another body and the likeness of real hair. Capitano caught his tongue and gave it a firm suck, forcing a sound from the back of his throat. He grabbed onto two handfuls of Capitano’s hair and the man grunted in turn. The noise more felt than heard. Tartaglia’s knees buckled but Capitano held him up by the hand on his lower back. Tartaglia was at this man’s complete mercy, but his heart was oddly at ease. I trust him.
When Capitano pulled away, it was as if he took all the warmth of Teyvat with him. Tartaglia attempted to chase it back, but then he felt a sharp pang of coldness at the tip of his nose, and he opened his eyes to stare back at the sky.
“It’s snowing…” He whispered.
“It seems Her Majesty has been watching us.” Capitano’s grip grew tighter. His helmet was in place. “It must have been a while since she last saw a love so pure…” He looked down at him, and it was as if he had forgotten what he was about to say next. Tartaglia blinked up at him, snowflakes gathering on his long lashes. “You have made me reluctant to go now.”
Tartaglia squeezed the man’s bicep. “Take me with you.”
But Capitano was already shaking his head.
“You have your role here.” He brushed his cheek with the back of his hand. “I will be back. In the meantime, heed what I've told you and do stay alive.”
Tartaglia smiled up at him. “I swear. Swear it back.”
“I swear. On my honor as a knight.”