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The cold was more biting now that his adrenaline had worn off. The officers’ blood had cooled on his skin, and the rush of excitement had faded as reality set in.
Ajax was an idiot.
Attacking multiple grown men who outranked him just days after his parents sold him to the fatui conscription was indescribably stupid. Refusing to back down, despite his injuries, until he’d won was equally as stupid.
There was no winning against the fatui.
Now, he was alone in the cold night awaiting an audience with Her Majesty’s Fifth Harbinger, Lord Pulcinella. If Ajax had the energy, he’d probably be shaking.
His gear was thin and too large to truly keep out the drafts. Ajax wasn’t small for his age, but the Snezhnayan army didn’t exactly custom make all their conscripts uniforms.
His stomach churned at the thought of having to meet face to face with a harbinger who was, presumably, going to mete out his punishment for being … well, disrespectful didn’t seem to scratch the surface of Ajax’s violence.
A large part of him still reveled in beating the shit out of the ranking agents of the fatui. The part of him that had emerged after the abyss (perhaps, the only part of Ajax that was left) still wasn’t pacified. Even his commanding officer’s–even multiple of them weren’t enough from the ever-present, foul legacy the abyss seemed to have stained Ajax’s soul with.
Ajax wanted to fight someone fully. Someone powerful. Someone who could beat him not just because they were in charge of him or raised him or birthed him, but because they were more powerful than he was.
Skirk and the monsters of the abyss were the only opponents to give him a taste, and in the abyss, Ajax hasn’t exactly had the spare energy to use on sparring for pleasure.
He wasn’t stupid enough to get in a fight with Her Majesty’s fifth though. Laying hands on a harbinger was treason, and treason against the Tsaritsa was not something Ajax would consider.
He was homicidal, not suicidal.
So he stayed out in the cold, where he was ordered to stay and waited for direction.
One of the harbinger’s attending agents eventually came to retrieve him, but not until Ajax was already shaking.
If questioned, Ajax would have said that his trembling had to do with how long he had been out in the cold and nothing else.
The agent led him through the barracks, which Ajax had hardly begun to familiarize himself with. Even with that little knowledge, he’d definitely never been down this corridor.
“His honor, Lord Pulcinella, Fifth of our Lady’s Harbingers, wishes to see you,” the agent said.
“Yes, sir,” Ajax said, trembling in front of the fanciest damn room Ajax has ever seen in the barracks.
“Knock when you’re ready,” the officer said, “don’t keep the lord waiting.”
–
Ajax knocked before he threw up or passed out or did something else to get himself executed.
His knock sounded weak to his own ears. He wondered if it sounded weak to the Harbinger, or if the man on the other side of the door thought of Ajax’s knock at all.
“Enter.”
He cracked the door open and stepped into the room. Stepped was a nicer word than limped, even if the latter was closer to Ajax’s action.
The harbinger studied Ajax openly, while Ajax did his best not to squirm under the sudden focus.
Lord Pulcinella drew his eyes away from Ajax to shuffle at the papers on his desk.
“Ajax.”
“My lord,” Ajax reciprocated, eyes glued to the floor.
“So you do understand the concept of hierarchy,” the Rooster said, “Which means you understand the issue I have with a new conscript attacking their superiors.”
Ajax bit back the automatic response that if they were superior to him they would not have been beaten.
“Yes, my lord,” Ajax replied.
“What do you think a fitting punishment would be, Ajax?”
Words died at the tip of his tongue. Pulcinella might as well have choked the air from his lungs when he asked that. Fear, an instinct from the pain that had followed that question time and time again.
A different man, a different place, but Ajax recognized the intent to cause him pain.
He could not defend himself. Not against his father, if he didn’t want to be cast from his family (and he loved them, he still loved them. Whatever was left of their son in him still loved them), and not against Pulcinella if he didn’t want to be cast out from his country. Or killed.
Muscle memory had him cowering on the floor like a pathetic worm.
Maybe his father would have been dishonored by Ajax getting in a fight almost immediately, but he would have been pleased with this result.
“Get up, Ajax,” Pulcinella commanded, his voice … different from before. Ajax could not place the reason for the tone change. “If you must grovel, grovel in the chair. Even the lowest of her Majesty’s servants are not dogs.”
“Apologies, My Lord.”
“I’ve decided what to do with you,” Lord Pulcinella continued, as if Ajax’s embarrassing display had never occurred. “You will continue to serve as a member of our ranks as your punishment.” The Rooster was once again studying Ajax’s face, like it was something more interesting than the terrified face of a teenager. “You will begin as the lowest of Her Majesty’s servants. If you can’t stand the idea of another person being above you, you’d do best to prove your worth.”
At last, Ajax managed to identify the emotion in the Rooster’s eyes while he studied Ajax. Amusement.
If it was amusement he was searching for, Ajax could provide.