Chapter Text
Winter was never ending in Snezhnaya. The snow fell to no end, and the sun never rose to cast a light on the ice that covered any visible surface. Tartaglia huffed, nuzzling closer into the warmth of his scarf. The cold ached in his core (and his hands, frozen to the touch), but it was familiar, felt like home to him. It was a welcomed feeling, the region completely opposite from the comfort of Liyue. Shaking the snowflakes out of his hair, Tartaglia strode past the guards, who immediately bowed a head in respect, at the front gate of the palace. He was late, to a funeral no less.
The short walk to where the rest of the Harbingers were was silent. His shoes clacked on the ground, the only sound he could hear. It reflected the somber mood of their dead comrade. Approaching the menacing doors where the Harbingers waited for their Eleventh, ears picked up voices from where they were to gather. They were hushed, too quiet to hear even with his ears trained in the abyss to pick up where an enemy was before he could see them. The doors were too thick for much sound to travel through. A intake of breath, preparing himself to see the faces of his colleagues after two years, a nation away. Tartaglia pushed the domineering doors open, to where La Signora rest.
The silence was deafening. Every head turned to look at their youngest whose head hung. He didn't meet any of their eyes, not ready to see the disappointment that must be evident from them all. Instead, those dead, blue eyes locked onto the coffin of his failures and weaknesses. He and La Signora were never close enough to be considered friends, or even acquaintances. They avoided each other, without ever feeling the need of starting an unneeded companionship. She despised him, seeing him as a young child without discipline or worth. He was useless in her eyes, and in the end? She was correct. Now she lay in a glacial coffin of her ashes, reduced to nothing more than fine dust in her last moments. He wondered. Wondered what her last thoughts were, before she saw her inevitable death. Was she cursing him out? Did her glacial mask drop to reveal Rosalyne, the person before La Signora became her facade? His questions would never be answered, as the coffin glistened, his reflection on its surface. Seeing him standing there, instead of being in Signora's place where he rightfully should be made his stomach turn.
The Rooster, Fifth of the Fatui Harbingers, waited for Tartaglia to come to him, voice loud and proud, re-telling the stories and battles of Liyue. He had heard of the war and conflicts going on in the region. Nearly every nation did. Pulcinella wanted to hear it from someone that was there, instead of a broken telephone of information. Instead, the battle hungry harbinger didn't even glance in Pulcinella's direction. A chilling feeling rose up the Fifth's spine. How out of character it was, for the boy not to saunter up to his paternal figure and begin speaking, asking how his family has been during his stay away. No matter how much anger he had towards his parents, he could never hold anything against his innocent younger siblings.
Pierro spoke first, his voice commanding like always. "Tartaglia. It has been a while."
"That it has, First." Was all he said as he strode forward to take his place. Brief, short and concise. Every single thing Childe wasn't. No unnecessary words. If the harbingers were any less trained in keeping emotions in check and under wraps, there would have been eyes widening and shock painted on the fearsome faces of the Harbingers. Even the ever mad Il Dottore's crazed grin faltered. Still, Pierro could not control the twitch of his eyebrows at the title. Their youngest was never one for respect but the flat tone and stiff movements was setting off alarms. Something had drastically changed. That was obvious, but Pierro didn't know whether it was for better or for worse. There was a pause of silence, the Jester eyeing the motionless Eleventh a little closer, before beginning to speak.
It didn't go unnoticed that Tartaglia did not say a word the entire time, eyes downcast at the coffin.
-
"You may all be dismissed. Do not forget our fallen nor our goal."
The tension was cut through, a sigh of relief unspoken. Tartaglia found it hilarious there had been no change since his absence. The others still clashed, never agreeing with each other as if it was physically impossible. He hadn't expected any less. Pulling the scarf a little tighter, Tartaglia felt the fatigue weighing down on his shoulders. He had been getting two to three hours of rest every night, if he was lucky. When he was unlucky, sleep would never draw him in, laying awake for hours before getting up and braving the day. Maybe the comfort of his bed could induce him into something longer than a nap, but his hopes were not high.
Stepping away from his spot, his legs ached with a pulsing sting. Blood ran down freshly open wounds. He paid it no mind. He had worse. Setting off for his room, a booming voice stopped him.
"Tartaglia."
Only the slight tilt of his head acknowledged he had heard. "Second."
Capitano was rarely caught off guard, but the short answers and lack of energy threw him off. His facial expressions under the mask were unseen, so he could show them all he wanted. His jaw tightened a bit, pushing to get a longer answer out of the Eleventh. Where had the boy that faltered at the sound of his voice, asked for a battle no matter how many times he'd been rejected and eyes that trailed his every move gone? Gone was Childe. Here stood Tartaglia.
"I would enjoy seeing how much Liyue has taught you. Would you like a spar with me?" The flinch when Liyue was mentioned had not been overlooked, as his eyes followed Tartaglia's actions. Their Eleventh turned to face the hulking man, face set in stone, eyes unmoving. Capitano saw a glimpse of the abyss in those eyes before he looked away.
"I'm not in the mood for it. Maybe another time." Tartaglia spun on his heel, the only one in motion as the rest held their breath at his words. The large doors slammed shut and the harbingers state of shock was snapped.
"What the fuck just happened?" Dottore was not one to mince his words. His smile had completely fell and a frown was left, mirroring Pantalones. Capitano had not moved, and what he was thinking was unknown, as that mask covered his face, but everyone could understand his complete and utter dismay.
"Tartaglia? Not up for a spar? This is a first I thought I'd never see." The Knave's brows were furrowed in thought.
Before the others could voice their opinion, Capitano spoke.
"I smelt blood."
Pulcinella dreaded the answer, already knowing but having to confirm it. "On?"
Columbina interrupted before Capitano could speak. "On our dear Eleventh of course!"
Pierro sighed before the room could erupt into a flurry of shouts and questions. He could literally sense everyone's curiosity growing at the enigma that was Childe, especially Capitano's. Which was fair because he had never seen their Eleventh turn down a spar. In fact, it was always him being turned down. It sent a flurry of complex emotions and suspicion flooding through him. "Let us retire. It is not right to speak about another like this in front of our fallen. If you are so worried about him, speak with him tomorrow, after he gets his rest."
"Right, he might just be tired after his mission. Children are always cranky without proper sleep." The Knave's words were optimistic, being the one who handled children the most, but the underlying sensation of confusion was still there. Harbingers were always thirsty for answers being the curious fucks they are. Tartaglia just created a huge mystery that they were all inclined to solve.
-