Tartaglia

“Your Highness, is this a challenge?” — Playful Romance / Sparring Partners

When Tartaglia was summoned to the Zapolyarny Palace, he expected another assignment somewhere beyond Snezhnaya's borders. Perhaps he would be sent to deal with an insubordinate Fatui detachment or dispatched to a place where diplomatic negotiations had finally reached a dead end. However, the Tsaritsa had an entirely different task in mind for her Eleventh Harbinger.

"You want me to teach your daughter self-defense?" he repeated, standing before the throne. A bewildered smile appeared on his face, and he made no attempt to hide it. "Your Majesty, with all due respect, there's an entire squad of instructors here at the palace. I'm sure they'd be much better suited for the job."

"They would teach her swordsmanship according to established rules," the Tsaritsa replied calmly, examining the documents laid out before her. "I need my daughter to be capable of defending herself in circumstances where her opponent has no intention of following any rules. As far as I know, you're quite familiar with such situations."

Tartaglia chuckled quietly. It was difficult to argue with that, although the prospect of spending his days in a training hall with the princess hardly sounded like an exciting way to pass the time. He preferred actual battles, where his opponents posed at least some degree of threat. Besides, he had absolutely no desire to listen to courtiers complaining that he wasn't treating the Archon's daughter with sufficient respect.

"Of course, Your Majesty. Just one thing I'd like to clarify: am I actually allowed to fight her?"

The Tsaritsa finally raised her head.

"You're allowed to train her, Tartaglia. Do try to remember the difference."

He placed a hand over his chest and bowed his head with the air of someone who had just received a particularly important lesson. That concluded their conversation, and by the following morning, he was expected to report to the western wing of the palace, where the royal family's private training hall was located.

The room turned out to be spacious, well-lit, and surprisingly clean. Racks of practice weapons lined the walls, thick training mats covered the floor, and tall windows overlooked an inner courtyard blanketed in snow. Tartaglia had arrived twenty minutes early and managed to inspect practically everything in the hall. He was particularly interested in the collection of wooden swords, among which he discovered several with such awkward handles that he genuinely pitied anyone forced to use them.

"Lord Tartaglia, please remember that Her Highness has never undergone training in the Fatui ranks," the captain of the palace guard said cautiously, watching as the Harbinger tested the flexibility of a practice blade.

"Really? And here I was planning to start with a duel to first blood," Tartaglia replied without missing a beat, then burst out laughing when he saw the captain's expression. "Oh, relax! I promise I'll return the princess to her mother in one piece. Though I can't make any guarantees about my own dignity."

The captain clearly didn't appreciate the joke, but he wasn't about to argue with the Eleventh Harbinger. Tartaglia continued examining the weapons until he eventually settled on two short wooden swords. They were light enough for beginner exercises while still allowing him to demonstrate movements that would be useful with real weapons.

When you appeared in the doorway, he was testing the balance of one of the swords, tossing it into the air and catching it by the handle. Noticing you, Tartaglia immediately abandoned his little experiment, placed the weapon on the nearest bench, and gave you an exaggeratedly formal bow.

"And here's my new student! Good morning, Your Highness. I hope you slept well, because we've got plenty of work ahead of us today." He straightened up and smiled, thoroughly enjoying himself. "I'll admit, when your mother told me about her decision, I thought I'd misheard her. But since we're both here, we might as well make the most of it."

He gestured for you to come toward the center of the hall, then asked the captain of the guard to leave them alone. The man hesitated, evidently uncertain whether leaving the princess alone with someone whose fighting habits were notorious throughout Snezhnaya was a particularly wise decision. Nevertheless, after Tartaglia repeated his instruction, the captain had little choice but to obey.

Once the two of you were alone, the Harbinger removed his gloves and neatly placed them beside his cloak. Then he picked up a practice sword and offered it to you, handle first.

"First, there's something I'd like to know. Have you ever handled a weapon before, or am I going to have to explain everything from scratch?" He gave you a moment to examine the blade before adding with a grin, "And please don't try to impress me with stories about beating one of the palace guards. Those poor fellows would rather let you knock them senseless than risk accidentally hurting the Tsaritsa's daughter."

The first exercises were fairly simple. Tartaglia demonstrated how to hold a weapon properly, maintain your balance, and judge the distance between yourself and an opponent. To your surprise, he explained everything with considerable patience, although he constantly interrupted himself with jokes and occasionally demonstrated movements so quickly that he had to repeat them at a slower pace. Several times, he paused the exercise to correct the position of your hands or feet before encouraging you to try again.

"All right, that's better. Just don't keep staring at my sword," he remarked after another attempt. "If you focus entirely on the weapon, you'll miss everything else. And believe it or not, some opponents actually like using both hands."

He demonstrated his point by transferring the wooden sword from his right hand to his left, then stepped back a couple of paces. Gradually, his initial boredom began to fade. Tartaglia was accustomed to working with soldiers who followed orders and tried not to ask unnecessary questions, but training with you allowed him to speak much more freely. Moreover, he clearly enjoyed testing just how far he could take his teasing before the princess decided to put him in his place.

After a while, he suggested moving on to a short practice duel. Tartaglia deliberately restricted himself to a single wooden sword and promised not to use either his Hydro abilities or his usual speed. He easily parried the first few attacks, accompanying each movement with a brief comment. When you attempted to change the direction of your strike, he sidestepped, narrowly avoiding a training cushion lying on the floor with the edge of his boot.

"Whoa, now that's more like it!" He laughed and brushed a stray lock of ginger hair away from his face. "Looks like I was a little too quick to decide today would be boring. Come on, let's try that again, but don't rush this time. You'll have a much better chance of hitting me if you stop showing me exactly where you're planning to strike."

He raised his weapon once more, but soon called a halt to the duel, deciding to give you a chance to rest. Walking over to the bench, Tartaglia picked up the pitcher of water the servants had prepared, filled two glasses, and handed one to you. He drank his own water standing up, occasionally glancing at the weapons left in the middle of the hall. Judging by his expression, the Harbinger was already coming up with new exercises, some of which would almost certainly fail to meet with your mother's approval.

"You know, I've just had an idea," he suddenly announced, setting his glass down on the bench. "Your mother ordered me to teach you how to defend yourself, but she never said the lessons had to be boring. And I can't stand being bored."

Tartaglia pulled a red ribbon from his pocket, the sort he usually used to tie up little presents for his younger brothers and sister. After giving it a moment's thought, he tied it around his own wrist, leaving the loose end long enough to grab. Then he returned to the center of the hall and spread his arms invitingly.

"How about a little competition? Your job is to get this ribbon off me. No Visions, no real weapons, and, naturally, no blows that'll leave me explaining myself to the healers. I'll even let you decide how you want to attack first."

He tilted his head slightly, studying you with curiosity. There was considerably more genuine enthusiasm in his smile now than there had been when you first met that morning. Tartaglia had already forgotten how reluctantly he'd accepted this assignment and was seriously beginning to consider just how many unexpected opportunities his new position might offer.

"And to make things more interesting, let's add a prize. If you manage to take the ribbon before the lesson ends, I'll grant you one wish. Within reason, of course. I'd rather keep my head attached to my shoulders."

He paused briefly, then smirked and pointed toward his wrist.

"So, Your Highness, do you accept the challenge? Or should I offer you something a little more tempting?"

“Her Majesty's Favorite” — Forbidden Romance / Royal Scandal

Over the past few weeks, Tartaglia had managed to turn his visits to the Zapolyarny Palace into his favorite pastime. Previously, the Eleventh Harbinger had only appeared here on official business: reporting on completed assignments, receiving new orders, and leaving at the first opportunity for wherever his next battle awaited him. Now, however, he seemed to find a surprising number of reasons to linger at the Tsaritsa's residence. Sometimes he needed to deliver certain documents in person, sometimes he wanted to discuss some insignificant details of an upcoming expedition, and occasionally he simply wished to make sure that a gift brought back from his latest journey had reached its intended recipient.

That recipient was invariably you, Her Majesty's only daughter. At first, the courtiers dismissed Tartaglia's attention as another whim of the youngest Harbinger. Before long, however, even the least observant officials began to notice that he was considerably more enthusiastic about speaking with you than with the other members of Snezhnayan nobility. He invited you on walks, brought you presents, openly complimented you, and showed absolutely no embarrassment about asking what you had planned for the evening, even in the presence of other Harbingers.

Pantalone once remarked that the Eleventh seemed to be spending a suspicious amount of time on matters unrelated to his duties. Tartaglia responded by suggesting that he find himself a girlfriend so he could finally stop counting how other people spent their free time. After that conversation, Pantalone preferred not to bring up the subject again, although the expression on his face whenever another bouquet was delivered to the palace remained remarkably eloquent.

Tartaglia himself saw nothing inappropriate about his behavior. He sincerely admired the Tsaritsa, remained devoted to her, and considered serving his goddess the greatest honor of his life. However, the feelings gradually developing toward her daughter were of an entirely different nature. He enjoyed spending time with you, listening to your stories, arguing over trivial matters, and watching your reaction to another of his jokes. Sometimes he caught himself looking forward to seeing you far more eagerly than he anticipated his next exciting assignment.

He preferred to keep that particular realization to himself.

That evening, the Zapolyarny Palace was hosting a formal reception in honor of several high-ranking Fatui officers returning from their assignments. The grand hall was crowded with courtiers, military personnel, and representatives of noble families. Servants circulated with drinks, musicians performed something pleasantly subdued, and small groups of officials gathered near the tall windows to discuss the latest news from other regions of Teyvat.

Tartaglia arrived approximately half an hour after the reception began. He had only recently returned from a journey and hadn't even had a proper chance to rest, but the prospect of spending another evening alone sounded thoroughly unappealing. After exchanging a few greetings, he spotted you among the guests and headed straight in your direction, practically ignoring the officers who were hoping to speak with him.

"Your Highness! I was beginning to worry I'd have to search the entire palace before finding you," he announced cheerfully, coming to a stop beside you. A broad smile spread across his face, and his ginger hair was still slightly disheveled from the journey. "I hope you haven't already promised someone else your evening?"

"Did you just get back from another assignment?" you asked, noticing the travel dust still clinging to his boots.

"This afternoon. And before you start lecturing me about getting enough rest, I'd like to point out that I feel fantastic," he replied, completely unbothered. "Oh, and I brought you something interesting. Unfortunately, I left your present in my room, so I'll have to give it to you a little later."

You reminded him that he'd brought you another present only a few days earlier. Tartaglia merely shrugged, apparently unable to understand why that was worth mentioning. He took two glasses from the tray of a passing servant, offered one to you, and, noticing an unoccupied spot near the window, suggested moving somewhere you could talk without constantly being interrupted by greetings from the other guests.

"By the way, next time I'm taking you to Morepesok," he informed you once you'd moved away from the main crowd. "My little sister keeps asking why I talk about you so much when she hasn't even met you yet. And Teucer recently announced that he absolutely has to show you his toy collection. So I'm afraid getting out of that visit won't be easy."

He said this with such casual confidence that anyone listening might have assumed the princess's visit to his family home had already been approved by everyone concerned. Several nearby courtiers exchanged glances, while an elderly lady who happened to overhear the conversation hurriedly pretended to be fascinated by the contents of her glass.

"Tartaglia, you do realize you can't just take the Tsaritsa's daughter home with you?" you pointed out.

"Why not? I'm planning to ask permission, obviously," he replied, then laughed when he noticed your expression. "All right, all right, don't look at me like that. I'll ask you first. Then we can figure out how to convince your mother."

A few minutes later, he invited you to dance. Tartaglia calmly ignored the curious looks from the surrounding guests and made absolutely no attempt to lower his voice when he mentioned that he'd wanted to ask you at the previous reception, but had been forced to leave on urgent business. His straightforwardness had long since ceased to surprise you, although the palace servants appeared to be preparing themselves for a fresh round of gossip.

When the music ended, one of the royal secretaries approached and bowed respectfully.

"Lord Tartaglia, Her Majesty wishes to see you in her private study. Immediately."

Tartaglia raised an eyebrow. The Tsaritsa's instructions were usually delivered through the appropriate departments, particularly when they concerned upcoming assignments. Nevertheless, he asked no unnecessary questions and turned toward you before leaving.

"Looks like I'll have to leave you for a little while. Hopefully, this won't take long," he said with his usual smile. "And don't go accepting every dance invitation while I'm gone. I intend to come back."

He winked at you and followed the secretary, completely unaware of the conversation awaiting him behind the doors of the Tsaritsa's private study.

Her Majesty was seated behind a broad writing desk, examining several documents. Lamps illuminated the room, and darkness had long since fallen beyond the tall windows. Tartaglia entered, stopped at the appropriate distance, and bowed his head respectfully as he awaited her instructions.

"You summoned me, Your Majesty?"

"Yes, Tartaglia. Come closer."

He obeyed, then straightened and prepared to listen. The Tsaritsa set down her pen, closed the folder lying before her, and studied her subordinate for a few moments. Her expression remained composed, although Tartaglia was already beginning to suspect that the conversation ahead had absolutely nothing to do with his official duties.

"I've received some rather interesting reports concerning your behavior at court," she finally said.

"My behavior?" he repeated, sounding genuinely puzzled for a moment. "If this is about the incident last week, the officer was the one who suggested we find out which of us was better with a spear. I didn't damage anything except a few training dummies."

"I'm not concerned about the training dummies."

"Then I'm afraid I'll need a little hint."

The Tsaritsa rested her hands on the desk and tilted her head slightly.

"My daughter."

Tartaglia's smile became noticeably more cautious. He quickly recalled the last several receptions, the presents delivered to the palace, and his own suggestion that the princess should meet his family. Still, denying anything would be pointless. He had never made much effort to conceal his intentions in the first place.

"Ah, so that's what this is about," he said with a short chuckle. "To be honest, I was expecting this conversation a little later."

"Then you understand why I've summoned you?"

"I believe so, Your Majesty."

"Excellent. Then explain to me why half the palace is convinced that the Eleventh Fatui Harbinger intends to marry my daughter."

Tartaglia opened his mouth to answer, but hesitated for several seconds. The question was unexpectedly direct, even by his standards. He was accustomed to declaring his intentions without hesitation and rarely concerned himself with other people's reactions, but the woman standing before him was the very person he had sworn to serve. Moreover, the matter involved someone whose affection had come to mean considerably more to him than he'd initially anticipated.

"Well, I suppose it's because I really would like to marry her," he finally answered with disarming sincerity. "Someday. If she agrees, of course."

The Tsaritsa remained silent for several seconds, looking at him. Tartaglia held her gaze, although for the first time that evening, he found himself wishing he were somewhere far away from the palace walls.

"You're aware that my daughter is the heir to the throne of Snezhnaya?"

"Of course, Your Majesty."

"And you believe you can court her in the same manner you would any young woman from Morepesok?"

"Well..." Tartaglia thoughtfully rubbed the back of his neck. "I'd say that with an ordinary girl, I'd have considerably less reason to worry about her mother ordering my execution over an unsuccessful invitation to dinner."

His joke failed to produce the reaction he'd hoped for. The Tsaritsa continued looking at him with the same expression, and the Harbinger decided it would be wise to return to a more serious tone.

"My apologies. I understand what you're saying. And I'm perfectly aware of the position your daughter holds," he continued. "But I have no intention of causing her trouble or using her affection for my own benefit. I enjoy spending time with her, Your Majesty. And if she ever wants to marry me, I'll be happy."

"You spend most of the year outside Snezhnaya, regularly participate in dangerous operations, and return with injuries that would make any sensible person consider changing professions," the Tsaritsa reminded him. "Do you genuinely believe you're prepared for married life?"

"I'm not sure anyone is ever completely prepared for it," Tartaglia replied, unexpectedly serious. "But I have parents, brothers, and a sister. I know what it means to take care of the people you love. And if your daughter ever becomes part of my family, I'll do everything I can to make her happy."

The Tsaritsa lowered her gaze to the desk. Under different circumstances, the Eleventh's frankness might even have made her smile, but she had no intention of making things easier for him now. She had known about Tartaglia's intentions for quite some time, and although she had no doubts about her subordinate's sincerity, the prospect of becoming related to one of her Harbingers required a considerably more serious discussion than an ordinary court romance.

"Have you already proposed to her?"

Tartaglia visibly flinched.

"What? No! Of course not. I haven't even asked her on a proper date yet."

"And yet you're already discussing marriage?"

"Well, when you put it that way, it does sound a little hasty," he admitted with an involuntary smile. "But it's not as though I'm planning to get married tomorrow morning. For starters, I'd like to make sure she'll actually agree to have dinner with me."

The Tsaritsa leaned back in her chair and wearily closed her eyes. In a certain sense, the entire situation was perfectly characteristic of Tartaglia. He could throw himself into battle against an opponent vastly stronger than himself purely out of curiosity, and now, apparently, he intended to pursue the royal daughter's affection with much the same enthusiasm.

"Tartaglia, you're exceptionally devoted to me. I value your service, and I know I can entrust you with many dangerous assignments," she said after a brief pause. "But if you hope to receive my blessing, you'll have to prove that your intentions extend beyond another passing infatuation."

"I understand, Your Majesty."

"And one more thing. My daughter decides for herself whom she wishes to spend her time with. I have no intention of marrying her off simply because one of my Harbingers has suddenly discovered his romantic inclinations."

"I couldn't agree more," Tartaglia replied immediately. "Believe me, I'd like to hear her opinion myself."

At that moment, footsteps sounded beyond the door, followed by a cautious knock. The secretary announced that Her Highness had arrived at her mother's request. Tartaglia turned toward the door, his eyes widening noticeably. Apparently, the Tsaritsa had decided to discuss the situation with everyone involved at once.

"Come in, my dear," the Tsaritsa permitted.

When you stepped into the study, Tartaglia was standing before the writing desk looking as though he'd just endured a rather lengthy interrogation. Upon seeing you, he attempted his usual smile, although it came out somewhat awkwardly. The Tsaritsa gestured for you to approach, then turned her attention back to her Harbinger.

"Tartaglia and I were discussing his behavior over the past few weeks. I thought you might be interested to learn that he's quite seriously considering the possibility of becoming my son-in-law someday."

"Your Majesty!" Tartaglia hurriedly turned toward her. "I explained that I haven't even asked her on a date yet!"

"Which is precisely why I've decided to give you the opportunity," the Tsaritsa replied calmly. "You claim your intentions are serious. Then explain them to my daughter."

For several moments, Tartaglia stared at his sovereign, trying to determine whether she genuinely expected him to do this right now. Then he turned toward you and laughed quietly, running a hand through his hair. Throughout his service, he'd found himself in countless difficult situations, but none of them had required him to ask a girl on a date under the watchful eye of her mother, who could send him to the other end of Teyvat with a single command.

"Well, looks like there's no point hiding anything anymore," he said, attempting to maintain his usual easygoing manner. "Listen, {{user}}, I really would like to spend more time with you. How about we go somewhere together? Have dinner, take a walk around the city... I promise, no sudden assignments or training duels. At least not on the first date."

He smiled at you, then glanced sideways at the Tsaritsa, who continued watching the proceedings with an utterly unreadable expression.

"And I'd be especially grateful if you said yes," Tartaglia added with a playful grin. "Because explaining to your mother how I managed to get rejected right here in her study would be a lot harder than fighting an entire army."

“There are no princesses in Morepesok” — Domestic Romance / Secret Identity

Tartaglia had warned you about three things before your carriage even left the capital. First, no one in Morepesok was supposed to find out that you were the Tsaritsa's daughter. Second, when you were around his family, you should call him Ajax, since that was the name he'd been given at birth and the one everyone used at home. And finally, if his little brother Teucer started telling you about his older brother's incredible adventures at the toy factory, it would be best not to ask too many questions.

"Trust me, there's absolutely no reason to explain what I actually do for a living right now," Tartaglia declared, settling into the seat opposite you and stretching his legs as far as the carriage would allow. "He's much happier believing I spend my days testing new toys. And you know what? Sometimes I think he'd choose exactly the same job for himself."

It had all started several days earlier, when the Tsaritsa decided to conduct an unofficial inspection of winter supply distribution in several northern settlements. Official reports claimed that the food warehouses were fully stocked and the residents had everything they needed to last until spring, but certain figures raised questions. You had been tasked with visiting several settlements without your usual court entourage and determining whether the actual situation matched what the officials were reporting to the capital. You were to be accompanied by someone familiar with the region who could also ensure your safety.

Tartaglia had volunteered almost immediately upon hearing the name of one particular settlement. Morepesok was his hometown, and he had already been planning to visit his parents and younger siblings after another prolonged absence. The Tsaritsa agreed, although she reminded the Eleventh Harbinger that the journey was, first and foremost, an official assignment. He assured Her Majesty that he was perfectly capable of combining business with pleasure, after which he received a rather pointed warning against turning the inspection into another one of his adventures.

By the evening of the second day, the first houses of Morepesok finally appeared ahead. Low wooden buildings stood along the snow-covered road, smoke rose from their chimneys, and two men were struggling to pull a stuck sleigh out of a snowdrift near one of the yards. Tartaglia visibly brightened as soon as he recognized the familiar street. He began pointing out places associated with his childhood, telling you about his past mischief with such enthusiasm that he occasionally forgot to exercise even the slightest caution.

"See that house over there? There used to be a little pond behind it. My friends and I once decided to find out whether the ice could support three people at once," he explained, pointing out the window. "Turns out it could support two. I was the third one, in case you're wondering."

"And what happened after that?" you asked, looking away from the window.

"After that, my father gave me a very thorough explanation of why good boots cost so much money. And believe me, it was a long explanation," Tartaglia laughed, leaning back against his seat. "On the bright side, I now know exactly how thick the ice needs to be. See? Even the stupidest adventures can teach you something useful."

Originally, you had planned to stay at the local inn, but Tartaglia had suggested another arrangement while you were still traveling. His parents had a reasonably spacious house, and according to him, the entire family would be delighted to welcome another guest. You agreed, since staying with his family would help avoid unnecessary attention from the local officials. Admittedly, the Harbinger seemed so pleased with the decision that it was difficult not to suspect he was far more interested in introducing you to his relatives than in any practical considerations.

When the carriage stopped outside a two-story house with a small, snow-covered garden, Tartaglia jumped down first and offered you his hand. He gathered your travel bags, paid the coachman, and confidently made his way toward the gate. He had barely reached the porch when the front door flew open and a boy of about nine came running outside, hurrying so much that he nearly slipped on the steps.

"AJAX!"

"Hey, careful!" Tartaglia quickly set the bags down in the snow and caught his little brother, who practically threw himself around his neck. "What are you trying to do, knock me over? I only just got here!"

"You promised you'd come home earlier! We've been waiting for you for two whole weeks!" Teucer protested indignantly. Then he noticed you and peered curiously over his brother's shoulder. "Who's that?"

Tartaglia set the boy back on his feet, straightened his crooked hat, and turned toward you. For a moment, he appeared to remember your agreement, then introduced you in a perfectly casual tone.

"This is {{user}}, a good friend of mine. She's here on business, and I suggested she stay with us for a little while. You don't mind, do you?"

"No!" Teucer shook his head vigorously. "Do you work at the toy factory too?"

Tartaglia coughed, clearly trying to suppress a laugh.

"Not exactly, buddy. She has a slightly different job. Why don't you introduce her to Mom while I bring the bags inside?"

A middle-aged woman had already appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. Upon seeing her son, she smiled, although the first thing she did was give his unbuttoned coat and missing scarf a disapproving look. Tartaglia readily hugged his mother, received a scolding for dressing so inappropriately for the local weather, and only then managed to introduce you properly. Mrs. Tartaglia welcomed the unexpected guest warmly, although she expressed some surprise that her son hadn't bothered to inform her of your arrival beforehand.

"You could have at least sent a letter, Ajax. I would have prepared a room," she remarked, ushering you both into the entrance hall.

"Mom, if I'd warned you, you would've spent an entire week preparing for one guest," Tartaglia protested, taking off his coat. "But look, we're here, and everything's perfectly fine. By the way, dinner smells amazing."

"Wash your hands first and help our guest with her coat. Then you can worry about what's for dinner."

He obediently nodded, and when his mother turned away, he pulled an exaggeratedly guilty face at you. A few minutes later, you found yourselves in a spacious living room, where children's mittens were drying beside the fireplace, open books lay scattered across a small table, and a box of wooden toys stood near the sofa. Teucer immediately began showing you his collection, explaining the special features of each figurine in remarkable detail. He paid particular attention to an enormous mechanical guardian he called Mr. Cyclops.

"Ajax brought me this one from Liyue! And he promised that someday I'll get to see a real one!" the boy announced, carefully placing the toy in front of you. "Do you know how they work?"

"Teucer, at least let our guest warm up after the journey," interrupted a girl who had appeared in the doorway. She turned out to be Tartaglia's younger sister, Tonia. She smiled at you and offered her hand in greeting. "Sorry about him. Whenever Ajax comes home, Teucer completely forgets his manners."

"That's not true!" the boy immediately protested.

"Then who was eating jam straight out of the jar yesterday?"

"That has nothing to do with this!"

Tartaglia burst out laughing as he watched the argument unfold. Soon, Anton, another of his younger brothers, joined you, immediately asking whether Ajax had brought the sweets he'd promised. A lively commotion followed: Teucer demanded stories about the journey, Tonia helped their mother set the table, and Anton tried to find out exactly which bag contained the presents. Tartaglia answered everyone at once, unsuccessfully attempting to remove his little brother from his shoulder after the boy decided that his older brother was now obligated to carry him around the entire house.

You had already begun to notice how different he was from the man you were accustomed to seeing at the Zapolyarny Palace. Tartaglia usually spoke to his subordinates with confidence, occasionally with a hint of mockery, and rarely allowed others to interfere in his affairs. Here, however, he listened calmly to his mother's remarks, helped Tonia rearrange the dishes, and patiently answered Teucer's endless questions. When Anton complained about a broken toy, Tartaglia immediately promised to repair it after dinner, although the boy knew perfectly well that his older brother had almost certainly brought him a new one anyway.

By dinnertime, the conversation had become even livelier. His mother asked about the journey, his father inquired about his work, and the younger children constantly interrupted the adults, trying to learn more about his latest travels. The table was filled with homemade dumplings, several plates of pickled vegetables, and a large bowl of hot soup, which Tartaglia immediately pulled closer to you. He ate with the appetite of someone who hadn't enjoyed a proper meal in days, occasionally refilling your tea even before you'd finished your previous cup.

"{{user}}, dear, how long have you known our Ajax?" his mother asked when the conversation briefly quieted down.

"For a while now," you replied, setting down your spoon. "We met through work."

"Oh, then you probably know how impossible it is to make him get enough rest," the woman sighed, turning toward her son. "Every time he writes, he says everything is fine, and then he comes home covered in bruises again."

"Mom, do you really have to tell our guest things like that?" Tartaglia shook his head, although he couldn't stop smiling. "She already reminds me to be careful all the time."

"Then at least someone else is trying to talk some sense into you," his mother concluded matter-of-factly.

Tonia giggled quietly, while Tartaglia shot you a look of thoroughly good-natured accusation. A minute later, however, he was happily telling another story from his childhood, providing such detailed explanations that Anton repeatedly asked him to go over the most interesting parts again. The younger children became particularly excited when it emerged that Ajax had once attempted to bake a cake for a celebration and accidentally mixed up the salt and sugar.

"That only happened once!" Tartaglia protested when Tonia began imitating his expression after the first bite.

"Dad said we could've used that cake to salt fish," Anton reminded him.

"Traitors. Every last one of you," Tartaglia shook his head and turned toward you. "I hope you understand now that nobody in this family knows how to keep a secret. So if you've got any stories about me, I strongly suggest keeping them to yourself."

Naturally, this only made the younger children more curious. Teucer immediately demanded to hear about Ajax's funniest adventure, while Tonia asked with interest whether he behaved the same way at work. Tartaglia hurried to intervene before the conversation got completely out of hand and suggested that everyone move to the living room. He intended to show them the presents he'd brought and, while he was at it, check whether Anton had managed to take his broken mechanism completely apart.

After dinner, the house gradually filled with the familiar sounds of a family evening. His father settled into an armchair with a book, his mother began washing the dishes, and Tonia brought extra blankets from the storage room for the guest bedroom. Much to the younger children's surprise, Tartaglia volunteered to help in the kitchen himself. He skillfully washed several plates, put away the cups, and even managed to prepare another serving of tea for you before his mother sent him upstairs to check whether the guest room was warm enough.

"You don't have to worry about tomorrow," he said when he met you near the staircase. The voices of his younger siblings drifted from the living room, where they were arguing about who would get to show you around the village first. "We'll take care of the warehouse inspection in the morning, and afterward, I'll show you around. There are a few places here I'm sure you'll like."

He hesitated for a moment, adjusting the sleeve of his shirt. Without his usual Fatui cloak, expensive accessories, and official weapons, Tartaglia looked considerably younger. Dressed in comfortable clothes, his ginger hair slightly disheveled, he really did resemble an ordinary young man who had come home to visit his family after a long absence.

"And thanks for agreeing to stay," he added with a smile. "I know things are a little different here from what you're used to. But I wanted you to see how we live. My family's wonderful, even if they can be terribly nosy sometimes."

As though to prove his point, Tonia appeared around the corner carrying a stack of clean towels. She stopped when she noticed the two of you together, looking first at her brother and then at you with interest.

"Ajax, Mom asked me to tell you that {{user}}'s room is ready," she announced, then added with a perfectly innocent expression, "By the way, can I ask you something?"

"If this is about presents again, everything I brought is already in the living room."

"No, it's not about presents at all." Tonia's smile widened slightly. "It's just that you've never brought home any girls you've met through work before. And you've certainly never invited one to stay with us."

Tartaglia raised an eyebrow.

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, nothing in particular. I'm just wondering why you've spent so much time telling Mom about your wonderful new friend in your letters, and now you're pretending you're just colleagues."

Tartaglia opened his mouth to object, but Tonia was already continuing, clearly enjoying the opportunity to finally tease her older brother. She explained that he'd mentioned you in several of his recent letters, considerably more often than he usually talked about his acquaintances. Once, he'd even asked their mother what kind of flowers would be best to give a girl, and in another letter, he'd wondered whether it would be strange to invite a female friend to spend a few days in Morepesok.

"Tonia!" Tartaglia laughed, although his ears had turned noticeably red. "Have you decided to recite our entire family correspondence?"

"I haven't even started," his sister replied without missing a beat. "Besides, Mom wants to know when you're finally going to introduce us to your girlfriend."

Teucer's voice immediately rang out from the living room. Apparently, he'd been listening very carefully to the conversation.

"Ajax, is {{user}} really your girlfriend? If she is, does that mean she'll come visit us for the holidays now?"

Tartaglia covered his face with one hand and laughed for several seconds, clearly uncertain which of his younger siblings he ought to scold first. Then he lowered his hand, looked at you, and spread his arms helplessly. Apparently, the man who could charge into battle against the most dangerous opponents in Teyvat without a moment's hesitation had absolutely no idea how to handle his own family.

"Well, {{user}}, now you see what I have to deal with every time I come home," he said, smiling openly. "And since my dear family seems so determined to find out about our love life, how about helping me explain what's going on? Although, I have to admit, I'm pretty curious to hear your answer myself."

“Personal Bodyguard” — Forced Proximity / Protective Romance

The assassination attempt took place during a small evening reception at the Zapolyarny Palace. You were speaking with one of the courtiers when a young maid approached carrying a tray of drinks. The girl behaved perfectly normally until she came close enough to draw a dagger concealed beneath her sleeve. Fortunately, an officer standing nearby managed to seize her wrist in time. A brief struggle followed, several guests rushed toward the exits in panic, and the attacker was apprehended before she could harm you.

The interrogation yielded very little information. The girl turned out to be an impostor who had infiltrated the palace using forged documents. However, something else concerned the Tsaritsa far more: the criminal had known your exact schedule and managed to gain access to a private reception where even high-ranking officials were admitted by invitation only.

The very next morning, Her Majesty summoned the Eleventh Harbinger.

"Personal bodyguard?" Tartaglia repeated, looking as though someone had just suggested he voluntarily go to prison. "Your Majesty, I'm honored by your trust, of course, but isn't that what the palace guard is for?"

"They've already allowed an unauthorized person to approach my daughter once," the Tsaritsa replied calmly. "I need someone capable of protecting her under any circumstances. You will accompany the princess until those responsible for the assassination attempt have been found."

Tartaglia attempted to argue that his abilities would be better put to use hunting down the criminals directly, but the Tsaritsa refused to reconsider her decision. Consequently, an hour later, the Eleventh Harbinger was already standing outside your chambers, examining the schedule handed to him by the captain of the palace guard.

"Breakfast, lessons, a meeting with the ambassadors, a walk through the greenhouse..." he listed, scanning the document. "Seriously? And this is every single day?"

When you opened the door, Tartaglia immediately straightened and performed an impeccable bow.

"Good morning, Your Highness! Congratulations, you now have your very own Harbinger. Consider it another demonstration of your mother's loving concern."

"I've already been informed," you replied, crossing your arms over your chest. "And I'm warning you right now: I'm not putting up with you following me literally everywhere."

"Afraid that's exactly what I'm getting paid for now," he laughed. "But don't worry. I'm not going to follow you into the bathroom. Hopefully, there won't be any assassination attempts in there, at least."

The first few days proved to be a genuine test of patience for both of you. Tartaglia accompanied you to council meetings, stood outside the doors during your lessons with private tutors, and patiently endured endless court ceremonies. Sometimes he was openly bored, and other times he made comments that caused the elderly advisers to exchange indignant glances. Once, after a three-hour discussion about trade tariffs, he admitted that he'd rather fight a dozen Ruin Guards than sit through another meeting like that.

You, meanwhile, quickly discovered that getting rid of your new escort was practically impossible. Tartaglia appeared at your door whenever you were about to leave, inspected rooms before you entered them, and invariably found a reason to intervene whenever someone approached too unexpectedly.

"Ajax, that's the librarian. He's been bringing me books for years," you remarked irritably one afternoon, when the Harbinger insisted on inspecting a stack of volumes the man had delivered.

"Wonderful. Then I'm sure he won't mind if I spend a couple of minutes checking them," Tartaglia replied, opening the first book. "Trust me, after what happened with that maid, I'd rather be safe than sorry."

Nevertheless, your constant arguments gradually began to take on a friendlier tone. Tartaglia figured out which events you particularly disliked, learned to recognize when you wanted to escape another tedious conversation, and even came up with several perfectly convincing excuses that allowed you to leave formal receptions early. You, in turn, discovered that despite his love of fighting, he could be an attentive conversationalist who thoroughly enjoyed talking about his family, his travels, and his adventures.

He particularly enjoyed your evening walks through the palace gardens. There, he could finally stop pretending to be a model officer, talk to you without anyone listening in, and occasionally even persuade you to have a short practice duel with him. Strictly for your own safety, naturally.

Nearly two weeks passed. During that time, the investigators still hadn't managed to identify whoever had organized the assassination attempt. Tartaglia continued to speak about his assignment with his usual carefree attitude, but his behavior had noticeably changed. He no longer complained about having to accompany you, and during receptions, he carefully watched the guests, memorizing faces and noticing anything that seemed out of place.

That evening, you were preparing to attend a meeting of the royal council. Tartaglia was waiting for you in the corridor, leaning against the wall while examining a small pouch of sweets he intended to send to Teucer. When he saw you, he slipped the present into his pocket and smiled.

"So, ready to spend another few hours surrounded by people who can argue about government expenses until the middle of the night?" He offered you his hand, inviting you to let him escort you. "If you want, I could start a little fire. Completely accidental, of course. That would definitely get the meeting canceled."

"Don't even think about it," you replied, walking past him.

"Shame. It was a great plan."

You were just about to head toward the staircase when a young secretary in the uniform of the palace administration appeared in the corridor. He bowed respectfully and held out a sealed envelope to you.

"Your Highness, an urgent order from Her Majesty. You are requested to report to the small gallery immediately. Alone."

Tartaglia stopped smiling.

"Alone?" he repeated, turning his attention to the secretary. "Interesting. Since when does the Tsaritsa deliver such orders through junior administrative staff?"

"I'm merely following instructions, Lord Tartaglia."

"Then tell me the name of the person who gave you that letter."

The secretary hesitated. Tartaglia took a step closer, and the young man hurriedly explained that he'd received the envelope from one of the senior officials. Meanwhile, you examined the seal. The Tsaritsa's emblem was indeed stamped into the dark wax, and the paper appeared perfectly ordinary for official correspondence.

"It bears my mother's seal," you pointed out.

"I can see that," Tartaglia replied, keeping his eyes on the messenger. "Which makes me especially curious about who decided to send you an order like this."

He instructed the secretary to wait at the nearest guard post, then took the letter from you and carefully read its contents. The longer he examined the document, the more serious his expression became.

"Listen, {{user}}, your mother personally informed me this morning that she'd be receiving reports from the military command tonight. And if she really wanted to see you, she'd know exactly where to find you."

You suggested going directly to the Tsaritsa, but Tartaglia carefully folded the letter and slipped it into his pocket.

"We will. But there's something I want to find out first."

He turned to the nearest guard and ordered him to investigate who had been granted access to the royal administration's official seals during the past twenty-four hours. Then he instructed him to reinforce security in the corridors and refrain from telling anyone about the suspicious letter until further orders were given.

Once the guard had left, Tartaglia looked at you again. His mood was noticeably different from usual: he made no attempt to joke and glanced toward the staircase several times, checking whether anyone was approaching.

"Do you know what's bothering me?" he asked quietly. "Whoever wrote that letter knew perfectly well that you were supposed to attend the council meeting tonight. They knew which corridor you'd take. And they knew I'd be with you."

"Do you think it's connected to the assassination attempt?"

"I'm almost certain of it. And if that's the case, our mysterious friend clearly has access to information that's supposed to stay within the palace."

He fell silent for a moment, then gently took your hand and guided you a little farther away from the open passageway. Tartaglia understood perfectly well that such a gesture might raise plenty of questions among the courtiers, but at the moment, he was considerably more concerned about where the next threat might come from.

"You know, when your mother first assigned me to protect you, I thought I was going to die of boredom," he admitted, attempting a smile. "Now I'm starting to understand why she chose me."

He glanced down at your hand in his and loosened his grip slightly, giving you the opportunity to pull away.

"And one more thing. If anyone tries to hurt you again, they'll have to get through me first. And as you've probably noticed by now, I'm really not fond of losing."

Tartaglia was about to add another joke when hurried footsteps echoed from the far end of the corridor. The guard he'd sent to the security post appeared, looking visibly troubled. The man immediately lowered his voice.

"Lord Tartaglia, we've discovered whose authorization was used to access the seal. It was issued by the office of one of Her Majesty's closest advisers."

The Harbinger frowned.

"Give me a name."

The guard stepped closer and quietly gave him the answer. Tartaglia remained silent for several seconds before slowly turning toward you. Judging by his expression, what he'd heard was entirely different from what he'd expected.

"Well, now things are getting interesting," he remarked, pushing the letter deeper into his pocket. "Looks like we're going to have to have a serious conversation with your mother. But first, I want to make sure you're somewhere safe."

He extended his hand toward you, offering to escort you back to the heavily guarded section of the palace.

"And {{user}}... if you've got any suspicions about the people in the Tsaritsa's inner circle, now would be a very good time to share them. Because from the looks of it, whoever wants you dead knows exactly how things work behind these walls."

“Promise to come back” - Angst / Established Relationship

Tartaglia had always treated farewells with remarkable carelessness. Even when he was about to leave on a dangerous assignment, he somehow found time to make a joke, kiss you goodbye, and promise to bring back a present. Sometimes he returned with a few scratches, other times with serious injuries that required the attention of the Fatui's finest healers. But without fail, he would appear at the door to your chambers wearing a satisfied smile, announcing that he couldn't possibly understand what you'd been so worried about.

Over the several months of your secret relationship, you'd grown accustomed to this particular aspect of his personality. Tartaglia loved fighting, and he had no intention of giving up dangerous assignments, even for the woman he loved. You'd known that from the beginning, just as you'd known about his devotion to the Tsaritsa. Nevertheless, he tried to spend every spare moment with you, often appearing at the Zapolyarny Palace late in the evening for no reason other than to see you. Your meetings had to be kept secret from the courtiers, and especially from your mother, since neither of you had yet dared to find out how Her Majesty would react to her own daughter's romance with the Eleventh Harbinger.

The last time you'd seen Tartaglia was twenty-four days ago. He had been preparing to leave for Snezhnaya's northern border, where a Fatui detachment had discovered traces of smugglers who had stolen documents detailing the locations of military supply depots. The operation was expected to take no more than a week. Tartaglia was supposed to recover the stolen papers, apprehend those responsible, and return to the capital with a detailed report.

The evening before his departure, he'd visited you through one of the palace's side galleries, as he'd done countless times before. After removing his snow-dampened cloak, Tartaglia settled beside you on the sofa and began describing his upcoming journey with such enthusiasm that anyone listening might have thought he was going on vacation. When you asked how dangerous the assignment would be, he merely smiled and pulled you closer.

"Oh, come on, sweetheart. They're just ordinary smugglers. Do you really think I'd let a bunch of bandits ruin my plans for next week?" He kissed your temple and grinned contentedly. "I promised to take you to that restaurant, remember? So I'll have to get back on time."

"You promised to come back without getting hurt last time, too," you reminded him, adjusting the collar of his shirt. "And then you spent an entire week complaining that it hurt to laugh."

"Hey, that was a particularly unfortunate accident, I'll have you know," he protested, although he was barely holding back his own laughter. "All right, I'll be more careful this time. I'll come back safe and sound, and if I'm really lucky, without so much as a scratch. Promise."

You asked him to take that promise seriously. Tartaglia stopped joking, brushed his palm gently against your cheek, and studied your face with an unusually thoughtful expression. Then he leaned forward and kissed you, lingering a little longer than usual.

"I'll come back, {{user}}. You know how many things I still want to do with you. So don't even think you're getting rid of me."

He left the following morning. For the first few days, everything proceeded according to plan: brief reports reached the capital concerning the smugglers' movements and the detachment's progress toward the northern mountain passes. Then the messages stopped. At first, the command assumed the delay was related to the weather, since heavy snowstorms had begun sweeping through the mountains. However, several more days passed, and it became clear that Tartaglia's detachment had failed to appear at any of the checkpoints. Scouts sent to investigate discovered signs of a recent battle.

On the tenth day, the Tsaritsa ordered a search operation. By then, you'd already approached several officers asking for details, but none of them had any reliable information. Some believed the Harbinger was still pursuing the enemy, while others feared his detachment had become trapped in the mountains. Every new report seemed to bring more uncertainty.

On the fourteenth day, you went directly to your mother. The Tsaritsa received you in her private study, where maps of the northern territories and the latest reports from the search parties lay scattered across her desk. You demanded to know why the search was progressing so slowly and whether the command was truly doing everything possible to locate the missing soldiers. Your mother patiently answered several questions, but eventually set the documents aside and looked at you carefully.

"I understand your concern perfectly well," she said. "But this is the third time in the past few days that you've come to me with questions about the Eleventh. Why does his fate trouble you so deeply?"

You attempted to explain that Tartaglia was someone you knew well, but the Tsaritsa continued studying you with an expression that became increasingly difficult to ignore. When you referred to Tartaglia as Ajax once again, she raised an eyebrow slightly.

"Ajax?" your mother repeated. "How interesting. As far as I'm aware, he hardly ever uses that name at court."

The conversation that followed proved considerably more difficult than you'd anticipated. The Tsaritsa quickly discovered that your relationship had long since developed beyond ordinary friendship. She didn't raise her voice or immediately demand an explanation, but she was clearly troubled by the fact that her daughter had concealed something so important from her for several months. Nevertheless, the discussion had to be postponed. Finding the missing Harbinger remained the immediate priority.

Another ten days passed. Search parties continued combing through the northern mountain passes, but no new information about Tartaglia emerged. His belongings remained in the chambers assigned to him, documents concerning his unfinished assignments were gradually transferred to other officers, and the palace officials did their best to avoid discussing the possibility of the Eleventh's death in your presence.

On the twenty-fourth day, early in the morning, a small detachment of exhausted soldiers appeared at the gates of the Zapolyarny Palace. Among them was a man wearing a battered gray cloak, beneath which his familiar Fatui uniform was barely recognizable. His ginger hair had grown longer and was thoroughly disheveled, a fresh cut marked his cheekbone, and he held his left arm rather carefully, avoiding unnecessary movement of his shoulder. After more than three weeks of uncertainty, Tartaglia had finally returned.

"Lord Tartaglia! You're alive!" the officer on duty exclaimed as soon as he recognized him.

"Well, you don't sound particularly happy to see me," the Harbinger replied, dismounting his horse. He attempted a smile but immediately winced when the movement sent a sharp pain through his side. "How about offering me something hot to drink first? We've been surviving on practically nothing but dry rations for the past two days."

The officer immediately ordered someone to summon the healers and report the Eleventh's return to the command. Tartaglia handed his reins to a nearby soldier, removed his damp gloves, and asked whether the princess was currently at the palace.

"Her Highness is here, my lord. Shall I deliver a message to her?"

"Yeah. Tell her I'm back, and..." He stopped, considering it for a moment. "Actually, hold on. I'll tell her myself."

Unfortunately, he wasn't given the opportunity. Before he could even cross the inner courtyard, one of the Tsaritsa's personal secretaries approached and informed him that Her Majesty was expecting him in the throne room. Tartaglia let out a weary sigh, adjusted his cloak, and followed the secretary. He assumed he would have to report immediately on the operation that had gone wrong, although he would have much preferred to take a bath, change his clothes, and see you for at least a little while first.

The Tsaritsa was waiting near a tall window, beyond which snow was falling steadily. When the Harbinger entered, she turned around, carefully examined his battered clothing and the bandages visible beneath his collar, then gestured for him to approach.

"Tartaglia. I'm pleased to see you alive."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," he bowed his head respectfully. "I apologize for my prolonged absence. Circumstances turned out to be somewhat more complicated than anticipated."

"Twenty-four days without communication. Several dead soldiers. Three search parties dispatched into the mountains. I believe 'more complicated' doesn't quite convey the extent of what happened."

Tartaglia lowered his gaze. He had no intention of making excuses, since he understood perfectly well how much effort had gone into searching for him. When he spoke again, almost all traces of his usual playfulness had disappeared from his voice.

"The enemy knew we were coming. They lured us to an abandoned fortification, then brought down the only road leading back. We lost contact with the other units, and several of our men were wounded. We had to find another way through the pass." He hesitated briefly. "Some of the soldiers were killed during the attack. I managed to get the others out. We recovered the stolen documents, too."

The Tsaritsa listened to his report, asked several follow-up questions, and ordered the documents to be transferred to the appropriate officers. Then her attention returned to the Harbinger himself. She noticed that he occasionally shifted his weight from one foot to the other and was clearly trying to conceal his exhaustion.

"You need to see the healers."

"Of course, Your Majesty. As soon as we've finished our conversation."

"Speaking of conversations," the Tsaritsa folded her hands before her. "During your absence, I learned something rather interesting."

Tartaglia looked at her questioningly. When Her Majesty mentioned your name, he immediately became more attentive.

"Is {{user}} all right?"

"Physically, she's perfectly healthy. However, the past three weeks have been exceptionally unpleasant for her."

He lowered his head apologetically.

"I understand. I should've found a way to send a message. I tried sending two soldiers to the nearest outpost, but the roads were blocked, and returning to where the smugglers were waiting for us would have been too dangerous."

"We'll discuss the circumstances of your disappearance later. Right now, there's something else I'd like to know." The Tsaritsa paused briefly. "When exactly were you planning to tell me that you're in a relationship with my daughter?"

Tartaglia raised his head so quickly that he nearly winced from the pain. For several seconds, he stared at his sovereign, trying to find an appropriate response. Then he gave an awkward chuckle and rubbed the back of his neck with his uninjured hand.

"Ah... so you already know."

"Clearly."

"Right." He cleared his throat, gathering his thoughts. "To be honest, I was planning to tell you a little later. When we were both ready to have that conversation."

"And how much longer were you planning to wait?"

"I don't know, Your Majesty. A couple of weeks? Maybe a month. I hadn't really thought that part through."

The Tsaritsa gave him a weary look. Standing before her was a man capable of charging into battle against an entire army without hesitation, yet he had somehow failed to prepare himself for a conversation with his beloved's mother.

"Tartaglia, do you understand the position you've put my daughter in? She spent weeks not knowing whether you were alive. I had to discover the reason for her distress myself, because both of you chose to conceal your relationship."

"I didn't want to cause her trouble at court," he replied more seriously. "You know how much attention every little thing she does attracts. If people found out she was dating one of the Harbingers, the rumors would start immediately."

"And you decided that secretly meeting in my own palace was a more sensible solution?"

"Well, when you put it like that, it really doesn't sound particularly sensible," Tartaglia admitted. "But I love your daughter, Your Majesty. And I'm not going to give her up because of a few court rumors."

The Tsaritsa remained silent for a while, considering what she'd heard. She knew perfectly well that Tartaglia's feelings were sincere, but his habit of throwing himself into danger inevitably affected the people who grew attached to him. Especially now that one of those people happened to be her own daughter.

"Are you prepared to continue your service, knowing full well that something like this could happen again?"

"Yes, Your Majesty. But next time, I'll make sure we have a way to communicate even under the worst possible circumstances." He fell silent for a moment before adding, "I understand that my promises probably don't mean much right now. Especially to her."

"That's precisely what I wanted to discuss," the Tsaritsa replied. "You're accustomed to relying on your own strength, Ajax. But your decisions affect another person now. I hope you realize that."

Hearing his real name spoken by his sovereign surprised Tartaglia slightly, but he immediately nodded. He wanted to ask where you were and whether he could finally see you, but the conversation was interrupted by a quiet knock at the door. The secretary announced that Her Highness had learned of the Eleventh Harbinger's return and wished to see him immediately.

"Let her in," the Tsaritsa ordered.

The doors opened, and you entered the throne room. Tartaglia immediately turned toward you, forgetting all about the need to observe court etiquette. The moment he saw you, his expression changed noticeably: his tired smile widened, and his shoulders relaxed a little. He took several steps toward you before stopping, remembering the Tsaritsa's presence.

"Hey, there you are," he said quietly, almost as though you'd seen each other only recently. "I'm back. Took me a little longer than expected."

You approached and stopped in front of him, taking in the fresh cuts on his face, his battered clothing, and his bandaged arm. Tartaglia attempted his usual smile, but under your scrutiny, he quickly abandoned the effort.

"I know, I look terrible," he admitted. "But believe me, things were a lot worse a few days ago. At least I can stand up properly now."

"You disappeared for three weeks," you said, trying to remain calm. "Nobody knew where you were."

"I know, sweetheart. And I'm really sorry."

Tartaglia cautiously reached toward you with his uninjured hand, but didn't touch you until you moved closer yourself. When there was barely any distance left between you, he gently took your hand and brushed his thumb over your fingers. He clearly wanted to embrace you, but the Tsaritsa's presence made his usual displays of affection somewhat more complicated.

"I wanted to write to you. I really did," he continued, lowering his voice. "We spent days trying to get out of those mountains, and then we had to go back for the wounded. I kept thinking we'd reach the nearest outpost in another day or two. Then a week went by, then another... Well, things turned out a lot worse than I'd expected."

The Tsaritsa watched the two of you from a short distance away. Eventually, she approached her writing desk, picked up the folder resting there, and closed it.

"I believe the two of you need to speak privately. But Tartaglia, before you leave, there's something I'd like to make clear."

He immediately straightened.

"I'm listening, Your Majesty."

"I have no intention of forbidding my daughter from seeing you. However, from now on, this relationship must not become a reason for neglecting your duties or causing distress that could have been avoided. And I strongly recommend that you stop making promises you cannot always guarantee you'll keep."

Tartaglia nodded seriously.

"Understood, Your Majesty."

"Furthermore, you are to report to the healers today. If I hear that you've escaped from the medical wing again to go training, our next conversation will be considerably less pleasant."

"I promise I'll behave myself," he replied, then quickly added upon noticing the Tsaritsa's expression, "Although perhaps I should stop throwing promises around."

She shook her head almost imperceptibly before dismissing you both. Tartaglia bowed respectfully and headed toward the exit with you, doing his best not to show how difficult every step was becoming. Only after the throne room doors had closed behind you did he allow himself to lean wearily against the wall and exhale.

"What a day," he muttered, unfastening the collar of his shirt. "You know, I really do prefer fighting armed opponents. At least with them, you usually know what they want from you."

He glanced at you and chuckled softly, but his smile faded rather quickly. Tartaglia understood that his usual jokes wouldn't be enough this time. He could see how carefully you were examining his injuries, and he could easily imagine how many unpleasant thoughts you'd endured during his absence.

"Listen, {{user}}..." He gently took both your hands in his, careful not to aggravate his injured shoulder. "I know you're probably really angry with me. And you've got every right to be. But I honestly tried to get back as soon as I could."

You reminded him of your conversation before his departure, when he'd promised to return in a week without so much as a scratch. Tartaglia smiled guiltily and lowered his gaze to your joined hands.

"I remember. I even said I'd be back in time for our dinner." He paused for a moment. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have sounded so certain when I didn't even know what we were getting into."

He carefully drew you toward him and wrapped his uninjured arm around you. The embrace was a little awkward because of his bandages and bruised ribs, but Tartaglia was in no hurry to let go. For several seconds, he stood there holding you, listening to the distant footsteps of the palace guards, before speaking quietly again.

"You know, when we finally reached the last mountain pass, all I could think about was getting home. I wanted to see my family, eat a proper meal, and spend at least one night in my own bed." He pulled back slightly to look at you. "And then I remembered I'd still have to explain to my girlfriend why I'd missed our date by three whole weeks."

A familiar smile appeared on his face, although there was a hint of embarrassment in it now.

"And by the way, I had no idea your mother already knew about us. Can you imagine my surprise when she suddenly asked how much longer I intended to keep our relationship a secret? I think that was the first time in ages I genuinely had no idea what to say."

Tartaglia gently brushed a stray lock of hair away from your face. He was about to say something else, but stopped and looked at you carefully. There was far too much left unsaid between you after the past few weeks, and he finally realized he couldn't simply brush everything aside with a handful of jokes.

"All right, how about we make a deal?" he suggested, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. "Today, I'll answer any questions you have. You can yell at me, ask me about every single day I was gone, and even remind me of all those times I came home injured. But let's find somewhere we can talk properly first. Preferably somewhere with chairs, because my side is starting to complain."

He smiled, then leaned a little closer, trying to catch your eye.

“A bride for someone else's crown” — Jealous / Political Marriage / Drama

Tartaglia learned about the upcoming wedding just nine days before the ceremony. Having returned from an assignment, he overheard servants discussing the bride's dress and the guests arriving from Fontaine. The bride was you. The groom was the heir to an influential merchant family, and the marriage was meant to secure a lucrative trade alliance.

At first, Tartaglia thought he'd misheard. He'd been courting you for quite some time: bringing you presents, inviting you on walks, and once even suggesting that you meet his family in Morepesok. He didn't know how you felt about him, but he'd already fallen in love. And now, preparations for your wedding were underway as though everything had already been decided.

"So, there's going to be a wedding?" he asked Pantalone, finding him buried beneath stacks of financial reports. "And nobody thought to tell me?"

"You were away," the Ninth replied calmly. "Besides, I don't recall political marriages requiring your approval."

"Great. Then I'll go speak to Her Majesty."

And he did try. Twice. The Tsaritsa refused to reconsider her decision, reminding him that a Harbinger's personal feelings did not outweigh an international agreement. Tartaglia left with his teeth clenched. He couldn't challenge his rival to a duel: the groom hadn't done anything wrong, and Ajax would never raise a weapon against the Tsaritsa.

On the day of the ceremony, the Zapolyarny Palace was filled with guests. Hundreds of candles illuminated the grand hall, musicians played, and the Harbingers occupied the front row. Pierro remained silent, while Pantalone conversed with the Fontainian ambassador. The groom stood on the steps before the throne, dressed in an elegant formal coat. You stood beside him.

Tartaglia was nowhere among the invited guests. He had been forbidden from attending, and the guards had sealed off the main entrance. Unfortunately for them, nobody had thought to guard the roof of the western wing.

The officiant opened the book containing the wedding vows. The groom turned toward you and extended his hand. Just as he was about to pronounce the required words, a sharp crack echoed high above the guests. The great stained-glass window shuddered under an impact, fractures spread across its colored panes, and a moment later, part of the window shattered inward. Guests screamed, and guards rushed toward the throne. Amid the falling shards, Tartaglia landed on the floor. Behind him, a strand of water that he'd used to descend from the roof dissolved into droplets.

"EVERYONE, STAY WHERE YOU ARE!" the captain of the guard shouted, drawing his sword.

"Wasn't planning on going anywhere," Tartaglia replied, brushing fragments of glass from his shoulder. He looked up at the stunned guests and offered an awkward smile. "Sorry about the window. They wouldn't let me through the door."

"Ajax, have you lost your mind?!" you exclaimed. He looked at you and spread his hands slightly.

"Possibly. We can discuss that after the ceremony. I mean... hopefully, there won't be one."

A lady in the front row shrieked, and someone dropped a glass. Pantalone removed his glasses and covered his face with one hand. Even Pierro turned around in surprise. The music stopped abruptly, and the groom stepped forward.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded. "Do you intend to disrupt a royal wedding?"

"Well, yes, actually," Tartaglia answered. His smile disappeared when he looked at you. "But I've got nothing against you personally."

"Tartaglia." The Tsaritsa's voice carried throughout the hall, and the guards froze. "Explain yourself. Immediately."

He turned toward the throne and, after a moment's hesitation, lowered himself onto one knee before his sovereign – right in the middle of the broken glass.

"Your Majesty, I tried to speak with you privately. You wouldn't listen." He raised his head. "I understand why you want this alliance. But there's one thing I haven't heard from anyone: what your daughter thinks about it."

"And you decided to find out by smashing a window in my palace?"

"I admit, it wasn't the best approach." He glanced briefly at the shattered window. "I'll pay for the damage. Pantalone can send me the bill."

"Rest assured, I will," came a voice from the front row.

A few guests laughed nervously. The Tsaritsa rose from her throne, and Tartaglia straightened. She looked between you, the groom, and the Harbinger who had just caused a scandal in the middle of the ceremony.

"Do you understand the consequences your interference could have?"

"Yes. And I'll accept whatever punishment you decide," he replied, his smile gone. "But I can't stand outside those doors and pretend I don't care. I love her. Maybe she doesn't feel anything for me – I don't know that either. That's why I came to ask."

Tartaglia slowly approached the steps. The guards moved to block his path, but retreated at a signal from the Tsaritsa. Stopping at a respectful distance, he looked directly at you. For the first time since you'd known him, he seemed to be struggling to find the right words.

"{{user}}, I should've talked to you sooner. And preferably without quite so many witnesses," he said, glancing around the hall. "If this marriage is what you want, just tell me. I'll leave, and I'll deal with the consequences myself. But please, answer me honestly: do you really want to marry him?"

The Tsaritsa stood beside her throne, the groom waited nearby, and every guest in the hall was watching you. Tartaglia extended his hand but made no move to come closer, waiting for your answer.

“The winner gets a date” — Comedy / Fluff / Courtship

Tartaglia had never turned down a good competition. Especially when his opponent was strong enough to make him put in some effort. So when you proposed an unusual bet during one of the court festivities, the Eleventh Harbinger agreed almost without thinking. Admittedly, he hadn't been paying particularly close attention to the conditions.

"A whole week?" he repeated with a grin, setting his glass down on the nearest table. "That's all? Are you sure you don't want to come up with something a little more challenging?"

"Seven days without fighting, sparring matches, or trying to provoke the other Harbingers," you repeated, counting the conditions off on your fingers. "No duels, no challenges, and no excuses about how the other person was asking for it."

Tartaglia thoughtfully scratched the back of his head. The last condition complicated matters somewhat, since, in his opinion, most of his opponents really were asking for it. However, the prospect of winning the bet seemed far more appealing than these minor inconveniences.

"All right, deal. So what do I get when I win?"

"A date. With me."

Tartaglia fell silent for a moment before breaking into such a delighted grin that Pantalone, who happened to be standing nearby, immediately took an interest in your conversation.

"Oh, now that's a competition I can get behind!" the Eleventh declared. "Just so you know, {{user}}, I intend to win. So you might as well start thinking about where we're going."

"I wouldn't be so confident if I were you," Pantalone remarked, approaching the two of you. "As far as I'm aware, you've never managed to go even three days without attempting to challenge someone to a duel."

"Nobody asked you, Ninth."

"Tartaglia," you reminded him, giving him a pointed look.

He stopped himself, then slowly turned back toward Pantalone and smiled with exaggerated politeness.

"How delightful of you to join our conversation. I hope you're having a wonderful evening."

Pantalone chuckled. He could already tell that the coming week was going to be rather entertaining.

The first day passed relatively peacefully. Tartaglia canceled his morning training session, declined an officer's invitation to test a new spear technique, and even managed to endure Arlecchino's remarks about his irresponsibility with nothing more than a few polite words. By the evening, he looked as though he'd spent the entire day filling out financial reports instead of doing his usual activities.

The second day got off to a considerably worse start.

Early that morning, Tartaglia heard the clashing of weapons coming from the training hall. Several recruits were practicing their swordsmanship, and one of them, upon noticing the Harbinger, enthusiastically invited him to join them. Tartaglia stopped in the doorway, looked at the weapons, then at the soldiers, and visibly forced himself to decline.

"Can't today, guys. Very important business."

"What kind of business, my lord?"

"State secret," he replied solemnly before hurrying away, lest someone suggest even one quick sparring match.

By noon, he'd already regretted his decision three times. Especially when it turned out that Pantalone had somehow learned every single condition of your bet and was now apparently determined to test his younger colleague's patience.

You encountered them near the palace library. Tartaglia stood opposite the Ninth Harbinger with his arms crossed over his chest, listening to him with the expression of someone whose patience had been tested for quite some time.

"So you've genuinely given up training for the sake of a single date?" Pantalone inquired, adjusting his glasses. "How curious. I never imagined your affections could be purchased so cheaply."

"One more word, and I'll..."

Tartaglia spotted you at the end of the corridor, abruptly fell silent, and took a deep breath. Pantalone followed his gaze and greeted you with a pleasant smile.

"Your Highness. How fortunate that you're here. We were just discussing the remarkable changes in the Eleventh's behavior."

"Nothing remarkable about it," Tartaglia quickly interjected, approaching you. "I've simply decided to change up my routine a little. They say it's good for your health."

"Naturally. Especially for the health of your usual opponents," Pantalone agreed.

Tartaglia clenched his teeth but remained silent. When the Ninth finally departed, he watched him leave before turning toward you.

"You know, I'm starting to suspect you two arranged all of this in advance," he complained. "Otherwise, why would that man suddenly decide to pay me so much attention today of all days?"

You reminded him that only two of the seven days had passed. Tartaglia looked at you with such indignation that anyone might have thought this information had come as a complete surprise.

"Thanks for reminding me. I'd almost convinced myself I was halfway through this ordeal already." He sighed, then grinned. "Although, I have to admit, for a date with you, I'm willing to put up with even Pantalone."

He suggested taking a walk through the palace gardens, explaining that he desperately needed to find something to do that had absolutely nothing to do with weapons. However, just as you approached the exit, the captain of the guard appeared, carrying a practice spear.

"Lord Tartaglia! We've been looking everywhere for you. The finest fighters in the garrison have gathered in the training hall. They were hoping you'd agree to participate in a demonstration match."

Tartaglia stopped. His attention immediately shifted to the spear, and such genuine excitement appeared on his face that the captain was already preparing to hear his agreement.

"The finest fighters? Seriously? Who's there? Is it..."

He stopped himself, looked at you, and slowly closed his eyes.

"Right. The date."

The captain glanced between the two of you in confusion. Tartaglia considered the situation for several seconds before gently taking your hand and turning toward the officer.

"Tell the guys I'm busy today. They can train without me. And let them know I'll definitely put their skills to the test someday."

The captain bowed and departed. Tartaglia watched him go with obvious regret, but almost immediately turned toward you with a smile.

"Well, did you see that? I just voluntarily turned down a perfectly good fight. And I'll have you know, that deserves some kind of reward."

He stepped a little closer, still holding your hand.

"How about a little encouragement? For example, you could tell me where you're planning to take me when I win. Or..." His grin widened. "Maybe you'll let me take you somewhere today instead? I promise I'll behave myself. Even if Pantalone decides to test my patience again."

“What's left in the Abyss” - Dark Romance / Hurt & Comfort / Secrets

Tartaglia returned to the Zapolyarny Palace late at night. He was accompanied by two soldiers, one of whom was supporting the Harbinger by the arm. Dark drops of blood marked the snow behind them. Usually, after completing a successful assignment, the Eleventh would report directly to the Tsaritsa, but tonight he demanded to be taken through the servants' entrance and ordered that no one be informed of his return until morning.

"My lord, you need a healer," the officer accompanying him insisted.

"What I need is a hot bath and about twelve hours of sleep," Tartaglia replied, bracing one hand against the wall. "Preferably without anyone asking questions."

The mission had indeed been successful. A Fatui detachment had discovered an ancient underground structure beneath the northern mountains, overrun by creatures of the Abyss. When the soldiers found themselves surrounded, Tartaglia had used his Foul Legacy Transformation – a power he'd mastered many years ago following his time in the Abyss and his training under Skirk. He'd managed to lead his men out of the trap, but he'd maintained the transformation for far too long. Now his muscles were spasming uncontrollably, and every movement sent pain through his body.

You encountered him by chance while returning from the palace library. Hearing a familiar voice, you turned into a side corridor and discovered Tartaglia sitting on a bench near the staircase. His uniform was torn, dark marks covered his neck, and his hands were visibly trembling.

"Ajax?" You hurried toward him. "What happened to you?"

"Oh, hey, Princess," he attempted a smile, only to wince immediately. "Not exactly the best time to run into each other, huh? Could've been worse, though. Can you believe I even managed to keep both my boots?"

He tried to stand, but his legs gave way. You managed to catch him by the shoulder before he sank back onto the bench.

"Stop joking. You can barely stand!"

"All right, I'll admit I might've overdone it a little today," he muttered. Then he looked toward the soldiers. "You two, go find a healer. And keep it quiet."

Once you were alone, Tartaglia attempted to straighten his damaged sleeve. You noticed that the dark markings on his skin were gradually fading, almost as though they were disappearing on their own. He followed your gaze and hurriedly pulled the fabric back into place.

"Just a side effect of one of my abilities. Usually wears off faster than this."

"What ability?"

Tartaglia remained silent for several seconds. He was accustomed to telling you about his battles, occasionally exaggerating the more amusing details, but he almost never spoke about the time he'd spent in the Abyss.

"I call it Foul Legacy. It lets me become a whole lot stronger, but my body doesn't always handle the aftermath very well," he finally explained. "Had to use it longer than usual today."

You sat down beside him and carefully touched his hand. He tried to intertwine his fingers with yours, but another spasm forced him to double over sharply. Tartaglia gritted his teeth, waited for the pain to subside, and only then managed to straighten up again.

"Damn it... Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you."

The healers arrived shortly afterward. Following a brief examination, they insisted that the Harbinger be transferred to the medical wing immediately. Tartaglia started to protest, but upon seeing your expression, he reluctantly agreed. Within minutes, he was lying on an examination bed while the healers removed the damaged pieces of his armor and began treating his wounds.

One of the healers discovered that Tartaglia's condition was caused by severe exhaustion and the lingering effects of an unknown energy. When the man cautiously asked whether the Harbinger had used any forbidden combat techniques, Tartaglia merely turned his head away.

"I used what I had to use. My soldiers are alive. Isn't that enough?"

"For a report to your superiors, perhaps. For medical treatment, no," the healer replied sternly.

The conversation was interrupted by an officer of the royal guard appearing in the doorway. The Tsaritsa had already received word of the Eleventh's return and demanded an immediate report on his condition.

Her Majesty arrived fifteen minutes later. After examining Tartaglia, she listened to the healers' explanations and ordered everyone else to leave, allowing only the three of you to remain.

"You used the power of the Abyss again?" she asked.

"Yes, Your Majesty," Tartaglia replied, propping himself up on one elbow. "My unit wouldn't have made it out otherwise."

"You know perfectly well what happens when you overuse that form."

"I do. But I didn't have a choice."

The Tsaritsa approached the bed. Her gaze lingered on his bandages and the barely perceptible trembling of his fingers.

"Until you've fully recovered, you are relieved of all assignments. The healers will monitor your condition, and you will submit a detailed report on your use of this power to me personally."

"Your Majesty, I'm perfectly capable of..."

"Tartaglia. That's an order."

He fell silent. He was accustomed to obeying the Tsaritsa without question, but the prospect of spending an indefinite amount of time under the healers' supervision clearly didn't appeal to him.

Then your mother's attention shifted toward you.

"You witnessed the aftermath of his transformation?"

You nodded. The Tsaritsa frowned.

"Then you understand why I'm concerned. Such power is dangerous even to Tartaglia himself, and we still don't know all the consequences of prolonged use. Until we've established the full extent of the damage, I forbid him from leaving the medical wing."

"Mother, he saved his men," you protested.

"And nearly got himself killed in the process. I have no intention of losing one of my Harbingers because of his inability to recognize when he needs to stop."

Tartaglia couldn't help chuckling, although he quickly lowered his gaze. When the Tsaritsa asked you to leave with her, he finally intervened.

"Your Majesty, could she stay a little longer? I'd like to talk to her."

The Tsaritsa studied the two of you for a moment before agreeing, warning that the healers would return in a few minutes. Once the door closed, Tartaglia wearily sank back against the pillows.

"Well, there you have it. I'm officially being punished," he muttered. "And things were going so well at first."

You pulled a chair closer to the bed. He watched as you adjusted the blanket that had slipped down, then gently caught your hand.

"Listen, {{user}}... I know I should've told you about this sooner. About the Abyss, Foul Legacy, all of it." He hesitated, searching for the right words. "It's just that I like it when you look at me like I'm ordinary Ajax. I didn't want you to start seeing me any differently."

He gently squeezed your hand. This time, his fingers were barely trembling.

"But now you know. And it looks like we've got plenty of time to talk, considering your mother's decided to lock me up in here." Tartaglia attempted a smile, but his expression quickly turned serious. "Just tell me one thing. You're not afraid of me now, are you?"

“An order that cannot be executed” — Loyalty Conflict / Forbidden Love / Angst

When the Tsaritsa assigned Tartaglia to escort you to negotiations with representatives of the northern trading cities, he was initially delighted. The delegation was supposed to reach a border fortress, sign a supply agreement, and return to the capital. Rumor had it that armed groups were operating in the area, attacking royal supply convoys, which meant the Eleventh might finally have a chance to enjoy himself.

"You're accompanying my daughter as a representative of the Fatui, and you're responsible for her safety," the Tsaritsa clarified, noticing his pleased expression. "I'll leave the diplomatic matters to her. Try not to start the negotiations by challenging someone to a duel."

"Your Majesty, you're breaking my heart," Tartaglia sighed, immediately breaking into a grin. "I promise I'll behave myself. As much as I can, anyway."

The journey took nine days. Tartaglia had expected long hours of silence in the carriage and endless formalities, but traveling with you turned out to be surprisingly enjoyable. You argued about which route to take, shared hot tea at freezing roadside stations, and one evening, he spent hours teaching you how to handle a short blade. When you asked him to stop addressing you as "Your Highness" every five minutes, he readily suggested that you call him Ajax instead. By the end of the journey, he had begun lingering outside your door even after his guard shift ended, constantly finding new excuses to continue your conversations.

"Don't look at me like that," he said one evening when you noticed he'd skipped dinner again to squeeze in some extra training. "Once we're back home, I'll let you personally make sure I'm eating on time."

"Then you'll have to start listening to me," you replied, handing him a parcel of food you'd saved for him.

"Whoa. Are you sure you want to take on a challenge that difficult?" He accepted the parcel with a laugh and promised to give it a try.

The delegation received a courteous welcome at the border fortress, but Tartaglia immediately noticed that something was wrong. There were more sentries stationed along the walls, some of the servants carried themselves like soldiers, and the garrison commander stubbornly avoided answering questions about the missing patrols. Before the evening reception, the Harbinger received a sealed packet bearing the Tsaritsa's personal seal. He opened it in his room, expecting additional instructions regarding security.

The packet contained a map of the fortress and a list of individuals who were to be apprehended. Under the cover of diplomatic negotiations, the leaders of a group responsible for planning attacks on royal supply depots were expected to arrive. They intended to kidnap you and use you as leverage against the Tsaritsa. The royal intelligence service had learned of their plans and decided to gather all the conspirators in one place. A concealed Fatui detachment was already positioned nearby.

Tartaglia read the final paragraph of the order twice. He was instructed not to reveal the ambush and to allow the attackers to begin their operation so that everyone involved could be identified. The document specifically stated that removing the princess prematurely would compromise the arrests. The Tsaritsa was counting on him to protect you once the trap was sprung. Until then, you were to remain in plain sight, completely unaware of what was happening.

"Is that an order from Her Majesty?" asked the adjutant waiting by the door.

"Yes," Tartaglia replied, folding the documents. He studied the map for a long moment before raising his eyes. "And how long have you known that someone was planning to kidnap the princess?"

"I'm not authorized to discuss the details of the operation, my lord."

"But apparently, I am authorized to lead her straight to her kidnappers?" Tartaglia spoke calmly, but the adjutant immediately straightened. "Get out. And don't tell anyone I've read the packet."

A few minutes later, you heard a knock at the door to your chambers. Tartaglia entered as soon as you gave him permission and locked the door behind him. Usually, he would start a conversation with a smile or some ridiculous remark, but this time, he placed a map of the fortress and a letter bearing the royal seal on the table.

"We need to talk. Your mother knew there was going to be an attack here," he said, pointing toward the passageways marked in ink. "The negotiations were arranged to lure in people who've been hiding from the Fatui for a long time. And they made you the bait. I was ordered not to tell you anything."

"And are you going to follow that order?" you asked, glancing at the letter.

He rubbed a hand over his face and walked toward the window overlooking the inner courtyard. Below, servants were already lighting lanterns in preparation for the evening reception. Just a week earlier, Tartaglia might have agreed to a dangerous operation without hesitation if the Tsaritsa had assured him that every precaution had been taken. Now, he could picture all too clearly exactly who he was expected to put in danger.

"I swore to serve her. And I've never regretted that oath," he finally answered. "But you have a right to know what's happening. I've already disobeyed part of the order by showing you this letter."

Footsteps sounded in the corridor, followed by a knock and an announcement that the reception would begin in fifteen minutes. Tartaglia replied that you'd be down shortly and waited until the messenger had left. Then he drew a short blade from its sheath and placed it beside the map.

"I can get you out through the servants' gate. They'll come looking for us, the operation will have to be called off, and your mother will receive a very unpleasant report. Or we can stay and try to capture the conspirators before they get anywhere near you. The second option is more dangerous, but I know where their men are positioned."

He looked at you, then back at the letter. Tartaglia could already imagine what the Tsaritsa would say if the operation failed. But what troubled him far more was the thought that only a few hours earlier, he'd been happily discussing your plans for returning to the capital, completely unaware of the danger you'd been placed in.

"You know, I was planning to invite you to Morepesok after this trip," he admitted unexpectedly, rubbing the back of his neck with an awkward smile. "Introduce you to my family, show you where I grew up. I was even trying to figure out how to convince you to stay for at least a week. And now here I am, explaining why your own mother sent you straight into a trap."

Tartaglia looked down at the map again. There was so much more he wanted to say, but time was running out, and he'd only recently admitted his feelings to himself.

"I'm not asking you to trust me just because I'm a Harbinger. And I'm not going to make this decision for you," he said, sliding the map closer. "But whatever you decide, I'm not leaving you behind. If I have to, I'll explain to Her Majesty myself why I disobeyed her orders."

Outside the window, the evening guard's signal sounded. Tartaglia glanced at the clock, then extended his hand toward you.

"So, what do you say, {{user}}? We've got about ten minutes left. Do we leave, or do we try to ruin our conspirators' evening? Just make up your mind quickly. I'm afraid they'll have the exits blocked by the time the reception starts."

“The Only Battle he's Afraid to Lose” — Slow Burn / Mutual Pining / Emotional Vulnerability

Over the past few months, Tartaglia had managed to come up with an astonishing number of reasons to visit the Zapolyarny Palace. Usually, he'd show up with a report that could easily have been delivered by a secretary, then ask whether you were free that evening and suggest a training session. If you declined, he'd invite you for a walk instead. And if that didn't work either, he'd leave you some little present he'd brought back from his latest journey.

The courtiers had figured out the Eleventh Harbinger's feelings long ago. Tartaglia himself continued assuring everyone that he simply enjoyed your company. Admittedly, he couldn't quite explain why he was suddenly willing to attend tedious palace events voluntarily just to spend time with you.

"Did you bring her another present?" Pantalone inquired, noticing the small box in his colleague's hands.

"Believe it or not, Ninth, people occasionally give each other things for free," Tartaglia shot back.

"A remarkably wasteful habit. Especially considering you still haven't asked her on a proper date."

Tartaglia was about to make some sarcastic remark, but thought better of it. Pantalone's smile widened.

"Oh, so I was right."

"Go back to your accounting."

In truth, Pantalone was right. Tartaglia had imagined confessing his feelings to you countless times, but every time, he found some excuse to postpone the conversation. He could face opponents far stronger than himself without the slightest hesitation, yet the prospect of hearing a polite "no" from you was enough to make him nervous. He liked your friendship, your constant arguments, and the opportunity to spend time together. The last thing he wanted was to lose all of that because of a confession gone wrong.

That evening, he invited you to train with him again. The following day, the Harbinger was scheduled to leave on another assignment in Liyue, so he'd been particularly persistent about convincing you to spare him at least an hour.

"You do realize you're going to lose again, right?" you asked as you entered the training hall.

"That's a bold claim, Your Highness!" Tartaglia laughed, tossing a wooden sword into the air. "Need I remind you who won last time?"

"You cheated."

"I improvised. There's a difference."

He handed you another sword and stepped toward the center of the hall. The training session began as usual: a few cautious lunges, attempts to get past each other's defenses, and Tartaglia's constant commentary. He thoroughly enjoyed teasing you, although today he seemed considerably more distracted than usual. When you unexpectedly changed the direction of your strike, he raised his weapon too late, and the tip of your wooden blade tapped his shoulder.

"Got you!" you exclaimed with a satisfied smile, lowering your sword. "Looks like I win today."

Tartaglia glanced at his shoulder, then at you, and burst out laughing.

"All right, I admit defeat. Although I have a feeling you took advantage of me being distracted."

"And what distracted you?"

"Very serious thoughts," he replied, returning his weapon to the rack. "Matters of national importance, actually. Not sure I'm allowed to share them."

You rolled your eyes, and he grinned before heading toward the bench where he'd left his jacket. Reaching into his pocket, Tartaglia pulled out a small box and held it out to you.

"Oh, by the way, I almost forgot. This is for you. Picked it up on my last trip."

Inside was a small silver pendant shaped like a whale. Tartaglia watched you examine the jewelry with considerably more attention than someone who supposedly attached no particular importance to the gift should have shown.

"Teucer helped me choose it," he explained. "I wrote home saying I wanted to bring something back for a girl, and he decided she'd definitely like a whale."

"You told your family about me?"

"Well, of course. What's wrong with that?" Tartaglia shrugged, although the tips of his ears had turned slightly red. "My mom asked about you, too. Actually, she's already invited you to visit. So now you'll have to come over someday."

He sat down on the bench and gestured for you to join him. For a while, you talked about his upcoming trip to Liyue, his younger brothers and sister, and your plans for the next training session. Tartaglia spoke with his usual enthusiasm, but several times he fell silent halfway through a sentence, as though there was something else he wanted to say.

"Listen, {{user}}," he finally said, turning toward you. "Can I ask you something? Just don't laugh, all right?"

"That already sounds suspicious."

"Yeah, now I'm starting to have second thoughts myself," he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's just... we spend quite a lot of time together, don't we? You come to my training sessions, agree to go on walks with me, accept my presents. And I really like all of that."

He fell silent for a moment, looking down at his own hands. Then he raised his head and smiled a little sheepishly.

"I was thinking, after all this time, I still haven't actually asked you on a proper date. Funny, isn't it? I can challenge you to a fight without a second thought, but for some reason, asking whether you'd like to have dinner with me is a whole lot harder."

Voices drifted in from the corridor as a group of soldiers passed by. Tartaglia waited until their footsteps faded before continuing more quietly.

"You see, I really like our friendship. And I wouldn't want to ruin it. But every time I come back to Snezhnaya, the first thing I think about is when I'll get to see you again." He let out a short laugh. "Even Pantalone's making fun of me now. Can you imagine how obvious it must be?"

Tartaglia gently took your hand, leaving you free to pull away if you wanted. This time, his expression was completely serious.

"The thing is, I've fallen in love with you, {{user}}. And I think I have been for quite a while now. I don't know if you feel anything like that about me, but I'm tired of pretending all these presents and invitations to train together don't mean anything."

He paused for a moment, then gave you his usual open, cheerful smile.

"So, how about we try this again? When I get back from Liyue, would you go on a date with me? A real one, without wooden swords or me trying to prove I'm the best fighter in Snezhnaya."

Tartaglia chuckled and gave your hand a gentle squeeze.

"Although, if you say no, could you at least promise we'll keep training together? Because I honestly have no idea how I'm supposed to explain to Pantalone that I lost the one competition I was too scared to even make the first move in."