Chapter Text
“What kind of prince causes destruction within his own kingdom?!” That sounded a lot like La Signora. Within the masses of simultaneous shouts, however, it was difficult to discern.
Per usual, Tartaglia sat in the middle of the chaos, listening to others scold him. He hid his grumbling pout behind his red scarf. The heated scowls from each direction did nothing to block the biting cold. It was not his fault that he overestimated his recruits! If the (now hospitalized) soldiers were capable of rising to the top to have a prince under their command, surely, they would be strong???
Okay, okay, maybe accidentally blowing up one of the armories was…unnecessary to say the least. He did not think that kick would send a Fatuus flying into the building and— he wasn’t quite sure what occurred next to cause the explosion. At least this did not happen in the capital! Case in point, this could have been avoided if he had mightier and more durable opponents.
Someone, who sounded a lot like Pantalone, sighed, “You’re untamed and wild. Too spoiled. We’ve let this gone for far too long.” Childe bit back the urge to scoff and roll his eyes. That money-grabbing bastard was upset because the repairs came out of his pocket. He did not give a damn about what happened to the youngest prince.
Scaramouche crossed his arms and huffed, “You try keeping this fool on a leash. We yell at him, and he doesn’t listen. This whole meeting is pointless.”
The mesh of voices continued in merciless onslaught until the Tsaritsa raised her hand. Silence immediately fell upon the room. The temperature dropped ten degrees from the single gesture. She rested her chin on her fair, pale fingers. With an icy breath, she proposed, “My dearest Eleventh, you know that we are harsh on you because we care, yes?” Well…there was some room for argument. Most of his step-siblings tolerated him at best. It was no secret that he was her majesty’s favorite though.
Regardless, nobody would defy her or her will. Tartaglia nodded. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“While your display of strength is admirable, you ought to find another outlet for your pent-up energy aside from constant spars and training. You are approaching the prosperous age where many seek you out as a potential bachelor. Some maturity and restraint on your end would be appropriate.”
Childe bit back the comment on how none of his other siblings were married. It was not like they were better partners. Not to mention, they were old as fuck. He bore the responsibility of a fruitful marriage to peacefully gain an alliance with other nations. There was a tiny problem though: he did not want to get married whatsoever. Bleh!
He dreamt of becoming a great general like the eldest, Il Capitano! A clingy, weak, and whiny partner would only hold him back from riding into glorious battle and facing challenging foes. There was no need for a priss prick who could barely hold their ground against him. He strove to be stronger each day.
As if the Tsaritsa read his mind, she hummed, “Ah, is this why you were throwing tantrums around the palace? Because stirring up trouble would help you avoid marriage?” His silence was enough of an answer. When she worded it like that, it was embarrassing…and childish. They were not tantrums! They were moments to prove a point. It was as Pantalone said; who would desire such a reckless and wild brute?
Childe could not outright admit that though, lest he was accused of treason or whatnot. He settled with, “I live to serve you, Your Majesty.”
“Then, trust me as your mother and queen in this arrangement. I will not sell you off to a nasty old man, but a partner will help you mellow out and grow. Your role will unite nations and allow us to gain alliances.” Her face remained unchanging as the everlasting winter in Snezhnaya. Her tone was filled with the slightest hint of sympathy though. She then announced, “He will arrive in a week’s time.”
If Childe had fox ears, they would have perked up from alarm. What? “...Pardon me?” He asked. Arlecchino crushed his toes underneath her heels. He cleared his throat. “I mean, of course. Uh, may I ask who the guest of honor is?”
“He is a lord from one of the three commissions of Inazuma,” The queen answered without missing a beat. His reaction was milder than she expected. “I expect you to be on your best behavior. Accommodate him as if he were already your husband. If the two of you decide you are an uncomplimentary pair, it better be because of a good reason. Otherwise, do not disappoint me, Tartaglia.”
-----
Childe threw the, well, throw pillow against the wall in his bedroom. If he had his way, the lamps and portraits would be a victim of his frustrations. He had the gnawing urge to tear off the curtains, jump off the balcony, and kill someone. It did not have to be in that particular order.
How could his step-mother forsaken him to this fate?! He had goals to travel around the world and tear everything down his path. It was like caging a free bird! It’s “Glory to the Tsaritsa” for a reason! He was a warrior, not a bed warmer! He would not succumb to Lord Spoiled easily. The thought of him being commanded around like some dog and rubbing his feet made him want to gag. Who cared about alliances if he were strong enough to dominate his enemies?
Alas, he owed everything to the Tsaritsa. He would not be thriving now in riches and power had it not been for her kindness…or pity. The least he could do as her youngest and upcoming vanguard was deliver results to her cause. He did not mind giving Lord Dimwit a chance. It was just— well, the timing was horrible. He was young, yes, but that was not the only reason.
Hear him out. Next week, on the day Lord Oh-No-There-Was-Dirt-On-My-Robes arrived, the southern part of Snezhnaya, Nod Krai, was holding an underground fighting tournament. It was a gambling hall where people pooled money on the winner. Meaning, this organization was entirely illegal. Uh, ignoring that part, that meant strong fighters from all over Teyvat were gathering. There would be drugs, smoke, sex, and everything in between! Sign him up! Kind of. He wanted to go for the fight.
This was his chance to challenge his abilities while also making himself an alias reputation! An elaborate network could be created to exchange information and tactics. Snezhnaya could benefit from this. See? He was not a selfish bastard!
Again, it sucked that it landed on the day he had to meet Lord Party Pooper. Ugh, it really, really sucked! Childe dreamt of participating in this for years! Just— just one night! Then, he would do whatever the Tsaritsa wanted! What was a weapon if it was not polished well?
That was not the only reason why this arranged marriage was a pain in his ass. Call him a hopeless romantic, but he wished to wed out of love. Not that he loved anyone currently, but the sentiment was all the same. Whatever. Details were overrated. Childe needed a partner who could fight by his side or at least appreciate the adventure that flowed in his veins. He was not ready for domestic life.
Ughhhh, it wasn’t like he could clone himself to near perfection like one of Dottore’s freaky projects. He could not construct a human-like mech of himself either. Not within that time limit. Sandrone would not let him near her workshop anyways. If only he could switch lives with someone…
Wait a minute.
A rare lightbulb shone above his ginger hair. Yes. Yes! This was perfect! Haha, he was not Tartaglia for nothing! He was a genius! A grin that would have monsters fleeing on sight spread across his face. The young prince glanced out the balcony window towards the capital. A gentle snow descended, covering the beautiful landscape in a blanket of angelic white. The pine trees were still. The night was silent as the land basked underneath the stars.
A meticulous but mischievous plan formed in his mind. Perhaps he could switch lives for a few days. He only needed to pay a certain someone a polite visit.
------
It was hardly called “polite,” especially when the visit involved breaking into someone’s home through the window and waking them up at Celestia’s ass hours six days later. Everything was in place. All Childe needed was a certain someone’s agreement. “Agreement” was used loosely since he was thrusting this responsibility onto this person. His friend would not mind though! Childe would be in and out. Easy peasy. Hopefully.
Cloaked, he snuck out of the palace and past the guards. From how easy it was, he really needed to rework the patrols if he were to defend the palace as a true general one day. Footprints were cleared behind him to not leave any trace. Within half an hour, he reached the sleeping city of Snezhnaya. Light poles lit the stoned pavement, but he remained in the shadows to not disturb any sleeping soul. Hardly any lights shone through the windows of homes and shops. Even the smithy whose hammer clanked against metal daily was nowhere in sight. The city was silent, save for the guards making their rounds.
Childe strided into an alleyway, descending down a familiar set of stairs. The snow grew in height as the foul scent of moss, alcohol, and weed incinerated his nose. The outside of the capital appeared elegant, friendly, and rich. The slums on the hidden lower levels, however, were a different story. In richness, there was poverty where the poor suffered the wrath of insatiable greed.
A line of rats scurried past him into the dripping sewage pipes. Next to the lines was a half-asleep man slumped against the brick walls. He was not dressed appropriately for this weather at all. His rags were thin and full of holes. Yet, with what little energy he had left, he raised his head and greeted the man with a nudge of his empty can. Cerulean blue eyes darted down where his legs were covered with an even thinner blanket. It would be more correct to say ‘leg.’ The outline of the blanket revealed how the man lost his right leg below the knee.
Childe fetched a small but hefty bag of mora from his pocket before depositing it into the can. He walked away without uttering a word.
Then, a familiar old lady struggling to pull a cart full of tied, flat cardboard boxes passed by him. The rusty wheel was caught on a pothole on the uneven pavement. She fell onto her knees as a few of the cardboard pieces toppled over. Childe rushed over to help her up, noting how her hands contained more blisters than a month ago. He got to work picking up the fallen trash, then lifting the cart off the pothole.
As always, the old woman offered him candy in gratitude from her shivering hands. The ginger took them, knowing she would end up following him the rest of the night if he did not. That was a lesson learned a couple of years ago. He ensured to slip another bag of mora into her coat without her noticing.
Then, he was off again.
Normally, he would assist the middle-aged man in shoveling the snow off the path, gather supplies to light fires for those unable to locate shelter and were camping out in the harsh weather, intervene in a few dealings (in which he paid the buyer and dealer twice the amount of the initial pricing before sending them their way), and much more. However, he was a man on a mission tonight.
After dashing down a few more alleys, the prince arrived at his destination. He climbed the emergency fire ladder on the side of the apartment building until he reached the third floor with the broken window. A sigh escaped at the obvious rope hooked around a nail on the windowsill to keep it down. Through the ripped and worn fabric acting as a curtain, he spotted a familiar head of gold asleep in the corner.
Perfect.
Childe unsheathed his dagger. A light that rivaled the stars gleamed on the tip of the sharp blade. It slipped underneath the windowsill and unhooked the rope. Without further ado, he climbed in.
The sudden gush of chilly winds woke up the blond man. He grumbled in annoyance, rubbing away the sleep in his eyes. It probably was not the first time the rope came loose. Then, he walked over to fix the window, unaware of the intruder hiding in the shadows. Had it been an assassin, this poor man would have been dead without a second thought.
Luckily, that was not the case. Instead of a mercenary, it was a friend visiting! And this friend had a favor to ask! “Thoma,” Childe whispered.
Thoma squeaked, then jumped so high that his head slammed against the low ceilings. Bang! The window shuddered open with another bang! The blond scrambled to grab the curtain rod on the floor and swung it towards the prince. The latter easily parried it with his dagger. The two traded more blows before Childe urged him, “Thoma! Hey—! Thoma! It’s me!”
He lit the candle from the bedside. It was hardly a bed. It was just a dusty mattress on the floor. Anyways, it was enough for Thoma to see who the culprit was. Heart in his throat, he exhaled a heavy breath of relief. Then, he lightly punched Childe in the arm.
“Lord Childe! You absolutely cannot be doing that!” He chided him. “Barbatos, what is wrong with you? I could have accidentally hurt you!”
“Yeah, no, I would not let that happen,” Childe rebuked. “Anyways, you should get your window fixed. A thief can easily sneak in here. Also, what did I say about fancy titles?”
Thoma swallowed down ten-thousand curses with a rage of ten-thousand suns. “Ajax. What are you doing here? What time is it?”
“You need to invest in a clock.”
The peasant pointed at the round clock resting on the three-legged drawer. “It’s broken. Forget it, that doesn’t answer my question!”
Childe’s face contorted into a false pout. “You aren’t glad to see me?” He whined.
It was Thoma’s turn to return the sad expression. “Lord— Ajax, you know you are always welcomed here, but at least let it be at a reasonable hour. Again, respectfully, what do you want?” At the pregnant silence, his voice hardened. “Ajax.”
Said man threw his hands up in surrender. “Haha, okay, you caught me,” Childe replied. “I would like to request a favor.”
“If this is about paying off my debt, I told you a thousand times and more: the answer is no.”
How outrageous! Gosh, how stubborn! “You’re still not going to accept that?!” Childe shouted, almost offended. “And as I told you a thousand times and more: the offer is on the table! I have the money to pay off your debt a hundred times over!”
“I refuse to abuse your generosity. My debt is between me and the Northland Bank.”
“I literally collect debt for them!” He shook his head. “Not the point! I’m here for something else.” He unclasped the bag that was over his shoulder. Rummaging through it, he practically demanded, “I need you to be me for a few days.”
“What?!” Talk about dropping the bomb!
“Don’t worry! I already prepared everything. It’s for four days maximum,” Childe said as if switching lives was not so befuddling.
Thoma’s eyes were so wide that they could have fallen out of their sockets. “Wait, wait! Hold on—!”
“There’s this fight tournament going on in Nod Krai tomorrow night, but my mother and siblings won’t let me go.”
Something was shoved into Thoma’s frantic hands. “Is this a wig??? Ajax—!”
“—Because, apparently, meeting my future fiancé is so devastatingly important. You know, Thoma, he’s rich.”
“What?! Fiancé??? Rich??? Not the point—!”
“Exactly! Not the point! Not when my dreams are at stake! I knew you would understand. Thank you so much—!”
“Ajax.”
“Thoma.”
The older man released another sigh. His day barely started, and he was already so exhausted. It was like dealing with a hyperactive— well, child. He was not paid enough to deal with this. Actually, he wasn’t paid enough at all. Thoma pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can you rewind to the beginning please?”
“Huh? Oh, sure! I need you to pretend to be me for a few days,” Childe repeated.
So, Thoma was not losing the last strands of his sanity. He really and unfortunately heard him word for word. Barbatos, preserve him. “...Why?” He dared tread further into what seemed to be an insane idea. He better start digging his grave. Childe’s shenanigans never ended well.
The can of worms became undone. It was fair to say that it exploded in the half-Mondstadter’s face. Nothing could prepare him for the absolute madness that left Childe’s mouth. Heck, his apartment building collapsing to dust was more predictable!
Thoma scratched the back of his head. His legs gave out on him as he collapsed onto the mattress. What did he do to deserve this? He wanted to rewind time, lock his window better, and snuggle back into the land of dreams. Ajax was his best friend, but this was where he drew the line. Oh, how he yearned to clonk Childe’s head with a frying pan. To hell with royalty! At least, there was no debt in death!
“So, let me get this straight,” Thoma began, “You want me to pose as you, so you could run off and fight?”
When he put it like that, it did not sound so wise. Tartaglia was not one for wisdom though! “Yes,” He affirmed. “Not only is it an opportunity to test my limits, but it is also a way to establish a network of my own.”
Thoma knew it would be futile to change Childe’s mind. The best he could do was resign to his inevitable fate. “And what is this about a fiancé?”
“He’s some rich dude from Inazuma. Apparently, my marriage with him is supposed to reignite alliances between our two nations or something. Don’t get me wrong, I would follow Her Majesty to the end. I just wish the timing was better.”
Some rich dude? Some rich dude??? This ‘rich dude’ had the power to bring two nations together or wage war upon each other! This ‘rich dude’ held Snezhnaya’s militaristic future in his hands! This was no laughing matter!
Upon the confusion and horror on his comrade’s face, Childe was quick to reassure him, “I intend to marry him! I won’t leave my country to ruin! What kind of prince would I be?”
Thoma sighed for what seemed like the seventy-fifth time. “Ajax, do you not see the glaring problem in your plan?” He questioned.
“Well, the victor wins a load of cash in the end. I have no need for the money. So, as payment, I will forward the reward under your name. Fair, right?”
He better count his lucky stars that Thoma was not near a frying pan. The blond could feel an aneurysm coming. “No, no, I…I don’t need the reward. It’s just…don’t we have to look alike to pull this off?” At Childe’s arched eyebrow, he elaborated, “You want us to switch lives. Do you really think we could fool everyone if I put on a wig and blue eye contacts?”
“Comrade, do you really not know?”
“Know what?” Oh, why on the Tsaritsa’s everlasting reign was he indulging him?
“That we totally look alike. At least, according to everyone else, we do.”
What blasphemy! It was so full of shit that it brought life back into Thoma’s fatigued bones. He stood up and exclaimed, “No, we don’t! Are you pulling my leg right now?!” Please, let this be a very elaborate prank! Society could not be so blind!
“Why would I do that? I mean it. People have mistaken us for each other multiple times whenever we hang out. You were probably too busy to notice,” Childe responded. “Pulcinella keeps telling me how he saw a blonde doppelganger of mine in the city too.”
Yeah. Fucking. Right! There was no way! Ignoring the fact that their entire physique were different, it was obvious who was who based on attire. Thoma looked like a wet dog next to the charming prince who wore the signature Harbinger coat! He hated that it was not a far off analogy.
“What about my jobs?” Thoma asked next. “I kind of need mora to pay off my remaining debt.”
Childe waved him off. “I’m definitely winning, so it will make up for it and then some. Besides, you have what? Half a year left of work to pay everything off?”
An uncomfortable and suffocating silence fell upon them. It was stretched thin as anxiety clawed deeper into their skins after each second. Something was not right. Thoma refused eye contact with him as if he was ashamed. It was six months, right?
“No,” Childe whispered, adrenaline seeping out of him in defeat. It could not be. Thoma had more time! There was eight months in the contract before— “They raised the interest again? By how much?! When?! Thoma, they can’t do that!”
Thoma’s gaze remained glued to the floor. “It doesn’t matter. I managed to bargain it into something much lower,” He said.
The prince clenched his fists and jaws as he seethed, “Don’t downplay it, Thoma. They— they’re trying to keep you under their greedy claws, so they would always have a way to control you.”
“I know.”
Now, he was getting really mad. “And you just let them trample over you? You can’t be serious!”
“What else would you have me do? It will always be their words over mine. Nobody cares about a poor outlander swimming in debt.” The half-Inazuman sounded so resigned. It was unlike him. His optimistic shine was dimming.
Childe placed a gloved hand on the other’s shoulder. “You should have come to me,” He stated. “When I get back, you will use the money I won to pay everything off. I’ll even talk to Pantalone if I have to.” He strided over to the window and readjusted his cloak. “Then, you’ll be free to open that bakery you always dreamt of. Childhood dreams are often too easily shattered. The least I can do as your friend is grant yours.”
Thoma’s eyes softened. “Ajax…” He whispered, voice caught in his throat.
“Until then, stay safe.” With that said, the youngest prince hopped out the window to continue his little adventure.
The blond stood there in a daze. Too much had happened within the last half hour or so. He eyed the bag Childe left behind and prayed, “You too.” For better or worse, Thoma was about to embark on a journey of his own.
…He did not remember agreeing to this.