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Thoma is not a knight in shining armor.
He’s no knight at all, really—they don’t have knights in Inazuma, and traditionally the ones in Mondstadt come from noble bloodlines. Thoma was as common in Mondstadt as he is here. Some say knighthood has become more attainable to his type, of late, but even before he left, he knew what he saw: Jean Gunnhildr, Eula Lawrence, and even the estranged Kaeya Alberich, carrying the Ragnvindr reputation if not the name. No room for the likes of Thomas Ida.
(Besides: He’s too common for people in Inazuma to call him “Ida,” but if they did, it would just be a reference to his family—it’s almost enough to forget that in Mondstadt, it could be a girl’s given name.)
He’s much more of a supporting party than the type inclined to gun for the spotlight anyway. Sometimes, though, Thoma really gets the appeal of the ‘shining armor’ part of the whole bit.
“Figures we’d go for Lady Kamisato and get an ill-bred mutt instead,” comes a mutter, and Thoma doesn’t have time to be offended before there’s a boot getting shoved into his gut and the breath is knocked out of his lungs.
He wheezes and curls his knees to his chest defensively, coughing but holding no regrets. Breaking a rib would be very inconvenient—and he’s more prone to it than most, with the compressive undershirt he wears. Really, he wishes his captors would be more considerate with where they’re kicking.
“Why’d you go and get in the way, anyways, huh? Who’s gonna pay ransom for some foreign house servant?” demands the treasure hoarder, a rangy-looking young man barely older than Thoma himself. He reaches down to grab Thoma by the lapels of his jacket and gives him a shake. It sort of rattles his head, but it also makes breathing easier, so Thoma grins sheepishly up at the angry face.
“Sorry,” he tells him, crossing his fingers where they’re tied behind his back. “Didn’t mean to cause you any inconvenience. Lady Kamisato is much more than her breeding, though, you know. You’d probably have had more trouble if I hadn’t intercepted.”
The young man’s cheeks color, brows furrowing, but there’s laughter from his leader behind him that saves Thoma further beating.
“You’d be better served to quit posturing and go find all the mora you scattered, kid,” calls the leader. The treasure hoarder looks like he wants to keep going, but drops Thoma instead, pacing away as his shoulders hunch up almost to his reddened ears.
“Think you’re awfully smart, don’t you?” asks the head of the small crew, turning to Thoma. She twirls Thoma’s vision around her finger by the golden loop normally attaching it to his belt, and grins. “I wouldn’t look so cheerful if I were you, outlander. If you ain’t got a family to pay ransom, all we got left to do is sell you for parts. Starting with this trinket.”
She flicks the Vision up like a coin, the pyro-red flickering in the fading rays of the sun as it spins wildly, and swipes it into her pocket.
Thoma swallows, looking away.
The constant remarks about his duties and parentage are—well, they’re too old to sting, at this point. Really! There’s no use crying over spilled milk, and the important people in Thoma’s life know his worth. The Kamisatos, the government officials he works with, those who live in Ritou—even the Traveler. He’s always had thick skin, and the assumptions people make to reassure themselves of their own standing don’t affect him.
It’s just, in situations like this, he wonders if they affect Ayaka.
His lady tries not to show it, but it’s his duty to be attentive to her. He sees the way her lips thin when she’s reminded of his origins, notices the slight terseness that colors her otherwise perfectly prim etiquette when the guards at the Kamisato Estate tease him. Thoma has really done his best to assimilate, and it’s not like he’s entirely foreign. He hasn’t been able to find his father, but he’s half-Inazuman.
It’s just… not the half that matters to most people. And if it only affected Thoma himself, he really wouldn’t mind the ribbing. It’s not so different from his experience in Mondstadt, after all. The thought that he’s negatively impacting Ayaka’s duties just through his association with her, though…
He tries to stay out of the way when anyone too important is visiting, is all.
As night falls, so does the temperature. Thoma is sequestered from the treasure hoarders, the bandits unwilling to untie him from the sturdy otogi tree he’s been seated against long enough to let him warm up by the fire or grab a bite to eat. The food’s not so much an issue—he’s certainly worked longer hours without remembering to feed himself before—as is the realization that his Vision went a long way towards keeping him warm. Without it, Thoma finds himself wishing he could finagle the extra cloth around his waist around his arms, instead, because his half-sleeves are really not doing the work of keeping him cozy. The treasure hoarders are all bunking down already, but he’s not going to be able to sleep like this.
He sighs, curling over his knees to gentle his aching ribs—he really isn’t meant to be wearing his compression shirt for this long—and his breath comes out in a crystalline puff, clouding the air.
Thoma frowns.
Okay, that’s very chilly for this time of year. Aren’t there hot springs that run underground in this area, anyway? There shouldn’t be frost creeping along the ground, let alone winding its way over the tree roots Thoma is bound to and towards the smoldering remains of the treasure hoarders’ fire.
“Hey,” he hears faintly. “Which one of you put out the fire?”
Someone else groans in annoyance, shuffling in their undoubtedly warm bedding.
Thoma breathes out another cloud, and when he next inhales, it’s like breathing in ground glass—the air is so cold it hurts—
Something snaps by the hoarder camp, like a Fatui gunshot echoing through the night.
A treasure hoarder screams. “Yuki-onna,” someone shrieks. “Wake up, it’s a Yuki-onna!”
“It doesn’t snow here, you freaking idiot!”
“Then what is that?!”
Thoma’s breath hitches painfully as a fat snowflake lands on his face, stinging his already reddening nose. The same loud crack goes pop over his head again, showering him with wooden splinters, and the treasure hoarders start scrambling up in earnest.
“Hey,” he tries, but his breath comes out in a rasp. He swallows, lips numb, and tries again: “Hey! Take me with you!”
It’s too late. They don’t care, or they’re too frightened to stay—either way, they leave both Thoma and half their supplies, and he’s alone.
His breath mists the air once more, shaky in the sudden silence.
He’s alone. Right? There wouldn’t really be a Yuki-onna around here. The treasure hoarders were just superstitious. Then again, if a demon doesn’t get him, then he’s just going to freeze to death—
There’s a flash of white hair in the corner of his vision, and Thoma flinches into the tree. He yanks on his arms, giving one last shot at pulling his deadened fingers through the ropes before the snow demon can get him.
A warm hand alights on his shoulder.
Thoma’s breath shudders out of him as he jolts, and he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment before resigning himself to his fate and turning to meet—
Ayaka?
Her cryo Vision gleams in the low light of the half-moon even as her hair practically glows a pale silver.
“Thoma,” she whispers. “Thoma, are you okay?”
“Mi—milady?” he stutters, and she sighs in relief.
“I’m sorry, Thoma,” she says, glancing around and gaining volume once she’s sure the area is clear. “I didn’t mean to freeze you. I just needed to scare them off without risking them hurting you.”
“That was—you.” Oh, Thoma’s truly a fool. Of course there wasn’t actually a Yuki-onna.
The snow is stopping now, too, the last flakes drifting down slowly as Ayaka reaches behind Thoma to work at the ropes binding his hands together. It’s not until she carefully levers her sword to snap them off that they drop forward and Thoma hisses with pain, finally realizing how stiff he is after hours in the same position.
He can’t feel his fingertips. It may be the darkness, but they look like they’ve turned blue.
“Oh,” Ayaka mumbles, and takes his hands between hers. She’s not the warmest person, normally, thanks to her Vision—but to Thoma’s frozen appendages, her palms are downright hot as she rubs his fingers between them. “You’ll be okay, Thoma,” she says. Whether she’s reassuring him or herself remains to be seen, and despite the circumstances, Thoma finds himself laughing lightly at the furrow between her brows.
“Thank you, milady,” he says, smiling even as his teeth chatter over her title. “You really didn’t need to go so far out of your way for me, though. You could have been caught, and then the Kamisato clan would really be in trouble.”
Ayaka frowns, and rubs harder at his hands. Some of the feeling is starting to return, in the form of pins and needles. “That’s nonsense, Thoma. Even if it wasn’t my fault that you’re captured, I care about you. We were already in trouble without you.”
Ah. Thoma’s stomach drops. Of course.
“It’s… not your fault,” he mumbles over their hands. His breath isn’t coming out in visible clouds anymore, and some of the goosebumps are starting to fade. It’s still not warm, but he’s no longer in danger of frostbite. “I’m the one who jumped in.”
“To protect me.”
“Because I wanted to.”
They stare at each other, Ayaka’s eyes—not quite narrowed: she’s too polite for that—but certainly not pleased. Thoma, on the other hand, finds it hard to maintain his usual friendly grin, mouth wobbling as his fingers curl between Ayaka’s and the consequences of the evening’s events really hit him.
“Thoma,” Ayaka asks softly, squeezing his hands. “What’s wrong? Did they hurt you?”
Thoma shakes his head. “No—well, not really. Please don’t worry, milady. I’m simply… ah, worrying about all the grocery shopping I missed, haha!”
“Oh!” Ayaka blinks, a pretty flush spreading over the bridge of her nose. “Furuta did that, don’t worry.”
Thoma’s brows rise. He wasn’t really worried—he can always work a little overtime to catch up—but he also hadn’t expected that kind of answer. “Wait, really? What about the cleaning?”
“Ah, Koharu covered it this time.”
“And the, um, the laundry?”
“It held for the day. Are you really so worried about the chores?”
“Well, what about your meals?” Thoma asks desperately, hands bunching up under Ayaka’s. “Who served you?”
Ayaka worries at her lip, eyes dragging over Thoma’s face in concern. “Furuta covered again. It used to be her main duty, you know.”
Thoma’s shoulders slump, and he tugs his hands away so he can leverage himself to a standing position. He nearly staggers, ribs prickling along with his legs and arms and—well, everything really, but Ayaka catches him by the arm before he can really stumble.
“I’m alright,” he lets her know, quiet, and starts off toward the treasure hoarder camp. If he’s lucky, they were too rushed to take his Vision with them.
Ayaka finds it first, a dull pulsing red that’s scattered alongside the dust and ashes of the campfire. Thoma makes a small noise of protest when she cleans it off on her underskirts before handing it to him, but doesn’t move to stop her in time.
Laundry really took care of itself, did it? he thinks with amusement, though it drains out of him even as he stares down at the Vision in his hand.
A flash of crackling electro from the past, the memory of rope against his wrists. Another reminder of the ways he has failed the Kamisatos.
“I’m sorry, milady,” he tells Ayaka, clipping it to his waist.
Ayaka bites her lip, winding her fingers together in front of her lap as she watches the Vision. “Thoma, I don’t know what you’re apologizing for.”
Thoma shrugs with an easy smile, dusting off his palms and gesturing them towards the road. “Causing so much trouble, I suppose,” he says. “Especially for so little return on your end. It seems you… really didn’t need me there. Silver lining of the whole mess is me getting out of your hair for the day, haha.”
Ayaka stops in her tracks, and when Thoma turns to look back at her, inquisitive, she looks absolutely appalled.
Yikes. Okay, he knows self-deprecation isn’t a good look on anyone, but—oh.
She’s hugging him.
Thoma freezes for a moment, arms hovering over her shoulders. Ayaka just barely clears his shoulders, the perfect height to tuck her head under his chin, and she winds her arms around his waist with deceptive strength even as she places them lower, considerate of his ribs. After a moment, Thoma swallows, and lets his arms gently alight around her shoulders.
“The only ones causing trouble tonight,” Ayaka whispers furiously, “were those bandits. Everyone misses you, Thoma. Even the guards that tease you all the time were looking worried. That’s why I had to come myself. I couldn’t bear it if I let you take the fall for me once again.”
Thoma tugs her closer, tightening his arms around Ayaka’s shoulders. Her hair smells like sakura blossoms, and it’s completely improper, but when his eyes prickle just slightly, he buries his face in her hair.
Anyway, Ayaka doesn’t seem to mind. She just holds him for a long moment, before pulling back slightly to press their foreheads together. She raises her arms to cup his jaw and brush her thumbs under his eyes, swiping away the few tears that managed to escape.
She’s beautiful like this. Ayaka is always beautiful, whether it be early in the morning with her mussed hair or in the middle of combat, not a single elegant lock out of place, but there’s always been something about the moonlight that makes her look ethereal.
“Besides,” Ayaka whispers into the scant space between them. Thoma’s breath hitches as her lips brush just barely over his. “You are very dear to me, Thoma.”
She leans onto the tips of her toes, rocking forward for just a moment, and presses a small kiss to the corner of his mouth.
It’s gone almost before he can register that it’s there, a petal-soft brush of lips against his own, and then Ayaka is shifting away, sliding herself out of his grip and her fan out of a sleeve so that she can hide behind it, the pretty pink of her cheeks spreading to an endearing red that trails all the way up to her ears.
Thoma’s lips finally curl into a genuine smile. He reaches out, snagging her free hand between his fingers, and squeezes them together.
“Thank you, milady,” he says. “Now let’s go home.”
