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1.
Whenever servants came to Linhardt’s door, they always knocked first. They’d learned that it was better to wake him up gradually, since he had a tendency to be disoriented after a nap. He’d sit there blinking rapidly, and it’d take even longer to get him moving. He’d been like that since he was a baby. He never woke up in the middle of the night crying like most children. The nurses had often had to check that he was still alive, he slept so still and silently. When they woke him up, he would simply stare at them, eyes blank and emotionless.
“Unnerving child…” he heard them whispering to each other sometimes. “Must be something wrong with him...to sleep so much...to sleep like that.”
In his clumsy six year old words, he’d thought about explaining to them that it was the dreams he liked rather than the sleeping. He did his best thinking in his sleep, came up with his best ideas in his sleep. He kept them all in a journal beside his bed, written in the overly careful hand of a child still learning how. But he thought it would be too much effort. They wouldn’t understand.
When Caspar arrived, he did so with a bang.
The door slammed open. Startled out of his doze, Linhardt shot upward, eyes wide and dazed. There was no one at the door, or so it seemed. His gaze lowered below where he’d expect a servant’s face to be, and he discovered a little boy, probably the same age as himself. His shock of blue hair stood up in all directions and, upon catching Linhardt’s eyes, he smiled widely. He was missing his top right canine. Linhardt remembered that the most clearly. He’d fixated on it for some reason.
“Hi!” said the boy. “The servants told me to come play with you!”
Linhardt blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of the boy in front of him. His brain just kept repeating, top right canine, top right canine . It had gotten stuck on that.
“I’m Caspar! Caspar von Bergliez!” the boy entered the room, shutting the door as loudly as he’d opened it. Linhardt jumped a second time. “My father is visiting your father!”
His voice was at a constant shout. Linhardt shook his head to clear it. It didn’t work. However, Caspar didn’t seem to mind his confusion or silence. He just grinned again.
“Do you wanna play something?” he asked, loudly. Too loudly.
“Nap time…” Linhardt muttered without thinking. It’d just been the instinctive answer. He flinched immediately after saying it, expecting Caspar to whine or protest, drag him outside to do something more athletic, more “boy-like.” But instead Caspar just smiled again, showing off that missing top right canine.
“Okay! I’ll make us a fort!”
Linhardt watched, bewildered, as Caspar stacked books from the bookshelf, dragged spare blankets from the closet, pulled the covers from off Linhardt’s bed. Twenty minutes later, his creation was complete, a lopsided sort of tent. It had left the rest of Linhardt’s room a mess.
He grabbed Linhardt’s wrist, pulling him up and pushing him into the fort. Linhardt let him. It was dark and warm inside, nice to curl up in. The blankets on the ground were soft and bunched nicely. Linhardt settled in easily, too easily. He still wasn’t fully awake. Caspar followed him and lay down with his head pushed against Linhardt’s chest, arms tight around his waist. Generally, Linhardt liked his own space. But, for some reason, the boy lying next to him didn’t seem so bad.
“Okay!” Caspar said, way too loud for the small space. “Goodnight!”
And, miraculously, he fell silent. His breathing evened out, blowing softly against Linhardt’s neck. He smelled like dirt and sunshine.
I dreamed of a warm feeling , Linhardt wrote later. I wonder if there’s a name for it.
2.
Sometimes Caspar did drag him outside, but he never made Linhardt do anything he didn’t want to do. He’d just drag Linhardt by the wrist or hoist him over his shoulder- for how small Caspar was as a child, he was deceptively strong- and bring him over to the shade of an oak tree in the garden. That way, Caspar could run around with a wooden sword without getting to miss any time with his friend. At least, that was how he explained it.
As he fought invisible enemies, he narrated his every move, painting a nonsensical story for Linhardt’s benefit. Linhardt would watch a little and listen until Caspar’s words smoothed into garbled syllables and then faded out entirely as he fell asleep again.
Only, one day, when they were both ten, Caspar didn’t say anything at all. He’d come to drag Linhardt out like usual, but there was no dashing story of heroics to entertain him. He just swung his sword determinedly, eyes tight, over and over and over again. He wasn’t having an adventure. He was just doing drills. It was exhausting to watch but, for some reason, Linhardt couldn’t go to sleep. He pushed himself into a seated position.
“Caspar?” he called out. Caspar froze in the middle of a swing, turning his head just slightly towards his friend.
“...What?” he asked, far to evenly and after far too long of a pause. Linhardt frowned. This was just too troublesome for its own good.
“Come over here,” Linhardt demanded. After another long moment, Caspar dropped his sword and walked over. As soon as he was close enough, Linhardt grabbed his hand and pulled him down to sit in the grass beside him. He rested his head on Caspar’s shoulder. Caspar didn’t say anything. Instead he fiddled with his own hands. The skin around his nails were raw and torn. He was picking at it thoughtlessly, about to make them bleed.
Linhardt reached out and took both of Caspar’s hands in his own. He focused, thinking of the white magic he’d been learning in secret, buried in his secret fort in the library. Caspar had helped him build it a year ago. It was far more stable than the tent he’d made in Linhardt’s room the first time they met, even if it wasn’t quite as comfortable.
The skin healed from the magic until they were nearly as good as new.
“Wow!” Caspar exclaimed, looking at his hands. He sounded close to his usual self. He looked at Linhardt with stars in his eyes. “That’s amazing, Linhardt! When’d you learn that?”
Linhardt yawned, nestling further into his friend’s shoulder. He didn’t bother answering.
“You’re so amazing,” Caspar said. He placed his hands back in his lap and immediately started fiddling with them again. “And I’m…”
He trailed off.
Goddess, this was troublesome.
“You’re amazing, too, Caspar,” Linhardt said. It was only true. Caspar’s shoulders hunched in a way that was uncomfortable for Linhardt’s head.
“But...my brother told me that I’m not going to be anything when I grow up,” Caspar muttered, “because I’m not good enough.”
Linhardt thought about explaining what the hereditary line of succession was and how Caspar was simply unlucky to be the second son. He thought about it, but it sounded too bothersome to explain. It was stupid anyway. So, instead, he simply placed his hands back in Caspar’s. “Your brother’s stupid. You can be anything you want.”
Caspar hunched even further, but Linhardt decided to deal with it. He was proud of his ability to fall asleep anywhere. This was hardly the worst position he’d been in. Besides, Caspar was playing with Linhardt’s hands now, but not by scratching or pinching like he had with his own. He was just smoothing his thumbs over their backs and gently fiddling with Linhardt’s fingers. It was strangely calming, and it was suddenly easy to fall back asleep.
He woke up for a moment, an hour or so later, feeling the weight of Caspar’s head on his own. Their hands were laced together. Linhardt scooted a little closer before he went back to sleep.
I dreamed that Caspar was the only son of House Bergliez and that he never talked to me, Linhardt wrote later. I’m glad he is the second son.
3.
“It sure is weird being here, huh?” Caspar said. “By ourselves?”
Linhardt was already dressed for bed, already in bed. Caspar had simply burst in unannounced as he often did. That had been whenever he was visiting Linhardt’s home, however. For some reason, Linhardt hadn’t been expecting it to happen at the Officer’s Academy. But there he was, in Linhardt’s room late at night, still fully dressed and his eyes darting all about.
Outside, thunder rumbled. Caspar jumped violently and then attempted to laugh it off.
“You’re still scared of thunder?”
“M-maybe,” Caspar mumbled.
Linhardt sighed. “What are you going to do when I start learning lightning magic?”
“No!” Caspar protested. He leaped forward, kneeling next to Linhardt’s bed to take his hand, and looked earnestly into his eyes. A weird feeling made itself known in Linhardt’s chest. He steadfastly ignored it. That was too tiring to deal with at the moment. “You can’t learn lightning magic! Please don’t! Stick with wind and fire and white magic!”
“All depends on what’s easiest,” Linhardt hedged. Caspar leaned closer. Linhardt leaned away. Well. It wasn’t like he was particularly passionate about lighting magic. “Okay, okay. I won’t then."
Caspar breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t let go of Linhardt’s hand. In fact, his grip only got tighter as another rumble of thunder sounded outside. He squeezed his eyes shut too. “Can I sleep here tonight?”
It was their first night at the Academy. Linhardt thought about explaining how people might talk if Caspar stayed over. He thought about pointing out that they were older now, and that older boys weren’t supposed to sleep in the same bed if they didn’t have to. His father had started sending him looks after the last time he’d seen Caspar come out of his room. Thank the Goddess he hadn’t said anything. That would have been exhausting.
He doubted Caspar would care about any of that, however. He could always go the opposite route. He thought about telling Caspar that he wanted him to stay every night. That he slept better when Caspar was next to him. That Caspar was the only person he’d ever met whose company didn’t exhaust him in the first place. That would surely send Caspar scurrying back to his room.
His stomach twisted unpleasantly at the thought. He didn’t really want Caspar to go away. So, instead, he said, “Put on a pair of my night clothes at least. Although you’ll be swimming in them.”
“I’m not that short!” Caspar protested, but he was beaming. It made Linhardt feel oddly embarrassed. So, he pulled his hand out of Caspar’s grasp and pulled his sheets up, turning his back.
He listened to Caspar moving around, searching through the drawers for something that will fit him. He closed his eyes as Caspar changed, feeling annoyingly, unspeakably embarrassed for some reason. Even when Caspar let out an involuntary yelp of terror at a particularly loud strike, he did not look up. Finally, Caspar blew out the candles around the room and the sheets were lifted.
Immediately, like he’d done it on instinct, Caspar wrapped his arms around Linhardt’s waist, burying his nose in the back of Linhardt’s neck. Linhardt shivered. He didn’t know what to do with this feeling he’d discovered. It was more than it had been at home. Maybe it was the new environment that was intensifying it. It prickled at his mind, keeping him awake even as he felt Caspar relax and his breath even out. He always fell asleep so easily. He was nearly better at napping that Linhardt himself.
Linhardt turned around, scooting down a bit so that he was nose to nose with Caspar. This close, his eyes adjusting to the darkness, Linhardt could see his short lashes, his relaxed jaw, the curve of his cheek. He shut his eyes again, pressing his forehead against Caspar’s. The rain against the door faded into the background as he slowly drifted off.
I dreamed that he kissed me, Linhardt wrote later. This is not useful to my Crest research whatsoever.
4.
Over their time at the Officer Academy, Caspar slept in Linhardt’s room almost as often as he slept in his own. People did talk, a little. Caspar never seemed to notice. Or, if he did, he simply didn’t care. Both seemed equally likely. Linhardt didn’t care much himself. Nobody came up to confront him about it, so it wasn’t troublesome.
Caspar let him know six months in that he’d be joining Professor Byleth’s class. “She really knows how to punch!”
Of course that would be his reasoning.
Linhardt shrugged and decided to follow him. The professor’s Crest was interesting, and maybe she’d be willing to let him study it. Besides, he wasn’t sure how long he could keep up with Edelgard’s seriousness and drive. She devoted herself to training like a woman possessed, like she had a time limit.
Perhaps he should have read more in to that.
The Imperial Army was due to arrive the next day. Everyone around the Academy had a wild look to their eyes, some more than others. Caspar was particularly struggling.
“What if my father’s there?” he demanded, pacing back and forth in Linhardt’s room. “What if your father’s there?”
“We likely would have heard by now,” Linhardt assured him. He was seated on the bed, trying to relax. Caspar wasn’t helping. “What would my father be doing there anyway?”
“I don’t know!” Caspar shouted. His eyes were a little bloodshot. He really needed to rest. They would be fighting for their lives tomorrow. Against Edelgard. His heart panged at the thought. “But my father...I can’t face my father! What if…what if…!”
“He won’t be there, Caspar,” Linhardt promised. He was around eighty percent confident. He decided to leave the statistic out. Caspar would simply fixate on that other twenty percent.
Caspar groaned and dropped his head into his hands. There was a long period of stillness where he simply held it there.. Linhardt wasn’t even sure Caspar was breathing. Then, his head shot up, a determined, terrified look in his eyes that Linhardt was sure he’d never seen before. He barely got a chance to look at it before Caspar was charging at him. Linhardt jumped in surprise, arms instinctively coming up to do... something . But before he could, Caspar banged their foreheads together painfully.
Linhardt reared back, grasping at the spot. “What was that for!?”
Caspar was bright red, eyes shiny, a bruise already forming on the top of his head. “I was-! I was trying to-!”
“Knock us both unconscious?” asked Linhardt, prodding at his head with a huff. “We do need sleep, but that’s not the best way-”
“No!” Caspar burst out, turning even redder. Linhardt blinked at him as he took a deep breath. He kept blinking as Caspar crawled to kneel on the bed in front of him. The approach was slower this time, and Caspar kept his eyes open and on Linhardt as he came closer and closer, as if trying to gauge the reaction. He paused, simultaneously too close and too far away. Linhardt felt disoriented, like he’d woken up too fast. Actually, he wasn’t even sure he was awake at all. “I was trying to…”
And then Caspar kissed him.
It was brief and clumsy and far too much. Caspar pulled away and sat on his heels. He grabbed Linhardt’s hands and fiddled with his fingers, looking down.
“Sorry,” he said, too quiet. “I just thought I should...just in case…”
“I won’t die,” said Linhardt. Caspar’s eyes snapped up, still shiny. The words coming out of Linhardt’s mouth were reckless. He didn’t have enough information to make a judgment on the likelihood of either of their deaths. He wouldn’t know until he saw the Imperial force himself. But the words came out all the same. His hands were trembling in Caspar’s grip. How embarrassing. “I promise. I’ll be safe.”
“I-I’ll keep you safe,” Caspar promised, unsteadily.
Those words were even more reckless. He should say something about it. But Caspar was leaning in again, and it was simply too easy to lean in too. It hardly felt like it took any effort at all. He felt like he wanted to reach his hands up and rub them across Caspar’s head. But it would be hard to let go of Caspar’s hands. He squeezed them tight instead. He could feel Caspar breathing through his nose against Linhardt’s cheek. Despite everything, despite the darkness around the corner, something inside him was lighting up.
Caspar pulled away first, too soon. He was smiling brightly. His cheeks were red. His top right canine had grown back a long time ago. “I should get you a vulnerary for your head.”
Linhardt pulled away one of his hands, pressing it against Caspar’s forehead to heal the bruise there. Caspar leaned in, his eyes closing. “It feels nice when you do that.”
Linhardt cleared his throat, flustered. He pulled his hands away before he could start scratching at Caspar’s hair. “The vulneraries are in the top drawer of the dresser.”
Caspar pulled away reluctantly to go grab one. He came back and handed it over. He bounced from foot to foot as Linhardt drank it, then he took it hastily to put it away. On his way back, he hurried too much, tripping over his own feet and promptly smacking their foreheads together once again.
“Caspar!”
“S-sorry!” Caspar managed, before he burst into giggles. Linhardt wrapped his arms around his shoulders, pulling him down to the bed. He caught the giggles too soon enough.
They fell asleep like that, next to each other, the candles still lit.
I dreamed Caspar died , Linhardt wrote later. I won’t let it happen. Never.
5.
Linhardt looked up from his book, puzzled, at a knock on the door. He didn’t know who it could be. Most everyone was out on the campaign or completing tasks around the ruined monastery. Lindhardt, who’d just gotten over a cold, was still assigned to bed rest for another day.
He supposed they could have returned from the mission by now. It was around the estimated date. But surely no one would have beaten Caspar here, and Caspar would never knock. Unless-
He scrambled off the bed, possessed by a fear that he refused to name, tripping over his bare feet as he threw himself towards the door. He wrenched it open, heart beating in painful thumps.
Caspar stood in front of him. Linhardt couldn’t help the gasp of relief. Caspar was there. He was caked in dirt and blood, and the right side of his face was shiny from a burn, but he was there, whole and alive.
The relief, however, soon gave way to concern. Caspar would never knock. He simply burst in and out as he pleased. He had never done differently.
Linhardt cupped the side of his face, letting his magic heal the burn. Then he grabbed Caspar’s wrist, still wrapped in armor, and he pulled him inside the room, shutting the door behind them. He led Caspar over to the bed- he was being worryingly docile and quiet- and sat him down. After a moment, he got to work on the buckles of Caspar’s armor. Might as well check if he was injured anywhere else and, anyway, that couldn’t be comfortable.
“...I killed her.”
Caspar’s voice was weak and rasping. He sounded like he’d been screaming or crying, even though there was no evidence of tears upon his face. Linhardt stayed silent.
“I...she hit Felix and...he went down hard. Sylvain just froze. She was about to...she was going to hit him too and I…”
Not Edelgard, Linhardt surmised. The emperor was holed up in the capital still. Considering who was here and who was not, he could probably figure out who Caspar was talking about. He forced himself not to. He couldn’t deal with that right now. Not while Caspar was shaking in front of him, with blood on his face. It must have been days ago. Caspar hadn’t had the chance to wash it off. Or maybe he hadn’t cared to. Linhardt clenched his jaw.
Linhardt hated this war. He hated fighting in general. In the end, it was all just a grand excuse for bloodshed. For some reason, the world had decided that murder was easier than conversation, so they made swords specifically for cutting into their fellow man. He didn’t think it was good to forget that they were hardly better than their enemy. As much as he could, he tried to remind his companions of this. The professor knew, at least. But that all being said, he had never wanted Caspar to learn like this. If he’d listened to Linhardt, understood it abstractly, that would have been enough. He wouldn’t have to look like this.
“...How is Felix?” Linhardt asked.
“Fine,” Caspar answered. “Mercedes was nearby.”
“That’s good then.”
Caspar shook his head. “I had my gauntlets on. I drove them into her chest.”
“There were no good options,” Linhardt murmured. He lifted the chest piece over Caspar’s head. “Run away? You would have left Felix and Sylvain to die. Jump in front of the attack? That simply would have killed you.”
Linhardt paused. He wasn’t sure what expression he was making. “You, dying? Anything would be better than that. That is the one thing I would not be able to accept.”
Caspar stared at his hands. Lindhardt fetched a cloth and poured some of the water in his canteen on it. He knelt down once more, wiping the mess from Caspar’s face. “As much as I preach, I am just as bad as the rest of them.”
“You’re not,” Caspar insisted, shaking his head.
“Any one, any number. As long as you were alive,” Linhardt continued. It was probably the worst thing about himself, but it was also not a flaw he could be ashamed of. He had already done it after all. He was not fighting in this war for a country or a leader. He was fighting, selfishly, so that the people that he loved would not die. So that Caspar would not die.
“I won’t tell you a lie. I won’t say that you didn’t have a choice,” Linhardt said. “You made a terrible decision from among many terrible decisions. And you’ll have to bear it. But you can’t let it crush you either.”
Tears dripped down from Caspar’s eyes, his shoulders shaking. He let out a watery laugh. “Sorry. Thanks. Sorry. You’re talking so much.”
“You’re right, I’m absolutely exhausted now, and it’s all your fault,” Linhardt said sternly. Caspar rewarded him with another tear-stained chuckle. “In exchange, let’s take a nap. You don’t need to be anywhere, do you?”
Caspar shook his head, letting Linhardt push him by the shoulders until he was laying down. Linhardt took his place next to him. He would have to do the laundry when they woke up. Maybe he could get Caspar to do it for him. He would probably be wanting to stay busy for awhile to keep himself distracted.
Caspar pressed his forehead against Linhardt’s, lacing their hands together in between them.
“I love you,” he said.
“I love you too,” Linhardt said easily. He didn’t think he’d ever said it before. Neither had Caspar. But it hadn’t come as a surprise. He’d already known. “Now go to sleep.”
I dreamed of our future , Linhardt wrote later. There was no war.
+1.
They settled in early, the night after the peace treaty was signed. Linhardt had still stayed longer than he would have liked at the celebration, but Caspar had insisted on sweeping everyone he saw into a spinning bear hug. Hilda had giggled and swung him around in turn. Felix had made a screeching noise that sent Sylvain into hysterics. Marianne had fainted.
“I was thinking I’d travel,” said Caspar. “There’s a lot of the world I haven’t seen yet. Maybe I’d start with some of the villages in the Empire that got hit the worst. See if I could pitch in for a while.”
Linhardt hummed.
“What about you?” Caspar asked. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Are you, uh...going to go home?”
“Obviously I’m going wherever you go,” Lindhardt answered.
“Right, of course. Well, I’ll visit you in between trips, if you want me-” Caspar cut himself off, turning his head to look at Linhardt in surprise. “What?”
“You really should listen to people more closely,” Linhardt sighed. “I’m going wherever you go.”
“Even though we’d be walking and riding horses a lot?”
“I’ll deal. Somehow.”
Caspar laughed delightedly, throwing his arms around Linhardt’s shoulders and bringing him into a crushing hug. Head against his chest, Linhardt could hear his beating heart. He closed his eyes to listen.
“You tired right now?” Caspar asked, voice vibrating through his chest. “Wanna go to sleep?”
Linhardt thought about it.
“No.”
He might as well have said that he wanted to go run a marathon. Caspar laughed incredulously, pulling away to stare at him. “What?”
“Let’s stay up,” Linhardt said, lacing their hands together. Caspar’s hands were calloused, his fingers crooked. They still fit together perfectly. “Let’s stay up and talk about the future.”
Caspar grinned. He squeezed Linhardt’s hand back.
“Okay!”