Chapter Text
“He what ?”
Linhardt flinches away from Caspar’s cry – far too loud, for how very much they don’t want him to be discovered, and especially too loud considering the headache Linhardt has from not sleeping all night. “Hubert’s definitely suspicious of me, and he’ll likely be watching my every move. And I have no idea if he knows who Isolde was working with, but that could throw off the plan even further.”
Bernadetta paces, her face buried in her hands, muttering variants of “Oh, no ,” to herself ad infinitum. Caspar is sitting up straight, bristling with anger, his fists clenching and unclenching. “What else did he do? Did he hurt her? Did he hurt you ?”
Linhardt waves Caspar’s concern off. “I’m fine. He nearly killed Isolde, but to my knowledge, he set her free outside the mansion.” He can only hope that’s the case, though, selfishly, he only really cares that she managed to set everything in motion to get Caspar to safety. Of course he wants her to be alive and free, but he can’t waste his energy worrying about her life when he has two far more important ones to take care of. “The good news is, he didn’t ask me about you, Caspar, and he didn’t seem to suspect Bernadetta of doing any wrong.” Which, in his opinion, is extremely unfair.
Bernadetta jerks her head around to look at him owlishly. “He-he didn’t?” Linhardt nods, and she blinks, slowly lowering her hands and twisting her fingers together in front of her. “Thank goodness . Then… I think, I mean, it-it sounds like…” She looks quickly between Linhardt and Caspar, then to the floor. “We should leave tonight.”
Linhardt scowls. “Absolutely not. I told you last night, Caspar needs more time to recover, and you need more time to explore the tunnels.” He turns to Caspar, gesturing toward Bernadetta hopelessly. “Tell her.”
Caspar isn’t looking at him, though. He’s staring at his knees, his brow furrowed in thought, the wheels obviously turning. Finally he says, remarkably quiet, “She’s right.” Linhardt opens his mouth to protest, but Caspar barrels ahead. “Linhardt, Hubert’s onto us. He knows something’s up. What if he decides to come in here and talk to Bernadetta? What if he knows about the tunnels? What if he makes Bruckner up patrols?” He shakes his head. “We can’t give him time. We already have a plan; I say we put it in action before they can fuck it up for us.” Caspar looks at Bernadetta. “Right, Bernie?”
Bernie nods. “Right,” she says. Linhardt gapes at the two of them.
“No, not right! Caspar–”
“Lin,” Caspar says, serious, and he gets to his feet. “I know you’re worried. I get it. But this is our best bet for getting out of here. We’ll figure the rest out as we go, but we can be out of here tonight. Besides, it’s like you said – we’ll get a solid head start.”
Linhardt stares at him for a long moment, a familiar feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. Caspar’s leaving. His mind is made up, and just like all those years ago, there is nothing Linhardt can do to stop him from running headlong into danger.
But. He can do everything in his power to diminish that danger. Just like that, a tension in him releases, and he feels oddly at ease. He can get Caspar and Bernadetta out of there safely. “Okay,” he says. “Bernadetta, are you packed?”
Bernadetta’s mouth is set in a firm line as she nods. “I-I have been for the last few nights,” she says, bending to reach below her bed and grab a knapsack. She pulls it on and straightens up her posture. “I’m ready.”
Linhardt looks at them both, Caspar and Bernadetta. They’ve both grown so much, he realizes. They’re both so different . “Then you should move. Follow the same plan. I–” He clears his throat. “I won’t join you down at the stables, I’m afraid.” Caspar gawks at him; he swallows and goes on. “It’s me Hubert suspects. Following you may very well put you both in greater danger. Bernadetta, you have the map – follow it, and you should hopefully reach Garreg Mach safely.”
Bernadetta nods tightly. “Yes, sir,” she says quietly. Then, without warning, she pulls him into a hug, squeezing him so tight he’s amazed his spine doesn’t pop. “Thank you,” she whispers.
Linhardt returns the embrace, patting her on the back. “Please,” he says, not quite as unaffected as he sounds. “What are friends for?”
Bernadetta releases him with a shaky smile, her eyes wet. “Good luck,” she says, and Linhardt nods.
“The same to you,” he says, going to the shelves to open the hidden passage. Bernadetta gives him one last nod, then slowly makes her way down the stairs.
That just leaves one. Linhardt turns to Caspar; he’s still standing motionless, as if dumbstruck. Linhardt clears his throat in an attempt to dispel the lump of emotion in it. “Remember to stay quiet down there,” he says brusquely. “Stay off your ankle as much as possible – don’t be a martyr and walk so Bernadetta can ride her pegasus.”
“Linhardt,” Caspar says hoarsely. He looks him in the eyes, silently pleading, and Linhardt slowly shakes his head.
“Be careful, Caspar,” he says softly. “Don’t you dare die out there.” Caspar grabs his hand, holding it tight.
“I-I don’t want–” Caspar shakes his head, looking up at Linhardt quietly. “Are you sure?” he asks softly.
Linhardt forces himself to smile. “I’ve made my choice, Caspar,” he says quietly. “I’ve already told you the reasons why.”
Caspar looks at him for a long moment. There’s an unreadable emotion in his eyes. Linhardt waits for Caspar to go down into the tunnels and disappear from his life all over again, but he doesn’t. He squeezes Linhardt’s hand tightly, and then his other hand is on Linhardt’s cheek, and then–
Caspar’s lips press against his own, insistent but gentle. Linhardt hardly has a moment to react before they’re gone, his lips and his hands, and he’s backing toward the passage. “You could never let me down,” he says resolutely. “I’ll see you later, okay?”
Linhardt has no chance to reply. Caspar goes down, down into the darkness, and Linhardt dumbly watches him leave, frozen.
Linhardt returns to his room in a haze. Before leaving Bernadetta’s room, he’d closed up the entrance to the secret passage. He’d also spotted the invitation from Claude, still on Bernadetta’s dresser. He’s holding it now, clutched in one hand, as he lies in bed, staring blankly up at the ceiling, dazed.
Caspar had kissed him.
There’s a lot of possible meanings to that, he reasons. Kisses don’t have to be romantic, especially in such an emotional moment. Caspar could have been struck by the knowledge that he may never see Linhardt again and, overwhelmed by his feelings, kissed him to show that he cared for him, that he was hoping it wouldn’t be the last time. The last time they saw each other, that is; in this reading of events, there’s no reason why Caspar would ever kiss him again if they did happen to cross paths.
I want you there with me, Lin , Caspar murmurs in his head; Linhardt groans and squeezes his eyes shut.
The fact is. Well. What are the facts? Frankly, Linhardt doesn’t know. It’s as though his entire worldview has been turned on its head.
Because Caspar kissed him. It’s laughably pathetic.
But.
Linhardt holds up the invitation and stares at it, his thumb rubbing across the gold lettering. But Caspar did say he wanted Linhardt there. Caspar said he needed him. Caspar said he’d take care of him – Linhardt swallows a lump in his throat.
Lin , a far younger Caspar whispers, Come on .
“Hubert’s onto me,” he murmurs. He doesn’t have to imagine Caspar’s answer; he already knows he doesn’t care. He already knows Caspar would insist they could figure something out. Maybe they just could.
It doesn’t matter, he decides suddenly, if the kiss was romantic. Because as he imagines his future – boring paperwork and a loveless political marriage – he stops caring about security and starts caring about how alive he’d felt with Caspar by his side, despite the danger. He’d rather die taking care of his best friend than live like this.
That’s that, then. Linhardt rolls out of bed and begins packing a bag.
Linhardt doesn’t sleep that night. He just walks. He can’t be sure how far they made it last night, on Bernadetta’s pegasus; but at the very least he knows their route, and their destination.
He can still see them again.
Still, as sunset glimmers on the horizon, he makes out the dying smoke signal of a campfire, and he picks up speed, hoping to catch them before they leave again, beating back exhaustion through sheer force of will. Almost there , he tells himself, a mantra. Almost there. Almost–
There. There they are, illuminated by the sun over the hills. He sees the white gleam of the feathers on Bernadetta’s pegasus, and then the shadow of its rider climbing onto its back. Panic constricts his heart, and, foolishly, unthinkingly, he cries, “Wait!”
He’s close enough for them to hear. He sees the silhouette of Caspar, still on the ground, turn. He sees the few moments it takes for understanding to dawn on him. And then he sees Caspar break into a sprint, and only then does Linhardt slow to a halt because he’s walked far enough, thank you , and when Caspar is close enough that he doesn’t need to be so loud he hollers, “Lin!”
“Cas–” he begins, before Caspar is crushing him into a hug, laughing, and despite himself, Linhardt laughs too. Caspar pulls back enough to look up at him, beaming.
“You came,” he says, breathless. “I thought-I didn’t think–”
“I’m here,” Linhardt says, reaching out to touch his cheek, just – touching . He’s still in a bit of shock himself. “I’m staying. Right here.” He takes a steadying breath. “I’m coming with you.”
Caspar’s smile goes wobbly, the way it does when he’s having feelings but doesn’t want to show it. “Lin,” he sighs. “Look, you’re-you’re smiling. I mean–” He laughs shyly, and Linhardt’s heart fills up like a balloon. “I don’t know the last time I saw you smile like that. It’s been since… a while.”
Linhardt’s thumb strokes Caspar’s cheek idly as he considers the observation. Finally, though, the only possible conclusion is: “I’m happy.” Caspar covers Linhardt’s hand with his own, and he looks at him, his eyes full of wonder and light, and Linhardt thinks, as long as he’s taking chances, he may as well keep up the trend. “I love you,” he says simply.
Caspar’s eyes go wide. There’s a moment of silence, and then Linhardt sees the bubbly anticipation he always sees in Caspar right before a fight – he’s almost worried – and then Caspar’s hands do an odd jittery thing in the air and land heavily on Linhardt’s shoulders. He opens his mouth to ask if Caspar is quite alright, but before he gets the chance, Caspar blurts, “Can I please kiss you right now?”
Linhardt blinks at him, his cheeks flushing, but he keeps his wits about him long enough to say, “Yes, you may,” except all he manages is “Yes–” before Caspar’s lips crash awkwardly against his own. It isn’t delicate and soft, like the one last night had been; it’s… intense, and overwhelming, but they adjust themselves, angle their heads, give and take, and it eases into something that fills Linhardt up with warmth and joy and the feeling of being loved.
Caspar is the one to break the kiss, and Linhardt chases after the contact on pure instinct. He has no time to initiate another one, though, because Caspar shouts , “I love you, too!”
Linhardt winces. “I know,” he says. “Too loud.”
Caspar laughs, scooping him up in a hug that lifts Linhardt’s feet off the ground. “Get to used to it! You said it yourself, you’re stuck with me!”
Linhardt laughs, too, despite himself, and he says, “Yes, yes. That’s the plan.” He smiles down at Caspar, who returns his gaze warmly. “I’ll stick with you, wherever you go.”
“Then what are we waiting for?” Caspar sets him back on his feet, taking his hand. “To Garreg Mach!”
Linhardt gives his hand a squeeze. “To the future,” he says. “Lead the way.”