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Caspar really had no patience for fishing. He was only eight, true, but sitting on a pier gazing out across the lake just seemed like the definition of boring. He wouldn’t be out here anyway if it weren’t for Linhardt, who’d recently taken it up, despite the disapproval of his parents. As it was, Caspar crashed around in the shadows, pants rolled up but soaked head to toe regardless, insisting in a voice loud and sunshine-bright that he’d catch one of the fish with his bare hands, just watch, he’d show him he didn’t need a dumb fishing rod--
With the amount of noise he was making, it wasn’t likely that either of them were going to catch any fish. Linhardt would maybe be more bothered by that if catching fish were the point, but as he’d explained to his fretful mother, who’d asked him what he could possibly want with fish from their lake, it was about the overall experience. His books had described it as peaceful, as simple and serene, lake water gently lapping against the posts of the pier, and the only sounds those of insects buzzing in the trees.
Caspar was ruining that too, of course. Nothing about this could rightfully be called serene, not with the sound of him shouting and splashing around echoing through the air. Linhardt frowned, propping his chin on one hand as he watched him. He’d rather have Caspar here than not, and he understood that Caspar could not simply Be Quiet, so this was just how things were going to be for now.
Caspar had switched targets from aiming to impress Linhardt to aiming to impress Linhardt’s mom, for some reason.
“And she thinks we’re not going to catch ANYTHING,” he said, wading through a cluster of reeds. Could there be snakes in there? No, probably not. Or at least not poisonous ones, anyway. “So we’ll just catch like a hundred fish or a million or something and then she’ll see!”
Linhardt sighed. It was true that his mother had expressed intense disapproval over their little venture, but Caspar didn’t seem to realize it had less to do with doubt of their fishing abilities, and more to do with thinking it just wasn’t appropriate for two children of their status. She was probably right.
“I’m certain my mother just worries I'll abandon my inheritance to become a fisherman,” he told Caspar lazily, watching a dragonfly land on the pier by his foot. It twitched its glittering wings, and then took off again.
“Maybe I’ll be a fisherman, then,” Caspar replied back, scowling. The prospect of What He Was Going To Do With His Life had been a big topic of conversation lately. The solution changed every week.
“I thought you were going to be a knight,” Linhardt replied back, tracking the path of the dragonfly with his eyes. It zipped across the surface, then arced over Caspar’s head, who yelped and batted at it in surprise. Still no fish.
“Yeah, well, I can keep my options open. Maybe I’ll do both. I’ll be like, a knight that goes on boats with fishermen and fights pirates when they attack.” Caspar’s tone was full of conviction, but Linhardt was fairly certain that wasn’t a thing. Or at least, not something he’d ever heard of before.
It also sounded dangerous. And exhausting. Linhardt knew that he personally wouldn’t last a day doing something like that, but Caspar was different. After all, he was still trying to catch fish with his hands, and it had been twenty minutes at least. Anyone else would have given up ages ago.
Fishermen were away from shore for a long, long time. Presumably any knight that protected them would be too. Linhardt twitched the bait a bit, although he knew it was pointless.
“You’re all set on getting some kind of job,” he said after a second, frowning. “Haven’t you ever thought about marrying another noble, and letting their family take care of you?”
“What?!” Caspar cried out, tone obviously insulted, but Linhardt forged his way onward.
“If, when we’re older-- I mean, you could marry me, I’m going to inherit my dad’s position,” he said in a rush-- he’d been thinking about it, just a little. He quite liked when Caspar came to visit, or when he was sent to stay with Caspar’s family. Having him around all the time could be fun.
“No way!” Caspar shouted, little hands balled up in fists. “That’s dumb! I’m not gonna rely on someone else to take care of me!” And he was off again, ranting about how he was definitely going to be a knight, or something like that. For some reason, Linhardt was having trouble listening to him fully, a bubble of annoyance rising in his chest. His offer had been generous, surely. How rude of Caspar to reject it just like that.
If Caspar had been capable of letting things go, maybe that would have been the end of it. But at lunch he had to complain about Linhardt doubting him and offering him some kind of pity marriage (with his mouth full of food, because no one seemed to have been able to teach him table manners yet) while Linhardt scowled into his own plate. The idea of having Caspar around all the time had seemed so fun this morning, and now he couldn’t wait for him to be sent back to his family’s estate, or at least to stop talking about this particular topic.
What a pain.
To add insult to injury, that evening he was called to his father’s study, a dark room with tall bookshelves lining the walls. Normally he’d be interested to be in a room with this many books, but he was only ever summoned here when he was in trouble. It turned out that today was no exception.
His father regarded him over his dark wood desk with tired eyes. An eternally exhausted looking man, with long limbs that seemed to droop like a dying plant, Linhardt’s father never seemed to smile. He tried today, a sort of grimace that fell away after a second of strain, then he shook his head. Linhardt had seen him at lunch, but of course had no reason to speak with him. Actually, he wasn't sure when he had last spoken with his father.
“You know that despite our differences, Count Bergliez and I do not mind your friendship,” Linhardt's father said. It was not a question, although he waited an awkwardly long time before continuing. “Caspar is a bright boy, with a good future.”
A lie. Two lies. Caspar was painfully bad at lessons, and nothing was guaranteed, especially not for someone in his situation. Linhardt furrowed his brow, but did not speak.
“Were the situation different, I might find your offer to be… premature, but not absurd. When his brother inherits his title, it would not be a bad thing for you to have some manner of leverage.”
His father really didn’t know anything. Caspar held no sway over his older (and much larger) brother, who mostly bullied them both whenever the three shared company. His father did not leave room for an answer however, instead heaving another heavy sigh and continuing.
“And yet, there is the matter of your crest. Not all in our bloodline manifest one, but it is an important component of our standing. Therefore, when the time comes for you to marry, it must be someone who is capable of producing offspring. Preferably someone with a crest of her own, although we will consider this more closely as the time draws nearer.”
Linhardt felt hot and then cold with embarrassment in that moment. Of course there was his crest. He knew all about crests. How could he have forgotten? His father must think he was an idiot.
“I-- I was just teasing him,” he blurted out, then flushed in further embarrassment. He only ever stammered around his father. “Caspar took it the wrong way.”
His father stared at him, and then nodded. “Well. Regardless, I am glad we had this conversation. That will be all.”
When Linhardt left the room, a sick feeling in his stomach and his face burning, it wasn’t to find Caspar in the gardens where he said he’d be waiting, but to the library, to hide himself in the familiar dusty scent of books. He chose a tome thicker than his wrist and settled into a dim corner, but for the first time, the dense lore of crests failed to bring him comfort. He gritted his teeth and read the passage again, and again, as evening fell across the grounds, and Caspar waited for him alone by the flowerbeds.
…
I’m an only child. Because of this, I’m worried that my parents will have to adopt a child or do their best to have another of their own if I don’t carry on the family title.
Linhardt couldn’t name what mutinous feeling had caused him to write this letter to the advice box. ‘If’ he didn’t carry on the family title? As if that was an option. All he’d done by coming here to the academy was buy himself time.
He squinted at the answer, scrawled in a neat handwriting at the bottom of the paper that he vaguely recognized as the professor’s.
They should adopt Caspar. He has no title to inherit.
He snorted, then crumpled the paper into a ball. “Whatcha got there?” Caspar asked, appearing by his elbow, and Linhardt gripped the paper tighter.
“Nothing. Shall we go over the attack pattern one more time?” he asked, hoping it would be enough to distract his friend. It worked. Caspar looked up at him with shining, excited eyes, and Linhardt felt his heart do that dumb horrible flip.
He shoved the balled up paper in his pocket as they exited the cathedral together, the sour feeling filling his stomach again. Caspar as his brother? As a child all he’d wanted was more time to spend with his friend, but at the age of sixteen, he knew better. He couldn't be satisfied with that answer at all.